By conventional standards, US Maple does not add "pleasing ambiance." You won't hear Talker echoing through the airy, pastel-walled halls of the homes in the Pottery Barn catalog, or catch Martha Stewart cranking it up while she makes something precious out of corn husks. Talker is more like the seventh hour of a nine-hour drive in an un-air-conditioned car, with two full-bladdered hyperactive children in the back seat and no rest stop for 50 miles. It's tense, often brutal, and prolonged listening may do odd, subtle things to your mind. The band's dual guitar assault initially seems disjointed if not outright dysfunctional, as if guitarists Shippy and Rittman aren't quite willing to acknowledge each other's presence. Vocalist Al Johnson, meanwhile, seems more low-key than usual, sounding rather like Pere Ubu's David Thomas combatting an attack of Tourette's Syndrome with heavy sedation. Indeed, much like Pere Ubu, US Maple operates within parameters of barely controlled chaos -- essentially, they grab chaos, slap a saddle on it and ride it down the road -- but if you listen carefully, you'll occasionally get insights into the big picture. Chaos, after all, is merely lack of perspective, right?