During its afternoon set three weeks ago at the PDX Pop Now! festival, Bark Hide and Horn began its set by playing the first verse of Bob Dylan’s “When the Ship Comes In.” For a folk-pop band so keen on the natural world, the choice seemed very apropos—it’s a protest song about The Man bathed in nautical references—and also, oddly comforting. It’s about time BH&H’s ship came in.

Three years after its initial formation, Bark Hide and Horn has finally released its debut full-length record, the masterfully composed and sprawling sing-along diary National Road. Inspired by singer Andy Fergeson’s large collection of vintage National Geographic magazines, the record narrates the supposed adventures of Melville Bell Grosvenor, editor of the mag from 1957 to 1967 and grandson of Alexander Graham Bell. Based on articles from the magazine and Fergeson’s own take (he imagines Grosvenor as a lunatic), National Road touches on subjects both scientific (an enslaved honey ant, the first chimpanzee in outer space) and personal (the disgruntled spouse of a staff writer).

Sure, it’s a concept record, but National Road works because the songs (geeky as they may be) never get too conceptually intimidating. In fact, this is one of the most immediately gratifying local pop records to come around in a long time—an hourlong journey that shifts from the gentle folk of “Melville, My Boy” to ridiculously catchy pop songs like “Grandfather,” awash in twinkling keyboards and a furious blues breakdown. Fergeson’s sing-shouting voice is as unpredictable as the music, caterwauling between fragile soft-key ballads like “Treasure of the Everglades” and the howling, stomping folk-pop of “Jacques Cousteau.”

Almost every moment of National Road is filled with something—vibraphone and bass courtesy of Peter Valois, the rattling percussion of Dusty Dybvig, Brian Garvey’s exuberant trumpet and smooth keys. And while it doesn’t always coalesce perfectly, the record is filled with enough musical nuance, in support of Fergeson’s deft storytelling, to warrant far more than a background listen. The beauty of National Road is that you can take it as far as you want to go: An Oregon Museum of Science of Industry summer camp instructor might hear a song about tree snails mating and scramble for the liner notes. Me, I hear a shuffling pop song with a squiggly, Summerteeth-era Wilco synth and the sincere refrain of “Would you let me into your life, darling?” I toss the CD case aside and press repeat.