| ⭐⭐✨ |
The indie singer-songwriter has almost become a trope in and of itself over the last decade or so. The image of a weathered looking guy or girl with a beaten-up acoustic guitar, sporting torn items of clothing and crooning in painful detail about love in the philosophical sense is not a rarity. So many variations on this formula have come and gone. Some found moderate success, others faced depressing obscurity. It seems to be more luck-based these days if you actually strike a chord with anyone. It’s almost equally difficult to find an artist in this vain landing on something worth considering, as it is for the artist themselves to break through the noise. Entering stage left, from Lyttelton, New Zealand, is Aldous Harding. A proclaimed shapeshifter by fans and critics alike, her latest lands in front of us after a somewhat low-key rollout. Fitting, as this project is pretty much your standard twee indie-folk fare, save for the odd quirk zipping by before you can actually catch or savour it.
I do have to wonder precisely what the hubbub is about. She doesn’t really elevate the music here beyond, ironically, elevator music. It’s the same kinds of tote-bag folkisms that would kill over the soundsystem of some local book shop. Sprinkled throughout occasionally are some more non-traditional song structures that present as gimmicky for the sake of it, rather than genuinely subversive. I also find myself experiencing a strange sense of time dilation in the midst of listening through this. Even some of the shorter cuts here seem to dawdle, making the lengthier extravaganzas feel interminable. I think a key point of contention that this album presents for me is that Aldous clearly favours a writing style that hinges on her lyrical depictions being the selling point. If the marginally more lofty “cottage-core” worlds that Harding presents are your vibe, then one could suppose that the musical element of this music album doesn’t particularly matter. You’re already sold on the frankly nebulous aesthetic operations that ‘Train on an Island’ functions under.
The best moments this record has to offer, while few and far between, are that which at the very least land on a phrasing that finds its way into repetition. These serve as an anchor which the still often meandering lyrical and instrumental accompaniments can circle around. Whether this is a vocal refrain, a lyrical refrain, or even a more traditional drum pattern like on the closer “Coats”. These stand tall like beacons amongst the weedier valleys. It is particularly frustrating, as I actually think Aldous Harding is capable of better. The drab pretense smothering the bulk of this album has me wondering if the only thing stopping this from working is the songs receiving just a bit more TLC. As it stands, ‘Train on an Island’ is somehow both a scant yet tedious singer-songwriter project, teasing me specifically with glimpses of greater things.
Dan Will Review 