Let me tell you a story about how I even stumbled upon Major Parkinson in the first place. Back in my Mr. Bungle-obsession days of late-college/early-real-life-of-crushing-reality-and-unemployment circa 2011 I was yearning for any and every band that was associated with or similar to the schizophrenic Mike Patton outfit. THROUGH THIS AVENUE the discovery of That Handsome Devil, a unique and fun band of gritty, smelly-looking ne’er-do-wells, led me to delve further into the rabbit hole to find more bands of its kind. A fellow internet person who uses the internet like all the other internet people recommended to me Major Parkinson and Foetus, two bands that sound nothing like each other and barely sound like That Handsome Devil. But that’s ok, because it turns out that Major Parkinson is way better than any band listed so far in this review.

Sorry for making you read that. My point is that I had to follow a twisty and turny path to even be aware of the existence of  Major Parkinson, let alone find myself listening to them. It’s a damn shame that they’ll never be hoisted out of obscurity and recognized as a gem among crazy Scandinavian alt/prog rock, but meh. You know about them now, so I’ve done my due diligence. Songs from a Solitary Home is the sophomore release from this crazy band of lovable Norwegian misfits. The revolving door lineup means they likely have dropped and added some members whose names have O’s with lines through them. This is very much a transition album and serves as a very logical snapshot of the band sitting on the fence between the rambunctious and angular avant-pop punk of their self-titled debut and the mature, progged-out, atmospheric, and ambitious efforts of Twilight Cinema and their new album Blackbox. You’ve got semblances of the raw and gritty DIY aesthetic from the debut, as well as the inclination to craft an album’s worth of songs with reasonably inoffensive lengths and pop-sensible structures. You’ve also still got Jon Ivar Kollbotn belting out subtly sarcastic nonsense with the emotional outpouring of a tortured soul and the raspy voice of a cabaret rhinoceros in heat. Major shifts in style begin here: these guys obviously have a fondness for ’70s progressive rock, because a lot of that influence begins to creep in. Melodies are more layered and refined, instrumentation is more varied, the songs themselves are more diverse and the oddball genre-hopping is far more rampant, even within one song. Restraining themselves to the format of a pop album, among other self-conscious decisions, certainly helps reign in any possible threat of over-indulgence. Every less-talented band with a similar fondness for the most decadent period in rock history would’ve gone balls to the wall on Album 2 and fucked up royally. These guys know what they’re doing.

Just like with their debut album Major Parkinson, I’m going to gladly refrain from trying to decipher the obtuse lyrical poetry scattered all over the record like shit crackers in a bowl of delicious minestrone soup. On the plus side, with this band it’s effortless to treat the vocals like just another instrument in the mix. The gruff timbre of Kollbotn’s “singing” fits perfectly with the rest of the musical atmosphere, no need to really delve too deeply into the meaning behind the words. It’s more fun to tune it out and process the random snippets hitting your ears anyway; phrases like “Humphrey Bogart” or “Simone!” or “67 INCHES!” out of context are what make the experience magical.

Song styles range from warped surf rock (“Teenage Mannequins”) to meek, piano balladry (“Card Boxes”) to hyperactive modernized ragtime (“The Age of  the Paranoia”) to traditional old-west-saloon ragtime (“Downtown Boogie”) to bizarre and slow Eastern-tinged marches (“Ecophobia”) and everything else in between. “Ecophobia” itself is a solid album opener, with its foreboding and unpredictably restrained mid-tempo progression, and a driving (and pretty and jangly and seductive) melody that could make your skin tingle. Halfway through a cool little snare drum cadence kicks in. And the way Kollbotn sings “No one wants to die alone” like a high-pitched serpent adds an extra layer of ethereal creepiness to this already-unique song. Once “Ecophobia” ends, “Solitary Home” starts up with a familiar raucous, jangly off-kilter energy one would expect from Major Parkinson. And all is well with the universe.

Part of the appeal of albums like these is that they’re designed to be impossible to be taken too seriously and yet nothing comes across as immature or half-assed either as a compromise. For example, try not to think about Cookie Monster when listening to cartoonish and playful “Dance with the Cookie Man”. To make it even more self-aware, the inappropriately suggestive lyrics dare you to not to think about Cookie Monster. It’s not even about Sesame Street in the first place, man! And while you’re reveling in discomfort, suddenly a gorgeous piano coda at the end brings you back to reality and you’re in awe all over again. Another throwaway bit I adore is the progged-out synthy solo in the middle of “The Age of the Paranoia”. Not only is it totally campy beyond good taste, sounding like a pitch-perfect indulgent Keith Emerson keyboard exercise during ELP’s worst years, it also very much sounds like the backdrop of Rod Roddy telling you to COME ON DOWWWWWNN during The Price is Right. So what makes this corny quasi-parody any better than the real deal? What’s the real difference between Major Parkinson and Emerson, Lake & Palmer? Well, fuck, I really don’t have to explain it, right? Isn’t it funny how the fine line between worst excesses of prog rock and best examples of parody that are indistinguishable from the worst excesses of prog rock is just the artist’s genuine projection of their arrogance and/or sense of humor? Not to bash ELP unprompted, but come on. Those bitches were smug and unfunny. Plus, to Major Parkinson’s advantage, time can temper the most awful of musical fads. Disco is cool again with the indie kids, haven’t you heard?

While the entertainment factor is a notch above the debut (in my opinion), Songs from a Solitary Home suffers from being burdened with a few weak tracks that slow the pacing at the end to a crawl. The energetic climax of the album appears to be the nervous carnival punk-metal piece “Trampoline Superstar”, which is immaculate in its brevity and its tangible paranoia with a catchy riff to boot. After that it’s a denouement of tracks that don’t ever get as exciting again. “Downtown Boogie” is cute, but that’s about it. “Heart of Hickory” has a cool swashbucklin’ accordion intro and chorus with some interesting male/female vocal interplay, but man is it such a normal and positive-sounding song with nary a tense moment to be found. “Adville” is a slow rocker and meant to be an emotional penultimate offering, and within the context of the rest of the record it draaaaags. Not only that, but the emotion just isn’t there. Or I don’t buy it. Either way it’s one to skip. “The Transient” brings it back up with a jaunty, yet somber, acoustic number to close the record on a, er, uplifting note? I’ll leave you with the final verse of the song: “Suicide is painless in the town where I was born/Life became a suffocated way to block the world out from our own/Upon the carousel that no one wants to ride/We carry piles of smiles and joyful happy moments/In a maze of blazing colors of our lies“. Looks like I should have kept refraining from talking about the lyrics, huh?

Pretty much as good of a transition album as one could hope for. I like that the band is comfortable stretching out beyond the confines of, you know, genres, and are taking advantage of their clear musical talent in almost all respects. Lyric writing not so much, but chalk that one up to Norway. ‘Nuff said. GREAT NEWS FOR EVERYONE WHO HAS JUMPED ONTO THE MAJOR PARKINSON TRAIN: the band has only begun to hit their stride. The better stuff is still yet to come.

GOOD