Mick Harvey - Four (Acts Of Love) (LP) - Clear Vinyl

Released in April 2013 on Mute, Four (Acts of Love) finds Mick Harvey deep in his element, paring songs back to bone and breath and leaving the air to do the rest. If you came to him through The Birthday Party or those classic early runs with Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds, you know his touch. He’s a master of restraint, a musician who understands that tension and space can carry as much feeling as a chorus ever could. This is his sixth solo record, a song cycle that circles love from several angles, not with grand gestures but with small, precise movements that linger.

Harvey has always favored economy. He produces his own work, plays a clutch of instruments, and builds arrangements that feel lived in rather than overdressed. Here the palette is intimate. Clean guitar lines, murmuring bass, brushed percussion, a lonely organ in the corner. His voice sits close to the mic, low and steady, like an unhurried conversation after midnight. The record chases connection through memory and devotion, then shows how quickly those things can shimmer and change. It’s not a concept album in the fussy sense. It’s more a sequence that breathes, each track answering the previous one with a question.

Part of the pleasure is how he threads covers into originals so the seams vanish. Harvey has a long history of interpreting other writers with rare empathy, and his reading of Lou Reed’s The Bed is a standout. He doesn’t try to outdo Berlin’s devastation. He just steps closer, softens the light, and lets the ache register line by line. The choice fits the record’s obsession with love’s shadows and the promises we can’t keep. Elsewhere, his own writing carries that same unblinking gaze, settling into scenes that feel familiar without tipping into cliché. He’s never been a sentimentalist. He prefers clarity, and these songs have it.

That clarity is sonic too. Four (Acts of Love) is the kind of record that rewards good speakers and quiet rooms. On vinyl, the sense of scale becomes obvious. He arranges the dynamics like chapters, so side breaks feel natural, almost purposeful. You drop the needle and the room narrows. A guitar harmonic glints. A snare sighs. It’s easy to imagine this sitting next to his Gainsbourg tributes on your shelf, a neat thread that runs from his translator’s ear to his own slow-burn storytelling. For anyone hunting Mick Harvey vinyl, this one earns a spot because it captures what makes him singular without leaning on history.

It didn’t slip by critics either. UK papers noted its calm resolve and the precision of the writing, while indie outlets praised the record’s unity and the way it draws a whole world with modest tools. Harvey’s never chased headlines, so the praise felt like what it is here, a quiet nod to craftsmanship. He knows how to show character with a single chord change. He knows when to leave silence where other players would reach for strings. It’s a small record in the best sense, built for repeat listens and late nights.

There’s also the pleasure of hearing an artist in full command of his pace. He doesn’t rush the hooks or telegraph the turns. He trusts the listener. That’s rare now, and it makes Four (Acts of Love) feel almost out of time. If you’ve spent years with the Bad Seeds’ catalog and want a kindred atmosphere with a different center of gravity, start here. It’s warmer, more interior, and still noir around the edges. Spin it in a quiet apartment, or let it float across a shop after lunch. I first heard it in a Melbourne record store on a rainy afternoon, and it stuck with me for weeks.

If you’re building a shelf of Mick Harvey albums on vinyl, this sits comfortably beside One Man’s Treasure and Sketches from the Book of the Dead. And if you like to buy Mick Harvey records online, keep an eye out for Four (Acts of Love) vinyl when it pops up, since it tends to disappear quickly. It’s a record you’ll want for those nights when conversation drifts and the city goes quiet. For anyone crate-digging in a local shop, whether that’s a neighborhood spot or a Melbourne landmark catering to vinyl records Australia wide, grab it when you see it. The songs don’t shout for attention. They don’t need to. They just stay.