Westerman - An Inbuilt Fault (LP)

Westerman’s second album, An Inbuilt Fault, arrived on 5 May 2023 via Partisan Records, and it feels like the moment his songwriting stepped out of the sleek, airbrushed light of his debut and into something more lived in. The London-born songwriter made a name for himself with hushed melodies and clear lines that drew comparisons to Talk Talk and Arthur Russell. Here he leans into grain and pressure, the kind of frayed edges that make a record linger after the last note fades.

A big part of that shift comes down to the partnership with James Krivchenia of Big Thief, who co-produced and plays on the record. Krivchenia is a restless sound thinker, and you can hear his hand in the way these songs breathe. The drums have more thump and sway, guitars press a little harder, textures brush against each other rather than slotting cleanly into place. It suits Westerman’s voice, which still floats in a high, unhurried register but now rides arrangements that feel more tactile, almost like a small band in a room rather than a laptop world.

Take “CSI: Petralona,” a standout that nods to the Athens neighborhood where Westerman spent time writing. The track balances a nervous pulse with luminous chords, and the lyric watches the city with a diarist’s eye. He is not writing travelogues though. He is chasing the ways memory misbehaves, how blame and grace ricochet inside a person. Across the album he worries at those ideas with language that is gentle one minute and knotty the next, which makes the title feel like a mission statement. Faults are not just cracks to fix here, they are the shape of the thing.

The production keeps finding interesting angles. Synths don’t glide so much as wobble around the pitch. Guitars bloom into chorus, then shrink back to a dry chime. You get little percussive nudges that feel like offstage footsteps. Nothing showy, just choices that keep the world of the album slightly unsettled. If Your Hero Is Not Dead was a clean apartment at golden hour, An Inbuilt Fault is that same room after a storm, window open, papers on the floor, and the air is better for it.

Westerman has always been a careful melodist, and that has not changed. He is still finding those lines you hum later, only now they arrive wrapped in a bit more mystery. The songs circle questions of responsibility and self image, but he rarely pins anything down. That restraint keeps the record replayable. You notice different details each time, a harmony tucked into the left channel, a drum pattern that pivots halfway through a verse, a lyric that reads as self interrogation on Monday and as forgiveness on Friday.

If you are the kind of listener who cares about how production choices change the story of a song, this album will scratch that itch. Krivchenia’s presence brings some of the organic, exploratory feel that Big Thief fans will recognize, but it never overshadows Westerman’s own sensibility. The pacing is patient, sequencing is thoughtful, and by the back half you feel how the themes tie together without the record ever announcing it. It is a quiet confidence.

For folks who like to live with records, not just stream them, An Inbuilt Fault really rewards the format. The air and space in these mixes bloom on a turntable, and the low end sits warm and present. If you are digging through a Melbourne record store or browsing vinyl records Australia late at night, keep an eye out for An Inbuilt Fault vinyl. It sits nicely next to Westerman albums on vinyl like his debut, and it makes sense to grab both if you are building a corner of your shelf for gently adventurous songwriters. If you prefer to buy Westerman records online, this one feels like an easy add to cart, especially if you are already hunting for Westerman vinyl and want the album where his ideas got a little wilder.

An Inbuilt Fault does not try to bowl you over. It wins by being curious, by treating texture and time as part of the lyric, and by trusting the listener to meet it halfway. Give it a few plays in a room with some daylight and a cup of something. The songs start to fold into your day, and that is usually the mark of a keeper.