U.S. Maple - Talker (Album Review)

 

U.S. Maple - Talker

(1999)


My copy: 2019 repress by Drag City.


U.S. Maple emerged as one of the most creative bands to deconstruct rock tropes by maintaining a consistently unsettling atmosphere. Talker is their 1999 release, with recording aided by Micheal Gira of Swans. 

The wavering, high pitched buzzing of “Bumps And Guys” will make you question if your turntable is set to the right speed before the second guitar comes in. The drums repeatedly pound and build up, releasing the tension to crackling guitars and lumbering low-end. The drums imply a sense of malice while the guitars conversely stagger about with drunken indifference. The voice of Al Johnson is akin to the humoruous characters of Dennis Flemion from The Frogs but far more sinister. “Running From Kebab” begins with stick clicks while guitars ring out into a void: extra care is given to the low-end on the record, while guitar tones are made to sound cheap and flimsy purposefully, to exaggerate the aesthetic of unease. 

The band controls its listeners merely with the threat of loudness: occasionally drunken melodies pierce the curtain of darkness, but mostly theirs is a sound of implied violence, like being in the back room of a seedy bar. “Go To Bruises” launches off with the most forward guitar progression and riffs that sound like a totally unhinged version of Polvo. The music tricks you into thinking its creators have no clue, but then a clever melody plays out at just the right moment. “More Horror” uses delayed guitar and powerful chords to drown you in atmosphere before a series of somehow in-time cacophonies crash about. 

The drums on “Apollo, Don’t You Crust?” create conflict by almost totally refraining from using cymbals while the bass tones exude pressure. The guitars use tremolo before trading riffs on “Breeze, It’s Your High School” where it becomes clear that there are elements of (though utterly deconstructed) blues rock. The ending is as light and contemplative as the record gets, with surprisingly calm guitar. The vocals sigh and beckon on “Stupid Deep Indoors” and even creep up to unsettling falsettos. Johnson’s voice is like the ultimate antithesis to pompous cries of popular 80s hard-rock bands: that is, he exaggerates his use of breath to create a villain rather than a cheesy hero. 

Track 8 has no title but stands out for its manipulation of feedback and guitar to produce ethereal ambiances at the end that sound closer to woodwinds than stringed instruments. “So Long Bonus” uses harmonics before the bass begins to flicker as if it were shuffling to death’s door. The song eventually strips to just guitar and voice, delivering the album’s most coherent hook just as the whole thing closes out. 

U.S. Maple have made a sacrifice out of rock music with their catalog. They will remain hated by yacht-rockers and self proclaimed “real musicians” who miss the genius of what is happening entirely. To be fair, there are tiring moments where some of the pretension becomes palpable, but mostly this is a collage of specific moods, pasted together with chopped and screwed guitar music. Sure, Talker is not a particularly catchy release, but its identity and resolve are incredibly distinct.

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