Nathan Fake - Providence (2LP)

In March 2017, Nathan Fake returned with Providence on Ninja Tune, a sharp pivot that felt both personal and revitalized. For fans who met him via Border Community and the halo around The Sky Was Pink, this record lands like a new chapter. The mood is leaner and nervier, yet still full of that glowing, windswept synth work he’s always done so well. It is his fourth studio album, and it plays like someone shaking off dust and stepping back into the light with a few new scars and a restless pulse.

Providence leans into contrast. There are moments of bracing clarity and then smudged, gauzy passages that seem to arrive like weather. The sequencing keeps you on your toes. Beats slide in at odd angles, then dissolve. Pads billow up with coastal brightness, then retreat into the kind of midnight hum you feel more than hear. It is a record you can map emotionally even if you never check the track list, which says a lot about Fake’s touch. He can build tension with a single stubborn arpeggio, then puncture it with a snap of percussion or a shard of melody that rings out like a lighthouse horn.

Two guest spots reframe his palette in memorable ways. DEGREELESSNESS brings in Dominick Fernow, better known as Prurient, whose voice sits like a ghost in the circuitry. It is not a big, showy feature. You hear textures more than words, a human grain threaded through heaving low end and high, blotted synths. The track feels like cold air rushing under a door. Then there’s ENIGMA with Raphaelle Standell-Preston of Braids, a warm counterbalance. Her vocal hovers above bright, almost iridescent patterns, giving the song a lift that lingers long after the drums fade. These collaborations are smart and restrained, stitched into the fabric rather than pasted on.

What stands out across Providence is the sense of immediacy. The music often feels played rather than programmed, with timing that breathes and small imperfections left in place. Kicks don’t always land in a locked grid. Filter sweeps wobble, basslines curl back on themselves like smoke. It gives the album life. You can picture the room, the dials being ridden in real time, the patience to let a motif earn its finale. When the tempo lifts, the rush is earned. When it drops, the space fills with detail, tiny percussion ticks and harmonics that clink like glass.

It is easy to imagine these tracks working at peak hour, but Providence is also rewarding at home on a slow night. Turn it up and the stereo image opens, layers stacking into soft friction. That is where the record really wins, in the way it invites close listening without ever feeling fussy. It keeps you in the moment. No grand concept, just a compelling run of pieces that each have a pulse and a point of view.

If you are crate-digging, Providence vinyl is a sweet spot for listeners who want something textural and contemporary, with just enough grit to cut through a busy system. Ninja Tune’s presentation does the music a favor, giving those subby lines room to bloom. The sparkle up top feels alive rather than brittle, so volume pays off. Flip it and the pacing works like a good DJ set, with tension reset at the side change. If you already collect Nathan Fake vinyl, this one earns a place next to Drowning in a Sea of Love and Steam Days, a marker of where the sound has traveled.

I still think about how easily Providence sits between worlds. It nods to the Border Community era, but it also chats with the broader left-field club sphere of the late 2010s. Not in a copycat way. More like an artist catching stride again, trusting instinct, letting the machinery sing. That is why it remains a go-to recommendation when folks ask for Nathan Fake albums on vinyl that balance melody and movement. If you’re hunting around a Melbourne record store, keep an eye out for it on the wall. And if you prefer to buy Nathan Fake records online, you won’t have trouble finding a clean copy through the usual shops, including plenty that ship vinyl records Australia wide.

Providence doesn’t announce itself with big gestures. It just sticks around, track after track, mood after mood, until you realize you’ve let the whole thing roll and you’re reaching back to side A without thinking. That is the mark of a keeper.