James Righton - The Performer (LP)

James Righton’s first solo album under his own name lands with the kind of soft-focus confidence that feels both new and oddly familiar. Released in March 2020 on DEEWEE, the label run by David and Stephen Dewaele of Soulwax, The Performer finds the former Klaxons lynchpin stepping away from neon rave signifiers into a world of satin lapels, late-night croon and velvety strings. You can hear the DEEWEE stamp in the clean lines and analogue warmth. It was co-produced and mixed at the Dewaeles’ studio in Ghent, and the sound is immaculate without feeling airless, like a well-loved 70s record pulled from a careful sleeve.

Righton’s always had a theatrical streak. With Klaxons he helped steer a Mercury Prize winner in 2007, but here the spectacle is smaller and slyer. The title track opens the curtain. The Performer rolls in on a stately piano figure and a melody that glows like a dimming theatre sign. It’s a song about the act of being watched and the hangover that follows, a character study that reads as intimate but never confessional for the sake of it. He sings with a measured, almost Bryan Ferry-like poise, letting little cracks show at the edges.

What makes the record click is how it sits in the pocket between glam romance and everyday doubt. The production nods to Roxy Music and early solo Ferry, sure, but Righton keeps it personal. The rhythm section is tight and unfussy, the guitars chime rather than strut, and the synths are all tasteful glow. Edie is the album’s tender heart, a slow-bloom ballad built on a patient pulse and the softest brush of strings. It’s written with the kind of economy that suggests he knows exactly when to step back and let a chord change do the heavy lifting. The arrangement leaves space for his voice to carry a lot of weight, and he rises to it.

Throughout the record he plays with persona, but not in a winking way. The songs consider the cost of charisma and the moments when the mirror fogs over. There’s a cinematic quality to the pacing. Side A frames the world, Side B shades it in. You can tell Righton trusts the album as a format. Tracks bleed into each other with purpose, small motifs recur, and you get that lovely feeling of arrival when the closer folds the curtain on the themes he’s been toying with since track one.

DEEWEE’s involvement matters. The Dewaeles know how to make retro textures feel present, and their approach serves Righton well. The drums have body without thump, the bass sits warm and centred, and the strings never swamp the mix. It’s a record that rewards a decent turntable setup. If you’re the sort who files your shelves by mood, The Performer vinyl will nestle alongside 70s art-pop and graceful singer-songwriter fare. The pressing lets those lush arrangements and satin synths breathe, and the whole thing has that play-it-all-the-way-through flow that keeps your hand off the skip button.

For fans who know him from Klaxons, the shift isn’t a hard left turn so much as a reveal. The knack for hooks is still there, just dressed differently. The choruses land softly but stick around. You come away humming a bassline or a string figure rather than a massive synth riff. It’s music for twilight drives or the last glass before bed, and it wears repeat plays well.

If you’re crate digging, keep an eye out for James Righton vinyl on DEEWEE. It sits nicely in a Melbourne record store bin next to your Roxy and Rundgren, and it’s a smart pick if you like albums that value atmosphere as much as melody. Those browsing vinyl records Australia will find it a strong gateway into the world of James Righton albums on vinyl, especially if you missed his post-Klaxons pivot. And if you prefer to buy James Righton records online, The Performer is the one to start with. It’s a compact, confident set that captures the thrill and the ache of putting on a show, then slipping quietly out the stage door.