Greg Freeman’s third album All Set the Bone feels, at its best and most nervy, like an off-brand pressure cooker: too hot, bursting at its seams, rattling with kinetic energy. The Maryland-born singer-songwriter has a voice that often sounds like it’s straining at its limits, and although he is ostensibly part of a growing indierock revival that’s been taking hold over the past few years – a cosy perennial – there’s nothing particularly comfortable about the songs on this double album. On Marooned, frantic stabs of guitar and drums create queasy unease; opener Cahokia muddles up the catharsis of a great American road song, descending into proggy bedlam. And his lyrics most often drum up anxieties big and small: “Who do you look to when you’re all on your own?” he asks on Culture. “When all your heroes lost their microphones?”

Freeman broke out with last year’s Burnover, a set of taut story-songs that were at turns witty, delirious and devastating. Freeman’s secret was in his ability to weld that literary streak to loud, bolshy, riff-heavy music that wouldn’t sound out of place on mainstream rock radio. All Set the Bone is several orders more ambitious in its scale, and its songwriting, which is more imagistic and diffuse. The result is an impressive record but one that’s less immediately appealing. Freeman wrote it while travelling through the US and reckoning with “a lot of change in my personal sense of … everything”, and you can hear that searching quality in the final product. All Set the Bone contains fewer fireworks than Burnover, but Freeman still has plenty of spark.