Imagine if you took some of the central attributes of
the Beatles' 1967 work -- chirpy mid-tempo tunes, wide-ranging harmonies, and variegated instrumentation combining piano, guitars, orchestration, and a bit of Indian influence. Then imagine if you somehow produced the equivalent of a sonic blurry black and white Polaroid to
the Beatles' glorious full-color panoramic movie. That's the rough equivalent of what
Colours sounds like: a distillation of some of the key ingredients, yet with the flavor and spice bleached out. The lads must have done their share of listening to "Penny Lane," "Lovely Rita," "Your Mother Should Know," and the like, as well as "Within You Without You" (as the sitar-ish drone in "Brother Lou's Love Colony" indicates) and "I Am the Walrus" (the discordant string buildup in the same tune). The lyrics, oddly, sometimes tend toward mundane griping rather than the cosmic celebration this kind of approach seems to call for -- "Bad Day at Black Rock, Baby" is about a liquor store robbery turned sour, while "Helping You Out" just grouses about a demanding partner. A marginal, curious psychedelic obscurity,
Colours is, ironically, rather colorless.