Every so often, an album arrives not to reinvent the wheel, but to remind you why it spins in the first place. Walk Among the Poppies, the new ten-track release by Boston duo Major Spark, feels like that kind of record: a collision of grit and grace, melody and defiance. It doesn’t try to sound perfect; it tries to sound alive. And in doing so, it manages to ask something quietly human of the listener: what does it mean to break free, to belong, to believe you’re enough?
“The Other Side” opens with the thrum of a drum loop from Moe Tucker, grounding the track in a lineage that stretches back to rock’s primal roots. Its synth shimmer and country-tinged guitar set up a paradox: earthy yet expansive, raw yet strangely liberating. Goodman’s voice feels like a kind of gentle provocation, coaxing the listener to step into light despite the heaviness of the world. The lyrics don’t plead; they encourage. It’s less a pep talk and more a mirror held toward self-belief: “Kid don’t be afraid to shine!”
Then, without warning, “Be My Key” tumbles in like a dizzy secret shared between two co-conspirators. It’s buoyant, flirty, and absurdly catchy: a duet that dances in the dark while laughing at its own fear. Miranda Serra’s voice glides against Goodman’s with the warmth of two people improvising their way through uncertainty. The song’s joy isn’t naive; it’s a defiance against caution.
“I’ll Make It Up to You” carries the tone of hope rather than remorse, a song that lifts rather than lingers. With bright harmonies and a steady, heart-forward rhythm, it feels like a promise to move forward, a gentle reminder that reconciliation can sound joyful too.
By “Strawberry Road,” the duo begin to stretch time. The piano tiptoes into jazz before sliding back into the familiar twang of Americana. Here, memory feels like a playground for doubt: “All these things you thought you’ve known / You don’t.” The song sounds like someone tracing the edge between illusion and truth, as if nostalgia itself were a riddle to be solved.
“Take It Too Far” feels like a reprieve, a crooked grin after introspection. Tom West’s piano flutters with barroom mischief while Goodman muses on restraint and its inevitable breaking point. It’s cheerful, but beneath that charm lingers a quiet rebellion: the desire to speak freely even when the world prefers silence.
The album’s title track, “Walk Among the Poppies,” is its emotional fulcrum. It’s spacious, hypnotic, and biting all at once, a sonic paradox that echoes its own message. The poppies here are not delicate flowers but metaphors for those who rise too tall in a world eager to cut them down. Goodman sings not from bitterness but from resilience; the repetition of the phrase “walk among the poppies” turns into an act of resistance, a mantra for surviving disillusionment with one’s integrity intact.
“Mountains” follows with a gritty sort of playfulness, balancing darkness with irony. There’s rebellion in its rhythm and poetry in its restraint. The imagery: rocks, dirt, castles melting grain by grain, feels like a parable on impermanence, reminding us that even the grandest human creations eventually crumble into the same dust from which they rose.
Then comes “Back in Time,” a short, bright duet that pulls us out of philosophy and into memory. It’s cinematic, almost childlike in tone, two voices reminiscing about awkward youth, about what it felt like to be unguarded. There’s a sweetness to it that feels earned, not nostalgic for the sake of it, but grateful for the clumsy beauty of having once been unsure.
“Perfect Star” tenderly restores the album’s reflective core. It’s both lullaby and manifesto, a song that tells its listener not to chase perfection but to inhabit imperfection with grace. “Don’t you know you’re good enough?” Goodman asks, not rhetorically, but like someone who’s finally begun to believe his own question.
And then, in a sudden turn, “Birds Aren’t Real,” the closer, dives into absurdity with astonishing precision. It’s layered, manic, and oddly profound. What begins as satire on conspiracy culture becomes something more philosophical: a study of paranoia, control, and the strange poetry of collective delusion. “Beautifully designed, looking inside our minds,” Goodman sings, and the line lands as both accusation and confession. The chaos feels deliberate, the madness orchestrated. The album ends not with a bow, but a smirk.
Across its ten tracks, Walk Among the Poppies unfolds like a dialogue between cynicism and hope. Goodman and Charles don’t just make music; they stage small acts of rebellion against despair. Each song, in its own way, asks whether freedom is a sound you can tune into, and whether, perhaps, believing it exists is enough.
Major Spark have made an album that hums with conviction, even when it questions everything. It reminds us that sincerity doesn’t have to be soft, and optimism doesn’t have to be naive. Sometimes, it’s just the sound of someone still trying, still walking and still shining among the poppies.
