Colors in Corduroy: The Space Between Sound and Soul
- hippiechicky333
- Aug 8
- 6 min read
Updated: Aug 13
By Grace Thompson
We caught Colors in Corduroy on a Thursday at Pour House, where they closed out a local bill with bands, Dog Named Squid and Channel Bluff. As soon as they started playing, the whole place felt louder, not just sonically, but physically.
People moved closer.
Heads nodded harder.
The floor shook with the weight of sound.
"Don’t bring your kids to a Colors show."
-Colors in Corduroy
Not because of explicit lyrics or language, but because it’s pure, untamed chaos. The kind of wild energy that grabs you by the shoulders and pulls you into the thick of it.
Loud, unpredictable, and completely alive, it’s a storm you want to be in the middle of.
They’ve only got two tracks out, Old Soul and Xenith, but you wouldn’t know it. The loyal ones mouth every word; friends, family, the ones who’ve been showing up since the beginning.
Places like Pour House and the Royal American feel less like venues and more like home turf.
GRANT MATTHEWS
(vocals)
When I ran into Grant a week after the show, the first thing I asked about was the moment he had laid flat on the stage mid-set. No big gesture, just stillness. It was stoic.
He told me he’d never done that before; it just happened. Somehow, that made sense to me. In the end, the quiet stayed with me more than anything else that night.
He later said that performing forces him to be present, "exactly where his two feet are".
It’s not about being centered. It’s about being demanded.
There’s an emotional and spiritual weight to it. He described it as “raw”, and that word fits.
Grant didn’t start his journey trained or polished. He got into music in high school thanks to a friend named Colin, and then started writing with Sam (now the band’s guitarist). He didn’t learn to sing seriously until college, and he’ll admit he was “really, really bad.” But he loved it. So he stayed with it. Touring with bands like The Stews and Easy Honey helped him see what kind of community music could build.
But the momentum came from inside. “Self-accountability,” he said.
“You’re the only person who can make your goals happen.”
His voice is the tension point of the whole band: grunge meets soul, grit meets warmth. His influences reflect that: Chris Cornell, Kurt Cobain, Scott Weiland, but also Marvin Gaye, Aretha Franklin, Charles Bradley, and Etta James.
“The duality to me is all emotion. Sing what you feel, not what you think.”
He’s quick to credit Sam and Bobby for always backing him. “Without them, I wouldn’t be where I am today in the realm of music.”
Their sound hits in a way that’s messy on purpose, like it’s alive and reacting to the moment. Sam’s all motion. Drake, even mid-smile, stays composed in the madness. Bobby doesn’t overplay or overthink; every note lands with a purpose. And Grant looks like he’s exactly where he’s supposed to be, expressive without trying, fully present without forcing it.
BOBBY MOSS
(bass)
Bobby plays like he’s been doing this forever. Which he sort of has. He started on upright bass in fifth-grade orchestra and stayed with the program until college. He made the switch to electric in his sophomore year of high school and hasn’t looked back since.
He’s not overly academic about it, though. “I feel like theory used to make me play robotic,” he told me. “Now, I just try to feel it out.” He plays by ear and with character, adjusting in real time to what the moment requires.
His favorite part of the Colors set is the drum-and-bass breakdown at the end of Desert Queen; two minutes that unravel and rebuild themselves differently each time.
The draw is in the unpredictability, knowing it will never unfold the same way twice.
Bobby opened the night, filling in with Channel Bluff, and closed it with Colors. At one point, he pulled the tie from his hair, and it fell into motion with the rhythm. Something about it mirrored the way he plays, carrying the same looseness that runs through his bass lines.
He moves with the song, syncing tightly with Drake in a way that makes you notice just how much they’re listening to each other.
The kind of person who lifts everyone around him, pushing Sam to take risks and believing in Grant’s voice before it settled into what it is now.
Bobby's a backbone guy; technically, emotionally, creatively.
When I asked how they’d describe their music to someone’s dad, they said classic ’90s rock: Nirvana, Jack White. But there’s more going on than just what you hear. As Grant put it, “there’s a good bit of Red Hot Chili Peppers in our blood,” and you can see it in how they move on stage just as much as you can hear it in their sound; two sides of the same force that feed each other, powering the band’s restless drive.
SAM COCOLAS
(guitar/supporting vocals)
Sam’s guitar looked beat to hell, but in the best way, like it had stories. Seafoam green offset body, neck from a Mexican Tele, a tweed pickguard that’s ripped off an old amp, and nailed in place. It had spirit, and it sounded just as wild. Slung low across his shoulder, it moved with him, not just something he played, but something that played him. The setup is Frankenstein’d together, and it sounds incredible.
He learned guitar from his dad in high school, basic cowboy chords and church songs. The kind of music that you grow with before you realize what else you can do with it. Eventually, he drifted into stranger, more expressive territory. Bobby nudged him to lean into it, to get experimental. Now his sound is rough-edged, charged, and completely his own.
I never saw him stop moving on stage; the only stillness came in those quick moments adjusting his pedal board.
Otherwise, it was a complete blur; leaning, swaying, in the air, on the ground, all while being barefoot.
There’s no stiff formality to his playing. It's fluid, sharp, totally reactive. You can’t pull the performance from the music; they’re wired together, and it lands harder when it’s played with power.
We met up with them before their set, hanging out in the Pour House green room, a bus, technically, but really, it was more like a scrapbook of bands past. Stickers everywhere, writing on the walls, names and notes layered like sediment from shows long gone.
Drake was doing rudiments on his sneakers. The rest of them were cracking jokes and half-warming up, moving like friends first, bandmates second. They talked a bit about the usual rehearsal stuff, disagreements over notes, keys, phrasing, but said it always fades once the music starts.
Whatever tension exists gets funneled into their sound.
DRAKE BROADWATER
(drums)
Drake is the youngest in the band, but his playing carries a quiet power that holds everything steady. Growing up around his dad’s guitar shop in Rock Hill, music was always in the background. He got into drums through drumline in high school, where he played marching snare.
“Drumline was great,” he said, “but I got tired of the conformity. You had to play exactly what was written.”
The freedom he found came later, jamming with friends in his dad’s office where he could experiment and play what he felt.
On stage, Drake is all focus, but you might catch a small grin, the kind born from the music itself.
His drumming is tight and honed, but never mechanical; instinct guides his sticks as much as technique.
When I asked Drake about moments that have stuck with him, he recalled hugging his friend, Preston Hall, on stage after doing a Beatles cover with The Stews (Windjammer). “Having my whole family there, my friends, and the stress finally being over, it felt amazing,” he said.
After years of exploring, Drake says the band is finally locking into a sound that feels natural, a blend of control and freedom, precision and chaos.
“I’m really happy with how things are sounding.
It feels like we’re nailing down our sound.”
If you haven’t seen Colors in Corduroy yet, you should. Their releases set the tone for what’s to come, but they’re only the starting point. The beauty is in how the songs evolve.
Played live, they are morphed, colored, and shaped by the room. It's as if they're determined by the crowd and the moment, making the experience feel personal. And the crowds are already there, packing out the rooms, drawn in. With a full set of originals under their belt, it feels like only a matter of time before that energy finds its way into the studio.
Here’s to hoping you don’t have to wait too long.
Photography by Sierra Bowman for Enemy Magazine.
Interviews curated by Grace Thompson for Enemy Magazine.
Layout by Grace Thompson.
Comments