Following the catatonia of the Shorty, Al Johnson and Mark Shippy persist along a twisted and deeply personal line that is absolutely enduring.
The debut in the post-grunge year of 1995 is chronologically precise.
Someone was needed to bring back to mind the drunken breath of some mid-Eighties shouter...
The lights that shone the most in the world of art, but also of business, were the expired noise of the dawn of a "Dirty" or puzzles akin to June Of '44. Bringing back the spiral of the loop and the colorful feedback of Seeds and Red Krayola, crumpling rhythms with Beefheart-like screams, is the recipe drawn upon by many. Some are meteors, others remain unappreciated even today, and a select few have managed not to age twenty years later.
I said.. do you know U.S. Maple?.
This intriguing band name from the late Seventies industrial era disturbs us with a boozy, defiant, anarchic blues. Just imagine folks who, not having been born in the Flower Power era, delight the poor souls of their decade. They launch the time machine or the eternal cure for minds disgusted by the paucity of low instincts. Thus, the name of the first work is "Long Hair In Three Stages".
It is so impossible to derive a definition from the mental block that "Hey King" triggers in us. An opening not blandly shot at a thousand miles an hour.
What is launched into our ears are succulent ideas and psychic harmonies translated into music.
There is the heartbeat, the false hallucination spat into the dark, the sense of vulnerability, the boredom, the thought you would rather not have. Each track presents, of course, a disturbing ambient, but not because there is a strict adherence to the rules of a genre. They would never stick to that. The songs, when they end, leave a bitter taste in our mouths without mercy, as if something is always slipping away from us, as if it is never enough.
Like drawing a sketch on a sheet of paper with your eyes closed.
"Letter To ZZ Top" is not the usual messy collage played just to fill an album.
An album... have you ever thought about what a record is? It should be the work of an artist, that is, showing the soul of someone who has the chance to delight other subjects, adhering to the category of the musician.
"You Know What Will Get You You Know Where" is an example of their rhythmic decomposition, even if other episodes refer to the Jesus Lizard of "Goat", as in "When A Man Says Ow".
A sound capable of controlling itself and collapsing thanks to a voice in trepidation or sometimes in doubtful excitement. Fortunately, it's not clear what sensation Al Johnson wants to convey to us. That's where it all lies.
It makes us free to shape our sitting on the watts of his band. The guitars of Shippy and Rittman run neurotic until they find peace in the Eden of unexpected bridges, as in "The State Is Bad". "Home Made Stuff" and "Stuck" feature tribal mid-tempo, staggering breaks, and a spill into the vortex of strings.
Like being flooded by the saturation of a jack unplugged with the amplifier on...
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