Woods are playing in my kitchen. It is May 2010 and I am cooking tacos before I settle into the NBA playoffs for the night. I am barely listening, browning meat.

Woods are playing on a train ride into work. The people around me are tired and sullen; preparing for a long day. A couple holds hands. I am reading, half-listening. I notice the easygoing nature of At Echo Lake.

Woods are playing as I stumble toward a train home. I am drunk (drunj) as all hell and trying to maintain focus. It’s hard to focus, though, as I try and sing along. This album rules. I am yelling the choruses to no one. “Who knows what tomorrow might bring/ and it shows.” Sure, the intricacies are lost on me for now, but I am rocking out.

Woods are playing in my bedroom upon my waking. It is beautiful outside despite me having to go to work soon. The guitars are standing out now; the tinny vocals affect me. This album is no fluke. I like it despite its flaws. I begin to think the flaws aren’t that at all. Maybe they are brilliant and I am just predisposed to loving polished work too often. If these gentlemen were jamming on my porch, I would be enraptured.

Woods are playing as I get off of work. It is still light out for the walk to one of my favorite bars. I listen to song 4 (”Time Fading Lines”) on repeat a couple of times. It’s partly because it is a nice slow jam to settle me down and partly because I don’t really like song 5 (the instrumental, “From the Horn”). I am in love with the way the album sounds now. I text my friend who recommended it and thank him. The album sounds small and rounded, yet larger than it’s own need.

Woods are playing everywhere I go now. They are the epitome of penetrating, purposeful sloppiness. The most impressive thing about At Echo Lake is the fact that Woods could actually be playing anywhere, the bar, the street, the train, the kitchen, the bedroom and it would feel perfectly fine. They are home after a rough night, they are out during the making of a rough night. They are sunny and rainy weather, makeshift yet totally in control. Paradoxes are usually left to technically superior bands, but Woods– they don’t sound technically superior. This plays directly into why the album works. They are all the things you need in a rock band without having to play to any strengths.

Woods are playing the last two songs on their album over and over again (”Deep” and “‘Til the Sun Rips”) and I am grateful that they are. I wish I had a porch. Hell, these days I wish I had a lot of things. It has been a rough go. But I am happy as hell I am alive and listening to At Echo Lake. They clap my hands for me while I want to bury my head in them. They sing for me when my voice is ragged from yelling over patrons. They move my feet when they are in pain from multiple jobs. They keep my eyes steady when I want to roll them back in my head. They keep me “ripping it up/ ’til the light hits the eye.” Woods are playing, so I am listening. I probably will be for awhile.