"Do I shout it out?/ Do I let it go?/ Do I even know what I'm waiting for?/ No, I want it now/ Do I need it, though?" Throughout MCII, Mikal Cronin gets in these ruts. His lyrics are delivered as someone who's never fully sure of his next move and who's completely unclear about his ambitions. He's sure that he's in love, but he keeps letting it slip away. Somehow, he keeps mucking up his day-to-day communication. It never used to be like this. He keeps talking about how time is getting away from him, which might be his way of acknowledging a crisis about getting older, though it's just as likely that he's accidentally spending hours clicking on YouTube videos. He wonders if he's wrong. (He doesn't think so.) He consistently has good intentions, but he's inadvertently prone to choking on the follow-through. He sums up his turmoil pretty well in "See It My Way": "I hear the song-- I wanna sing along with you/ But when I try I’m out of tune/ I turn and walk away." It's a sweet and snappy sentiment from someone who's ultimately out of sync. This is Cronin's pop poetry for the aloof.
So it's somewhat ironic that MCII is also his most fully realized, beautifully arranged, and well-crafted work to date. Since he's spent the past year shredding for the masses in the Ty Segall Band, it's easy to forget that he recently earned his B.F.A. in Music and learned how to compose for different instruments. He rightly noted that his education came in handy for his Merge debut, which subs out some of the psych freakouts from his first album for string arrangements. K. Dylan Edrich, who recently contributed strings to Thee Oh Sees' most recent two albums, lends her talents to a handful of songs, from the plaintive violin solo on "Peace of Mind" to the frantic viola on "Change".
One of the most impressive things about MCII is how Cronin balances "power" and "pop". He makes the "pop" part of the equation look effortless-- in 10 songs, he offers 10 solid, catchy melodies. When it comes to "power," he's much more conservative than he's ever been before-- especially when you consider Slaughterhouse. There are entirely acoustic songs here that pretty well prove that he doesn't need to rely on punk rock sludge. So when the tender stuff is over and he steps on the fuzz pedal, the effects are extremely satisfying.
Album closer "Piano Mantra", for example, begins with a particularly fragile-sounding Cronin singing "I’m tired, I’m sick, I’m broke up." Edrich's strings are quietly introduced, then an acoustic guitar and some drums, and finally at the end, a feedback screech ushers in a distorted electric guitar. It doesn't even take center stage or threaten to become the main attraction-- it just adds a sturdy, noisy spine to Cronin's formerly delicate ballad. Everything-- strings, fuzz, slide guitar, etc.-- is purposefully and carefully implemented. He uses the more muscular sounds to offset his bubblegum jangle, and while he did ask Ty Segall to lend a hand on the album, he only brought him on board for two guitar solos. Neither are very flashy-- they're well-placed bursts of power that complement the melody.
There's one moment in particular that puts to rest any notion that Cronin is just a glorified garage sideman: "Don't Let Me Go", the only track Cronin recorded entirely by himself at home. It's just him, his acoustic guitar, and his voice singing both the melody and harmony. With that skeletal structure, he loses the "I'm not sure what's next or why I act like this" tone and gets straight to the point. He pleads for the person he loves to give him another shot. "You're all I know," he sings in his falsetto. It's the most direct, vulnerable statement he's ever made, and in an album otherwise packed with uncertainty, it's powerful.
Cronin has said that his first favorite album was Nirvana's In Utero-- a record noisily recorded with Steve Albini before the band went to R.E.M./Katrina and the Waves producer Scott Litt to soften a couple of the album's songs. There's a loose analogy at play here-- Cronin recorded MCII with Eric "King Riff" Bauer at his Bay Area shred factory, Bauer Mansion. Later, he had the album mixed and mastered at Berkeley's hallowed Fantasy Studios. (Cronin has admitted that he got the idea from Segall, who worked in those same two studios for Twins.) The outcome is a great sounding album that sits nicely between the poles of "fuzz war" and "cooing balladeer." Cronin has proved with this album that, like Cobain before him, he's so much more than a longhair with a fuzz pedal. He's an excellent pop craftsman who knows how to turn the power up for maximum effect.
