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South America

by The Anatomy of Frank

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all_those_paths been listening to this album with my friends since it came out... Kyle has such a beautiful voice Favorite track: Andes.
abigailgenene thumbnail
abigailgenene This album is incredibly heartwarming and enjoyable. I can't wait to hear more from The Anatomy of Frank. My friends and I listened to the album while hanging out and it couldn't have been more enjoyable. Thank you for sharing your music with us! Favorite track: Ecuador (A New Year).
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jfiddy Thanks for the secret note on UVA campus!
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  • Compact Disc (CD) + Digital Album

    Includes a fold out poster and lyrics sheet and features cover art by Ecuador's own Viteri.

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    Includes unlimited streaming via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality downloads of South America, The Promised Land, August, North America, and Pangaea. , and , .

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  • LIMITED First Pressing 12" Vinyl LP w/ poster
    Record/Vinyl + Digital Album

    First ever Anatomy of Frank Vinyl run (!!!) with Poster and Lyrics. Features album cover art by Ecuador's own Viteri.

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airport and industry mangos and effigies a son and a daughter we swallow tap water, we’re fine in the morning I wake by myself and read her letters the fishermen sleeping I’m quietly creeping and reading the sides of the boats that they named for their kids we tear off our shirts in the moon, but we still fear the ocean why are we stuttering? no one is muttering dissatisfaction into our ears anymore we lost track of our shoes and we danced until two each one of us knowing the danger of showing our skin to our parents, and drowning our fears in a symphonic ocean, our faces in our beers a sudden arrival, a face full of tears we ran to the ocean, it’s how we bring in the New Year
the favela looks like an avalanche happened crumbled and come to rest down the mountain it’s a perfect view with some morning mist or for a photo to show my friends I’m an activist maybe I am, maybe the girl from Ipanema goes walking she holds her phone away from her ear when she’s talking and she sees me, and assumes that I want to give it to her just like every other guy maybe I do, maybe I’d tell you every hateful word I ever said and the trashy southern kid I left for dead is still scared to death by all the books he never read and my nighttime infidelities are rooted in some pornographic image as a kid, that made me think, “hey, I should date a Catholic” the part of me that always wants to be alone is buried by the parts that don’t the fathers are selling trash to the tourists the mothers are raising such feminist purists oh Mercadante, you’ve left the job undone cause as it turns out, girls don’t just want to have fun maybe you know, maybe I grew up in the only state that’s named after virginity and god, what does that do to kids, and god, what did it do to me? and Jesus watches over you from atop the Corcovado but his words have grown into a clichéd, boring ostinato good for stadiums and presidents for blessing all while you’re hurting them this city’s painting all the roses red making sure the air is full of lead there’ll be more of them after they’re all dead, won’t there? and if destruction be our lot, then we must do it to ourselves for we’ll die on our own terms and not the terms of someone else the part of me that always wants a happy home is buried by the parts that don’t
La Llorona 05:00
we boarded a bus to Santiago, taking turns at breathing air that blew through the window, hot and dusty, making urns out of our hair I’ve been wrung out into a bucket, I guess there wasn’t much there you drank every drop, and I must admit, I loved the way you held my stare I want to be used up and forgotten like those pretty girls at school who gave with their bodies what their intellect could not provide for you oh, you are hungry for the next thrill someone will challenge you to and if it isn’t there, the dragon will lead you to the next clue I’ll follow you down the rabbit hole there’s room for two my oxygen is running low and the autumn’s coming soon pull me out, pull me out I need to move you’ll be happier down here and I’ll be far from you you know what I like, don’t make me beg, come at me, bite me, choke me out I’m hanging on your every word from the rafters by a belt oh what was that I saw you whisper into that nice woman’s ear I’ll pass the summer in Colina, until I finally disappear pull me out, pull me out push me around, no no
I dug a soldier out of an armrest disfigured by a teething child I buried him where I found him I buried him where I found him you had let me take the front seat as we hurtled through Amazon air we swam upstream to the mountains we swam upstream to the mountains the treetops keep raining on us, even when the sky is done I played guitar while you slept in I played guitar while you slept in as I get older, I am tempted to shut down and not say anything at all you grabbed my hand as I jumped off write it down and throw it in the attic how do we lose it? I guess it’s automatic I am scared of age, but I’ll want you forever and that won’t change, even when this turns to desert this is how we lose it this is how we lose it when we’re old I’m happy to wake up I’m happy to wake up with you
Patagonia 05:37
our mothers are crying in the attic at our cribs lined with rust and the smell of a childhood that’s hiding in the books and the dust navigating oil slicks on the driveway read the headlines, pick up the news her marriage is an ornament that’s hanging on the front of the door his pants sit higher and his legs don’t grow much hair anymore we are recycling their story bringing disappointment in twos cause I’m not worth it, and you’re not worth it, and we’re not worth it and sometime, someday, I may be perfect, but I can’t be for you and if our children called the fields of Patagonia home and drank their milk from a dairy farm just up the road could they know innocence forever in the sense that innocence goes to prove that we both could have been so different if even half a fuck had been given do you remember the last time your father came and slept on our couch he had a demon in his cough, said Buenos Aires had rusted him out you laughed and kissed him on the forehead and dropped the phone when you got the news
our world is made of what we hear on the news and the fear we feel when we leave our homes we hang our hearts up on our bedroom walls for fear of caging them inside our bones we shielded our eyes when the Flying Boat appeared over Montevideo’s shore and brought with it the wonders that we carried in our bloodstreams and made us dream like we hadn’t before but you are the one who makes it all come true you are the one who makes it all come true I disappear into the blue every month or two I’m sure I’d never be heard from again retracing flight paths across the lonely ocean without a welcome, without a friend cause I don’t know how to inspire people I don’t know where to go anymore you are the one I’m coming home to you are the one I’m coming home to
oh my friend, I guess I knew you well though after all the silence, I found it hard to tell with all the hours in the van in every corner of the land holy mountain, you made us speak in tongues your valleys flow with bloodshed, scaring everyone and your shadow blocks the sun everywhere we try to run did I make you feel abused? did I make you feel tired? after all the changes I imposed it’d be worse than death to hear the tempo of your breath and the machines that moved your chest up and down up and down lonely mountain, to help you greet the end cause the cure tempts with numbness just around the bend and all that’s left of you, in time would be a drive safely sign and wrinkled eyes and my friend, I am lucky to have known you and it’s not the perfect love that I have shown you but nobody could have ever known to warn you
our parents’ house isn’t quite the wonder it used to be when we were younger always happy to bring our girlfriends home the driveway next to the flowered vine whose fingers grabbed onto the power lines the green they thought would save them made them old the kitchen shiny with copper kettles that warm with the glow of the sun that settles above the sink, giving auras to our hairs white walls still tremble with faint vibrations of whispered crying and accusations our quiet breath, as we listened from the stairs to keep our hands from shaking when they sat us down on the floor we climbed the moonlit hills (climbed the moonlit hills) from our windowsills (from our windowsills) watched him smoke down on the porch (watched him on the porch) dreaming of divorce (did we hurt him more) more things to forget the clouds drag their stomachs across the mountain we pick flakes of rust off the garden fountain and drink for the reasons they warned us of in school cause there’s nothing so terrible to withstand as the anger of a gentle man he hits the table and kicks away his stool to keep the hacienda alive for another year we climbed the moonlit hills (climbed the moonlit hills) from our windowsills (from our windowsills) watched him down below (watched him down below) will he ever know (that we loved him so) so much to forget
are you still attractive? it’s been longer than it seems my day’s still mostly ruined when you choose to haunt my dreams when I see your picture, my face starts to burn cause I imagine I’d still have you if only I’d waited my turn but I forced it and of course, ignored all of your warning calls that I’d have a better chance when age had ironed out our flaws but I’m still underwater, craving air from your lungs I’m still underwater I’m still underwater we were young, and I was hungry for that burning heat to wonder how such a girl could ever yearn for me so drag me to the bottom, tie me to the sunken coast I can hold my breath, just promise you’ll undo the ropes and when you swam away, I heard that you were doing fine but I stayed down there forever, it seemed, before I realized sometimes I think I’ll tie the knots again in case you change your mind I’m still underwater I’m still underwater
Andes 04:44
when I was eight or nine I would wake at night to see an old woman in my backyard through the blinds shaking in my bed, my eyes out the window never saw her face, just a hat and a red coat on that night, with the moon you could see the woods around the yard, the door into my parents’ room I knew if I screamed, she’d turn around and spot me so I cried alone, allowing her to haunt me I was scared and I’m still scared of what I can’t undo we put ourselves through hell and come out battered and bruised and put the touches on our makeup, wake up anew as my fourth decade comes around how quickly we are broken, beaten, choked, bury our heads in the ground shaking on a plane, the mountains all around me wondering if my need to run will ever ground me I know you had a lot to say that you couldn’t you could let it shape your fears, but you shouldn’t
Viteri 06:42
our mother drove home late at night slowly following the lights green and red and blinking bright her boat hit a sandbar and stopped on a dime my little brother was thrown off the boat got his wind knocked out, but nothing broke our mother hit the wheel with her throat it damaged her voice and she couldn't sing a tone and I would give anything to go back and guide her home that foggy night with the lake dark and cold she cried at the table but couldn't be consoled at the image of her son disappearing into the dark our dad was too young to be left alone his mother went quiet on the phone and turned as white as ocean foam they got in the Chevy and didn't speak a word his older brother was on the second floor in a hospital bed in his summer shorts my father watched him from the door they waited for him in the hallway outside thinking they'd give anything to have given him a ride he'd been with three other teenagers, none of whom survived he called out for my dad to come to his bedside and my dad hurried, but he didn't get there in time somehow, through the ache of love that lost its receiving end his parents moved his brother's clothes to the attic in a bin and they honored him at meals and holidays his parents had less to say to each other your grandpa's a celebrity well past his seventies he's the artist I will never be he's commissioned for paintings by presidents and kings he pulled a quarter from his shirt pocket showed me the dent and the hole in it he'd been out painting by the shed when a fit of frustration and inspiration came he pulled out his rifle and took a steady aim fired into the canvas and a bullet ricocheted hit him in the heart and he fell in a daze he reached for the wound and found 25¢ in change somehow, through the ache of love that's lost its youthful shine we danced to his phonograph and laughed until we cried and mom, you can still sing with me, I'd love it so and dad, I promise not to leave before you go and Viteri, you still bring us all such joy and we'll remember you as an eighty year-old boy


The second installment in the Anatomy of Frank's continents project, this album was recorded entirely in South America (Puembo, Ecuador, to be exact). We are proud to present it to you, along with our unabashed gratitude to our friends who are a part of it and all those who have helped along the way.


released September 1, 2017

Recorded by Stephen Cope in Puembo, Ecuador January-March 2017
Mastered by Alan Douches
Special thanks to David and his family.
Cover Art by Viteri


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The Anatomy of Frank Charlottesville, Virginia

The Anatomy of Frank will record an album on every continent on earth. Europe is next. "The Anatomy of Frank blend the complexity of post-rock with the immediate likability of pop-rock to create music that will get stuck in your head without ever driving you crazy." - Pretty Much Amazing ... more

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