COLOURBLIND – S/T

reviewsAlbums

8 July

Colourblind’s music used to reflect what it’s like to be caught in your own head. But now, they’ve emerged into a reality full of people just as complex as they are.

Words by Jack Paech | Image by Oli Guthleben and Amber Mysiszczew

Colourblind attempts an act of transcendence on S/T. It’s the band’s first full length offering — a self-titled album propelled by their need to understand themselves (and others), filled with songs that forced the four-piece to breach the borders of their own world and enter a space defined by a number of unknowns. In other words, this is a record where Colourblind finally go outside — the ‘touch grass’ album, if you will.

Yet still, these songs contain no instantaneous miracles of empathy. In the process of transcending themselves, Colourblind get caught in blizzards of self-doubt, wrestle with bad-faith actors in well-tailored suits and begin to realise that the pain of others can be contagious.

But they find their way. Peppered amongst the intensely personal lyrics that vocalist Finn Cameron has become known for, there are instances where the concept of community relegates the sadness that occupies this LP. Take S/T’s opening track, ‘Torched’, and its line to ‘respect the Blend’ – a reference to SA outfit Ethanol Blend, delivered with the same vernacular bands like Fiddlehead and Drug Church are synonymous with. To start this record with an ode to band friendship outlines the themes of communion that crackle and spark throughout the album’s 12 tracks, and it acts as one of the most overt signifiers of the band’s influences.

Further along the LP’s tracklist, these expressions manifest, deconstruct and rebuild in other ways. With unabashed confidence, the band take PUP-esque phonetic singalongs and imbues them with plaintive longing on tracks like ‘Something About the Sun’ and ‘Coming to Terms’. At times, duelling, distorted guitar chords melt into each other like the best Militarie Gun tracks. And then on songs such as ‘None the Wiser’, the warbling arpeggios adopt a tonal ambiguity.

Colourblind shift between these modes so subtly that moments of levity sneak past almost unnoticed. When you catch them, the record cracks open to reveal glimmers of hope and childlike awe.

‘Spark’ pairs its doggedly determined hook (‘though it was over from the start / keep on fighting to keep that spark’) with a wall of bass and guitars that are so bright they resist the futility inherent in the lyrics. Elsewhere, the conflict between nihilism and perseverance rages on, and Colourblind’s rejection of a clean winner/loser dynamic speaks to the band’s understanding that our timelines are vast expanses which cannot be defined by one single emotion or event.

Instead, the record takes an ephemeral approach: its clearest, most reflective moments are effective because they’re fleeting. The album’s most telling lyric, which Cameron screams repeatedly during the outro of ‘Mr Idle Conversation’, is ‘I’m not so unlike you’. It lands with the appropriately devastating weight of any good revelation. Hazy pianos fill the crater it leaves behind, playing like a soliloquy; listening to it feels like holding intense eye contact with someone on the other side of a busy room.

Colourblind manage to transcend moments by being completely present in them – something they can only achieve together. Bernadette Wright’s bass playing and Ben Whaley’s drums are never out of step with one another, and the solidarity with which they hammer away lends everything an electricity that keeps things moving, even during the record’s most protracted compositions.

Of course, there are not many of those. ‘Midnights’ is probably the most languid number. But the way James Harris and Cameron’s guitars interweave during the verses heaves us towards one of the loftiest, most caustic choruses on the whole album. It’s an example that captures the spirit of collaborative songwriting. Amongst band members, sure – but also in a way that acknowledges a lineage of other bands that have concerned themselves with the same themes, the same beliefs, the same touchstones.

They couldn’t have done this so naturally without the experience they’ve garnered as a band, or even as people. Once upon a time (commonly known as ‘2018-2022’), Colourblind’s music reflected what it’s like to be caught in your own head. But now, they’ve emerged into a reality full of people just as complex as they are. An overwhelming anxiety feeds into this album that is chipped at its edges, but better off for it. This project wears its blemishes with self-assuredness and dignity. The dissonance it exhibits between hardship and optimism feels more like harmony in Colourblind’s possession, and as a result, listening to S/T is a genuinely welcoming experience. It's a banner we can all stand under, painted over hundreds of hours by experienced hands.

Listen to S/T on streaming platforms now.