Content Providers by Palm Ghosts

CONTENT PROVIDERS is not just an album, it's a howl from the neon gulag of 2025, where rock bands aren’t bands anymore, but social media vending machines doling out dopamine and desperation in equal measure. Nashville’s Palm Ghosts, ever the beautiful bastards of post-punk gloom and cinematic pop, have cracked the mirror and are pointing to the ugly thing squirming behind it. These eleven songs don’t whisper or plead; they seethe, spiral, and spit in the face of algorithmic servitude. There’s blood under the fingernails of every chorus. You can hear the band clawing for something real in the white noise of followers, filters, and faux vulnerability. This is a world where authenticity has been weaponized, where the artist is just a dancing bear with a ring light and a Patreon account. So Content Providers does what any sane record would do—it loses its mind on tape. There are echoes of Gang of Four wielding a synth like a machete, Joy Division driving a burning Tesla into a lake, and sweet, sweet melodies that feel like postcards from a collapsing civilization written in faux-blood and tears. It’s ironic and earnest, brutal and beautiful. These aren’t just songs—they’re dispatches from the front lines of the culture war, love letters from a future where creation is consumption and silence is the only real rebellion. If the internet is a prison, Content Providers is the riot in the yard. God help us all.

Palm Ghosts is the sound of an 80s prom in a war zone…located in the dead heart of country music, Nashville, TN.

More at home in rainy Manchester, the quartet weaves cinematic dream pop and new wave with brooding post punk.

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