B-Side Guys

John Kolar opens “Color Blind” with impossible timestamp—”At 3:81 I saw someone”—immediately signaling that normal measurements won’t apply to what follows. The Morgantown artist’s debut solo album closer examines how two people can witness identical situations yet experience completely different realities, both equally valid, both equally frustrating.

The production blends indie rock foundations with neo-classical elements, creating space for Kolar’s vocals to drift through verses that catalog perceptual breakdown. That opening line’s broken time signature mirrors the lyrical theme: when emotional clocks don’t sync, nothing adds up correctly. “I can’t make sense of two” becomes both practical arithmetic and relationship crisis, the fundamental impossibility of reconciling divergent perspectives.

What makes this compelling is Kolar’s refusal to assign blame. When he sings “Her movie’s black and white / Hoping they realize / That I’m not color blind,” he’s not claiming superior vision but defending different ways of seeing. She processes in monochrome; he experiences full spectrum. Neither is wrong, which somehow makes everything worse. The “giant steps in my stride” suggest forward momentum that’s simultaneously escape—chasing alibis, running from his mind, leaving time itself outside.

The bridge about symmetry and forgotten glue hints at relationship repair attempted without proper tools: “Guess they’re lacking the energy / To build a better you.” There’s resignation in that construction, acceptance that some incompatibilities can’t be engineered away.

Released as the final track in Kolar’s year-long monthly singles campaign, “Color Blind” addresses perceptual relativity without offering resolution. Sometimes two people are both right, both confused, both watching different films of the same life. Recognition doesn’t equal reconciliation.