Parkay Quarts channels digital discontent in newest album 'Content Nausea'

It’s nearly impossible to find a band today that rejects the lure of social media as adamantly as the Brooklyn quartetParquet Courts. While the vast majority of popular artists (and even those who operate under the radar, for that matter) succumb to the supposedly indisputable claim that digital marketing is “the future,” Parquet Courts has shunned this idea and proven that band members don't need to rely on digital gimmicks to make it as musicians. One major example of this attitude is the confusing monikers the musicians have adopted; "Parquet Courts" refers to the full quartet, while "Parkay Quarts" signifies a duo comprised of two of the group's members. Additionally, the band has returned to old-school analogue releases and antiquated promotional techniques like hand-making its own flyers and organically building up a fan base through live shows.

Though it may at first appear counterintuitive, it’s not shocking that the band has drawn so much attention over the past year. The media tends to obsess over anything unusual and anomalous; critics, in particular, seem fascinated by a band that refuses to partake in what many accept as the 21st-century lifestyle. But the praise Parquet Courts has received is well-deserved. Aside from giving the metaphorical middle finger to the digital spin, Parquet Courts is a great band on its own merit, with witty lyrics and raw performances to back up its dissidence.

On Nov. 10, one-half of Parquet Courts, Andrew Savage and Austin Brown, released “Content Nausea” as Parkay Quarts. The album is a culmination of Savage and Brown's lo-fi punk disillusion. Recorded on a four-track tape machine in a mere two weeks, "Content Nausea" stands in defiance of the music industry standard of overproduction and months-long marketing campaigns. The record features striking visceral energy and flaunts a consistently despondent attitude toward the zest for "virtual consumption" that dominates modern life.

The title track begins with chugging guitars and a marching beat, over which vocalist Savage chants about his dissatisfaction with the information age. Perhaps the most important song on the album, it eventually gives way to a lengthy spoken-word monologue in which Savage decries the human race’s so-called progress: “This year it became harder to be tender / Harder and harder to remember / Meeting a friend, writing a letter / Being lost, antique ritual / All lost to the ceremony of progress.” Full of powerful lyrics and remarkably eloquent insights, “Content Nausea” sets a high bar for the rest of the album.

Fortunately, this standard is met by each subsequent track. Rather than put the listener to sleep, Savage’s monotone vocals and limited range work perfectly with the theme of "Content Nausea" and even become oddly endearing by the end.

Given the record's intense lyrics, it is tempting to give the words precedence over the musical aspects of a song. Still, Parkay Quarts’ signature lo-fi style retains its value. For example, "Pretty Machines," a highlight of the album and by far the catchiest number, begins with an addictive guitar hook over a simple chord progression to which listeners cannot help but nod along. Later, this melody is surrounded by an ensemble of kazoos in an interlude reminiscent of Frank Zappa’s “Freak Out!” (1966) days.

Vocally, Savage is at his most melodic as he confronts punk rock’s reputation of non-conformism: “Punk songs, I thought that they were different / And I thought that they could end it / No, no it was a deception.” He also discusses his own fallibility, saying he too has been tricked by consumerist society, an admission which offers a nice moment of unity between Savage and those he condemns for their addiction to vapid click-bait.

Toward the end of “Content Nausea,” the band delivers a snarky rendition of Nancy Sinatra’s “These Boots Are Made For Walkin'” (1966), during which Savage violently screams, “You ready boots? Start walkin'!” After this memorable cover, the last standout on the album is the final track, “Uncast Shadow of a Southern Myth.” As the title suggests, the song summons impressions of the American South, with vivid images that describe the story of a man who shoots trespassers on his property. The darkness of the tale is reflected in the somber chord changes under Savage’s heavy vocals. By the end of "Uncast," the initial gloom erupts into a hectic melee of screaming and dissonant guitar twangs. Though the song departs from the album’s thematic roots, it’s a poignant conclusion for an album bred out of frustration.

Some may accuse Parkay Quarts of being overly caustic in its criticisms while failing to offer up any solutions. Nevertheless, it is apparent that the band practices what it preaches; it’s no small feat for a modern band to build itself up without an active social media presence. Moreover, Brown and Savage’s lyrics evoke an emotional response from the listener, perhaps because their disillusionment with technology and capitalism is so warranted and familiar. As Savage says during his frenzied monologue on the album's title track, “No one says it but it’s known / the more connected, the more alone.”