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On their debut album, The Bronze, Woodgrain does something good, possibly even very good. Exactly how to describe what that thing is, though, is nearly impossible. Lying somewhere between metal (this is a band that was chosen to open for The Sword on a half dozen or so tour dates) and a Brian Eno Moog-gasm, Woodgrain is relatively indescribable (other than maybe “repetitive” or “coma inducing” at times). There are times when “indescribable” means “horrible”, “awful” or “waste of sounds waves” – but not in the case of Woodgrain. The Bronze is a genuinely exciting and interesting album; it’s just hard to say what exactly is going on (perhaps the album art featuring a centaur astronaut carrying roses on the moon in front of a basketball hoop should have been an indicator).
Eschewing the traditional metal formula (guitars, bass, drums, growling/yelled/poorly sung/cookie monster vocals) for some kind of psychedelic post-hard rock cluster bomb, The Bronze’s twelve songs fly by in a jittery frantic way. By completely forgoing vocals and guitars, Woodgrain seems like an unlikely partner for bands like The Sword, but somehow it just works. Josh Randolph and Michael Hammett’s synths not only swirl like one would expect, they practically defy listeners to demand guitar work. On “Coal Lampin’” and “Poop Girl”, there are moments where – over Russell McCallister’s thudding drums and Thomas Pomeroy’s sludge filled bass playing – perhaps a wicked finger tapping guitar solo would have sufficed (or perhaps even soared); Instead, Woodgrain’s dual keyboard bangers issue an audible challenge to their audience: rock out just as hard, even without that Flying V guitar shredding in your face.
Woodgrain’s strong attempt to reach for something more and to think outside a metal, hardrock, or classic band structure, is commendable. With “Green” and “Hitman”, the quartet fully succeeds; locked in tight, the rhythm section allows the synthesizers to work their magic successfully. Instead of lulling listeners to bed, Woodgrain whips up swirling storm clouds that rain pure enjoyment. Unfortunately, when the melody falters, the band seems to stumble into repetition as an ill chosen solution, and winds up sounding like the guys who provide music for video games.
All in all, Woodgrain not only deserve praise for trying something slightly different, but – for the most part – succeeding at something slightly different. The Bronze is an intriguing snapshot that hopefully is a precursor to a continued evolution.
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