Still, being as preternaturally disposed to weirdness as these guys are, Oddfellows all but refuses to take the path of least resistance. For every forward-marching “Oddfellows”, there’s an unholy jazz-grunge-“Cop Killer” mutant like “Rise Up Dirty Waters”, or an open-ended creeper like “Baby Let’s Play ____”, swelling like the score to a dusty horror flick. By and large, these songs rarely end up anywhere near where they started, or where you’d expect them to. For a listener, this has kind of a decentering effect; with all the moving parts— and especially with Patton slinking around in the corners, looking for a good place to scream— you could play Oddfellows a couple dozen times and still not feel like you’d caught everything it throws at you. But keeping things a little uncomfortable is certainly the goal here; these songs have this kind of festering, acid-stomach chemistry to them, weird and unsettling even when they’re not particularly trying to be. And even the more straightforward stuff here get a little grislier once Patton comes along: he speaks of faces in pillows, makes a request for rope. Oddfellows leaves you constantly on edge, bludgeoned with riffs, gleefully dreading another of Patton’s not-so-sweet-nothings, waiting for these songs to jerk you into another time signature or maybe another genre altogether.