Review Summary: Divisive, outlandish, and irresistible.
I recently reviewed Valesa Chapter II, so I thought I’d go backwards and provide my views on what I consider to be Major Parkinson’s greatest work.
Valesa Chapter I: Velvet Prison is most often described as a sprawling 80s homage, filled with warm synths, sugary melodies and soaring choruses. It’s not something that the band had been known for, and perhaps that’s why it was, at first, very divisive among long-term fans. Major Parkinson had pop-leanings, but here, they often dive in head-first without clear hesitation.
That’s not to say that this is a pop record. It’s probably the most experimental the band has ever been. As the album title suggests, this isn’t a standalone piece and forms the first viewing of what seems to be a semi-fictional universe with characters jumping in and out, providing this perspective and that. Whether there’s a “main” character, and whether there’s a “plot” seems to be purely down to interpretation. There are recurring lyrical motifs spread throughout this record and the next that would indicate some degree of focus, and the record does indeed feel at times like a grand stage play, perhaps moreso on Chapter I.
One major theme, stemming right from the title of the first track “Goodbye Blue Monday”, is the temporally loose, tangentially rich style of the author Kurt Vonnegut. Indeed, there are certain lyrics spread throughout the album that seem to be clear hints to his work, and the themes of vapid consumerism and the endless search for meaning that are often central to this album series harken back to Vonnegut’s most famous works.
The lyrics tend to speak in the first person and cover a range of emotions and thoughts, though much of the content seems to stare back into the past: youthful naivety, 80s political newsflashes and romanticising what has since been lost. When the perspective shifts to the present, there is that yearning for meaning and recognition. It is a prelude to Chapter II’s focus on what happens when we finally reach that recognition, and why it’s not all it’s made out to be.
Without doubt, the greatest set of lyrics here are given in the interlude piece, Velvet Moon. The tone is so charmingly casual, the protagonist rattling off his inner thoughts to a cab driver called Dave. It’s incredibly effective in its minimalism, giving a big sigh to “the end of the world” as the protagonist calls it.
Those sighs are just one corner of the wide emotional space that vocalist Jon Ivar Kollbotn manages to convey throughout the record. There’s awe at the New York skyline (Irina Margareta), fury at the vapidness of modern art (MOMA), insistence in pushing ahead (Behind the Next Door), joyful reminiscing (Fantasia Me Now!) and everything between. The way the album swoops to and fro between these moments of emotional catharsis are, I believe, the magic that turns this record from great to outstanding. These moments feel genuine, earned and flawlessly woven into the record’s landscape.
The music tends to be where fans differ. Indeed, a big criticism of the album is a distinct lack of lead guitar, throughout most of the run time. It was perhaps these criticisms that convinced the band to bring it back ten-fold on Chapter II. (Perhaps not, considering the band have hinted that music for three chapters had all been written simultaneously.) For many fans, the change was too much. On top of that, a reliance on synths and autotune – specifically on guest singer Claudia Cox’s vocals – pushed things too far out for many who’d grown used to a specific style. Gone, too, was the darkness that encroached onto the prior two albums, Blackbox and Twilight Cinema. Valesa I is bright, warm, and inviting. Some people prefer the cold, hissing dark… and that’s fine!
Personally, I adore the warmth this album gives. The production is top notch (my standard is: if I don’t notice it, it’s perfect!) The eighties synth is both fitting for the album themes and utilised just the right amount not to be overbearing. The guest vocalists – Claudia Cox and Linn Frokedal – are sprinkled throughout, and they do a stunning job, too.
Another quibble that many had came from the interludes. The album has seventeen tracks, many of which can be safely named interludes. Tracks like Ride in the Whirlwind, Sadlands, Intermezzo and Lemon Symphony aren’t tracks that you’ll rush to play again in isolation. Indeed, I’ve never thought “Oh, I fancy listening to Ride in the Whirlwind.” That’s the biggest problem with interludes. What makes them useful, though, is in providing the album with flow, downtime, and tasty vignettes to move us from one tonal palette to another. I wouldn’t call any of these tracks filler – though Lemon Symphony left me confused for longer than most – and the album would be less of an experience without them. Live Forever just doesn’t feel the same if not followed by the counterweight that Sadlands provides. (By the way, the switch from a bustling, cheering hall throughout the short track to an empty, echoey silence once the last note is played is so gorgeously chilling!)
The album is full of mystery, surprises, emotional highs and lows and, above all, simply stunning musical compositions. It’s an adventure through time and a fitting prelude to the Valesa story that continues to unfold. Sadly, Chapter II couldn’t revive the magic that made this record so breathtaking, but we’ll see what the potential Chapter III brings…
If you enjoy the eighties sound, stage plays, duelling vocals, mysterious imagery and emotional rollercoasters, then this record may be just the ticket.
Track scores:
Goodbye Blue Monday:
Little more than a curtain opening. The Vonnegut nod is revisited pleasantly later on, and the sound effects build the opening "scene" well.
7/10
Behind the Next Door:
A piano-led character piece that turns into a bombastic "live" performance briefly in the middle. A simple song by Major P's standards, but grandiose in the best way.
9/10
Saturday Night:
Here comes the synth-pop, and it's glorious. Unabashedly pop-chorus that introduces Claudia Cox on vocals, but the verses are contrastingly sinister. Jon puts on one of his best performances.
9.5/10
Ride in the Whirlwind:
A piano interlude. The tune is delightfully positive, providing a moment of down-time before swelling into the opening of the next track.
8/10
Live Forever:
Best track on the album, and one of MP's best ever. Linn provides guest vocals here. The song is BIG, with proudly 80s synth and the live performance style returning halfway through. The comedown after the second chorus, "Heaven's not a place for Superman," is beautiful. The song then has the nerve to turn into a clubland anthem. The sheer nerve!
10/10
Sadlands:
A bitter contrast to Live Forever. A short piano interlude with another emotion-fuelled Jon performance. The previously mentioned fade to silence is eerie in the best way.
8.5/10
Intermezzo:
As the title suggests. It's an instrumental piece used to mark the mid-point of the album before it switches direction. The sound of F1 commentary about zooms play in the background. Gotta go fast!
6.5/10
Jonah:
Perhaps the one track that feels most out of place on the record. The gospel choir is fun, and this is something special at live shows. The weakest "full" song on this album, but by no means bad.
7/10
Velvet Moon:
For such a short piece, it packs in so much. You could argue it's technically a cab-ride interlude between the two songs around it, but it's so well done that it deserves to be called a song in its own right.
10/10
Irina Margareta:
The album has now completely changed direction. The lyrically content here is mad, bouncing from commentary on Communist tyranny in Romania, staring in awe at the New York skyline, and conspiracy theories. It also somehow goes from eerie and mysterious to glorious and uplifting in a very short space of time without being jarring. Expertly crafted.
9.5/10
The House:
Baffling. What other band could pull this off?
9/10
The Room:
This song and the ones either side basically form one track, and none of them sounds right without the others. Linn's vocals here are a highlight. The first half of the track is some of the best stuff on the record. The second half lets it down just a little bit.
8.5/10
Posh-Apocalypse:
A wacky conclusion to the three-parter. This sounds like somebody trying to craft something, only for it to repeatedly, gradually, come apart until it's nothing but noise, like fabric slowly unwinding. It's no wonder the poor chap crafting it starts smashing up the studio at the end!
8/10
MOMA:
Museum Of Modern Art. The album continues to grow more unhinged, and the bipolar beast goes from aggressive punk to surreal electronica in the blink of an eye. Throughout, Jon and Claudia duel vocals. There's a lot of meaning in here, and I'm pretty sure only they know the full details. When in the mood, this one fits the bill every time.
9/10
Lemon Symphony:
This interlude bridges the gap from utter madness to the album climax. A strange track with a single Vonnegut-esque line: "What is the equation if the answer to your question is love?" One of the weaker interludes, but it's a much-needed break.
7/10
Fantasia Me Now!:
Another bipolar track (a theme that certainly isn't isolated in this album series) that brings back the 80s synth-pop that had taken a backseat since Live Forever. Claudia and Jon duet throughout the track in an uplifting pop-fest first half, and then a sinister, foreboding flip-side (they literally stop the song halfway through and flip the cassette.)
9/10
Heroes:
Another track was initially meant to go here - Algorithm is a Dancer - but the band decided that this one suited the transition better. It plays like the inner mind of the main character finally deciding to break free from the mundane and turn into the icon we find in Chapter II. The ringing alarm that closes this track continues at the start of Chapter II, so the albums play seamlessly back-to-back. A neat touch!
7.5/10
