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Frank Alpine- Frank Alpine
Order-Nr.: vr026-2
Angebot : 14.00 Euro

nur 10.00 EURO
(incl. 19% Mwst.)


CD Wierd Records USA 2011

Beyond its facade as the fountainhead of American culture's glitz and
glamour, Los Angeles has always had equally, if not often more alluring
underbelly. Skid row squalor, gang wars, excesses of all varieties, and
the stench of vanity gone awry permeate the city, poised to overtake
the shimmering mirage of Hollywood idealism. Frank Alpine's eponymous
debut for Wierd Records is LA noir at its finest: a frenzy of
claustrophobic, danceable dread that skirts the line between
outer-directed nihilistic aggression and fragrant introversion.
Nocturnal synthesizers, isolated, frenetic, and monotonous, plot a
destination either to somewhere new and uncertain, or perhaps to nowhere
at all.

Frank Alpine is the alias of Rich Moreno, a veteran of LA's punk and
darkened indie underground scenes, as well as a former member of New
Collapse and The Boy Scouts of Annihilation. Alpine uses only consumer
Casio synths to create a sound that's so thick and so harsh at times, to
call it lo-fi would be to suggest something far weaker than the sounds
themselves express. And while the atmosphere and gritty electronics
might hearken to certain strains of industrial music or power
electronics, the decided pep of the songs, and their almost blues-like
simplicity situate Alpine's music much more squarely in the realms of
punk and even old-fashioned rock and roll. Whether "No Exit" intends to
reference Sartre's existential drama is irrelevant; the mood conjured
is apropos of a post-death limbo. The album's second track, "Heart is
Grey" finds Alpine crying out the song's title ad infinatum, as
if to take the tired tropes of mope rock and give them new life as the
ritualistic refrain of a headbanging electropunk dirge. And the
wordless, relentlessly menacing "Through Your Window" invites one to
nervously contemplate the voyeurism suggested by the song's title.
What's being seen, and by whom? Fascinating, yet remarkably
uncomplicated tricks such as these carry Frank Alpine's brand of minimal
electronics to areas both cerebral and viscerally primal.

While many contemporary electronic artists' sound hints, however heavily
or slightly, towards a European sensibility, Frank Alpine lives more in
the realm of David Lynch's disturbed Americana, or the sinister
aggression of No Wave. Somewhere between the warped intensity of the
former and the acidic straightforwardness of the latter, Alpine has
carved out his distinctive space: an eccentric loner squealing from
inside the decay, making noise with a pulse that's paranoid and
mechanical, yet unmistakably human.