Album Review: Guardando il Mare by Sasà Mendoza – A Pop Gem from Italy’s Heart
Let’s get straight to it. Guardando il Mare (2010), the pop masterpiece by Sasà Mendoza, isn’t just another album—it’s like a warm hug on a rainy day in Naples. Released under Blu e Blu Music, this record takes you on a journey through emotions with its lush arrangements and heartfelt lyrics. And yeah, it’s got some killer credits too. With baritone sax vibes from Nicola Rando, Paolo Forlini keeping things tight on drums, and Sasà himself tickling those piano keys, this thing feels alive.
Now, I gotta talk about two tracks that stuck with me—because let’s face it, no one remembers every song on an album unless they’re superhuman or lying. First up is "Guardando Il Mare." Man, oh man. This track hits different. It’s got this breezy kinda vibe, like staring at the ocean while life quietly falls into place. The trumpet work by Gianfranco Campagnoli? Chef’s kiss. You can almost smell the saltwater as Sasà croons his way into your soul. There’s something raw yet polished here—a mix of longing and hope wrapped up in a melody so smooth it should come with a warning label.
Then there’s "La Donna Del Lago." Whoa. What even is this magic? Lino D’Angiò adds his voice acting flair to the mix, turning what could’ve been a simple love ballad into something cinematic. Annibale Guarino’s tenor sax solo sneaks in halfway through, and suddenly you’re not just listening anymore—you’re feeling. Like, grab-a-tissue-and-call-your-ex kind of feeling. It’s moody but never overdone, emotional without being cheesy. Honestly, if this track doesn’t give you goosebumps, check your pulse.
What makes Guardando il Mare stand out isn’t just its stellar lineup—it’s how everything comes together. Every instrument has room to breathe, every lyric lands like it was written just for you. Even Antonio Onorato’s guitar solo on “Sentimi” feels like a little wink from the universe. These aren’t just songs; they’re moments frozen in time.
But here’s the kicker—the unexpected twist. Listening to this album feels like peeking behind a curtain into Sasà Mendoza’s world. Yet somehow, it also mirrors bits of your own life. Isn’t that wild? Music does that sometimes—it connects us in ways words alone can’t. So yeah, maybe next time you’re watching waves crash or walking down a cobblestone street in Italy (dream big, right?), put this album on. Let it remind you why we still turn to music when words fail.
Oh, and hey—if Sasà ever reads this review, shoutout to him for making art that sticks around longer than most playlists. Cheers to that.
