Mikal Cronin might not be the best-known of California’s latterday garage-rock pack, but he is perhaps the keenest to experiment. On his third album, MCIII, you can practically hear him rubbing his hands with glee as he stuffs his songs with joyous strings and horns, which couch his most emphatic and vulnerable moments. In places, the effect is of an orchestral, almost claustrophobic Shins in its singalong simplicity. But Cronin is at his best when he is not doing things straightforwardly. Alone begins with a melodramatic, 80s cruise-ship instrumental, followed by Cronin’s quiver of “I’m alone” and a skeletal acoustic melody building into a lung-puncturing rock-with-horns epic. Another unconventional tune, Say’s dance-punk cowbell, krautrock drive and rousing rock guitar is, curiously, like Foo Fighters covering Liquid Liquid. And then there’s Gold, both a badass garage rocker and a whimsical 60s pop tune, which kicks up desert dust with its stompy drums, sweet harmonies, molten distortion and strumming so hard it could draw blood. Cronin’s previous album was something of a messy listen, and MCIII doesn’t offer the solution. But behind the debris, there are glimmers of shimmering greatness.
