An Inbuilt Fault by Westerman
It’s never easy when an artist’s music feels like it’s perpetually stuck between a sigh and a philosophical dissertation, but Westerman’s An Inbuilt Fault makes a good case for existing in that liminal space. His sophomore effort, released in 2023, doesn’t quite shake the experimental art-pop tendencies of his debut but instead leans deeper into a sonic atmosphere that’s as introspective as it is perplexing.
Stylistically, An Inbuilt Fault floats somewhere between atmospheric pop and moody art-folk. This time, Westerman teamed up with Big Thief’s James Krivchenia, and the collaboration adds a touch of spontaneity and texture, especially in the percussion department. There’s more warmth and organic feel compared to his debut Your Hero Is Not Dead, with a greater focus on acoustic elements—though it never fully lets go of the abstract production quirks and oddball chord shifts that have come to define Westerman’s sound.
Musically, the album swings between sparse and lush arrangements. Tracks like “Take” are practically jazzy, offering up brushed percussion and nimble bass lines that make you want to pour yourself a drink and contemplate the meaning of life. Meanwhile, the droning guitars and slightly off-kilter beats in “Give” maintain a tension that never fully resolves. The mix is a study in restraint, keeping Westerman’s hushed vocals front and center, which is where his lyrics, dripping in existential anxiety, really take hold.
Lyrically, this album is feeling a lot. Westerman seems to have spent the pandemic in a reflective tailspin, questioning his place in the world and the futility of it all—standard millennial musings, but delivered with a poet’s touch. In “Take,” he deadpans, “Why more records when everything is melting?” You can practically hear the sound of a quarter-life crisis setting in. There’s a mix of personal and political themes at play too, as seen in “Idol; RE-Run,” which draws inspiration from the January 6th Capitol riots, but not in a way that offers much clarity—more like a head-scratching confusion over how the world operates.
“A Lens Turning” and “Pilot Was a Dancer” are two standouts. The former manages to fuse intimate lyricism with a bubbling musical landscape, while the latter takes the album to a grander, Radiohead-esque finale, bringing together the peculiar and the anthemic. “Help Didn’t Help At All” might also resonate with anyone who’s found themselves frustrated by life’s inefficacies, with its bare-bones chorus echoing a deep sense of alienation.
The album’s pacing is deliberate, sometimes to its detriment. While there’s a clear thread of existential questioning running through the lyrics, the musical shifts can feel a bit disjointed at times. It’s cohesive in its introspective gloom, but you’ll need patience to appreciate the album’s more subtle textures. It doesn’t drag so much as it ambles, quietly imploring you to slow down and listen for the details. Whether you’re up for the challenge depends on your taste for Westerman’s brand of melancholy.
If you loved Your Hero Is Not Dead, this is the natural next step in Westerman’s evolution. It’s not going to win over anyone looking for more straightforward indie pop anthems, but fans of intricate, slow-burning art-pop (think Arthur Russell meets early Peter Gabriel) will find plenty to chew on here. It’s a moody, reflective ride, perfect for a rainy afternoon of soul-searching—but maybe not for your next dance party.
An Inbuilt Fault is the sound of an artist fully leaning into his cerebral tendencies, offering up a lush, if sometimes perplexing, experience. It’s not for everyone, but for those who appreciate the subtle interplay of emotions and atmosphere, there’s beauty to be found in its folds. Just make sure you’re in the right headspace—or you might end up questioning why more records when everything is melting.
