Warning: this is not for Sunday morning stereo play if you’re nursing a hangover from too many Manhattans the night before.
After releasing a number of EPs over the course of the last two years or so, Colorado Springs band Colonial Excess come out of the gates kicking and screaming, causing havoc and frightening the church going folks with indie-meets-the junkyard antics. Clanging garbage cans rumble over Commodore 64 tweaks and dribbles. A wino on the sidewalk bellows his sing song while a trumpet player swoons for change. Turn the corner and classic jazz improve slides into third base with a noise rock drive.
After a few listens, their concept began penetrated my whiskey soaked cortex, filling my head with an obscure sense of mushroom induced colors and trails. When Colonial is subdued they are at their best, using quirkiness to their advantage to heighten the level of production and interest. They tend to go through mood changes not from song to song, but within the track itself, taking one from languid and lush to loud and abrasive, cathing one off guard during an attempt at power nap.
Overflowing with imagination and obession with art noise, Colonial Excess stands alone in their sound and style, fitting in closer with an East Village zip code than anything in 80920.
