“I Rip Myself Off”: Aldous Harding, ‘Train on the Island,’ and the Artistry of the Familiar
I have not been able to stop spinning Aldous Harding’s new record in the months since it came out. The first time I listened, I threw it on casually while cuddling with a cat I was watching for the weekend, but as the album progressed I found myself increasingly bewitched by the songs. Everything about them was quintessentially Aldous Harding, from the warble of her voice to the frank, yet ambiguous lyrics. However, there was a comfortingly familiar aura about the album, a sense that the musical gestures I was hearing were also buried in an old favorite somewhere. I ended up reviewing Train on the Island for The Absolute Sound, and I wrote that it felt like she had “cracked open the musical language of the great songwriters like Carole King or Joni Mitchell, and infused each crevice with her eccentric flavor of folk rock.” The review was short and I couldn’t expand much further on this idea at the time, but as the weeks have progressed with me still under Harding’s spell, I decided to reflect on why a record that straddles the lines between the familiar and the innovative carries such weight in today’s music industry.
It goes without saying that every artist to some degree draws upon what has inspired them and what has come before. But the results of doing so varies, with some producing borderline facsimiles of their idols, while others deviate so far from their influences that you’re shocked by what they are. I often find that musicians who wear their influences on their sleeve, but formulate their own style so that they conjure something completely new, are some of the most compelling artists. When I started thinking of examples of these types of musicians, I immediately thought of Stereolab. The band brazenly flaunts their space-age, bossa nova, lounge listening influences, to the point that some songs almost transport you to a mid-century living room with a hi-fi and martinis, but their originality is unmatched and keeps one foot grounded in what’s contemporary. No other band truly sounds like Stereolab, yet Stereolab does sound like a lot of other bands. Boards of Canada has been on my mind as well, in the wake of their new release, and they’ve always had an approach that unabashedly draws upon library music and the public media sound for their musical inspiration, but uses that music’s ubiquity to make you feel both nostalgic and unsettled, calling upon music you swear you’ve heard before, but can’t place.
With Train on the Island, Aldous Harding achieves a similar feat to Stereolab and Boards of Canada, but with that classic, seventies singer-songwriter sound. While this style has been replicated by numerous artists more times than anyone can count, Harding does not duplicate the sound, but instead warps its familiarity into something undoubtedly hers. I’m drawn to the track “Train on the Island,” because the clipped steps of the opening piano reminds me of Carole King’s “So Far Away,” but “Train on the Island” is very much its own song with Harding’s personal touch. The breezy acoustic guitar strumming that saunters into “One Stop” halfway through the track brought to mind the carefree atmospheres of songs like “Ventura Highway” or “A Horse with No Name,” capturing that easygoing-California pace that has permeated the sound of artists from Joni Mitchell to Lana Del Rey. And the lush, mellow tone of the Fender Rhodes on tracks like “I Ate the Most” and “San Francisco” recalls dozens of iconic seventies musicians and albums spanning genres, to the point that my mind flips through every reference like an out-of-control slide projector. It is these small, subtle additions that transport me to an earlier time, but it is Harding’s unique vocal stylings, idiosyncratic rhythmic or harmonic choices, and candid lyrics that keep me grounded in the present and in the ingenuity that is purely hers.
Aldous Harding’s voice is one of the most identifiable aspects of her musicianship, and what sets her records apart from many others. While her vocal approach to Train on the Island is often very husky and low, she also slips into her distinctive, high, warbling vocal style on some of the tracks. This higher sound, present since her first albums, has always brought to mind the fluttering voices of singers like Vashti Bunyan, Joanna Newsom, or even Kate Bush. Her lows are reminiscent of Bridget St. John or Nico, raspy and intimate. Even though all of Harding’s vocal approaches bring to mind famed folk singers of the past and present, it’s Harding’s unexpected switches between these extremes, instead of settling into simply one style, that distinguishes her music from the rest. You can’t fully feel like you’re just listening to a Bridget St. John record, because by the next track, or even within the same one, you are thrust into a different vocal persona. You are constantly reminded that you are listening to an Aldous Harding record, with all of the twists and turns that come with that.
While Harding’s instrumental sound on Train on the Island recalls the gentle touches of the classic singer-songwriters, she puts her own spin on the harmonic and rhythmic qualities of that sound, creating a weirdness to the tone that extends beyond the more traditional chord progressions and rock rhythms of those predecessors. For instance, from the first few seconds of “I Ate the Most,” the song is unsettled and strange, communicated through the fluttering, percussive sound underlying every rhythm, the jaunty syncopation of the Rhodes, and the odd chromatic motif that snakes around. Even though the tone of the Rhodes registers in my mind alongside cozy memories of a long-beloved singer-songwriter, the offbeat gestures that Harding crafts with the Rhodes makes her music not a copy, but the work of a distinct contemporary musician who can artfully play with the comfort of the familiar so that it is not too easy to listen to.
The idea for this blog developed out of asking myself why I kept returning to Train on the Island for repeat listens. I couldn’t put my finger on what about Harding’s new album made it particularly irresistible, in a way that other indie, singer-songwriter records don’t always do for me. I believe that the familiarity coursing through the veins of Train on the Island is a significant factor towards why I’m so frequently putting it on the turntable. As I hang around my house, I love to put on records that add a warmth and comfort to the space, and Harding’s record achieves that, while also putting forth music that is fresh and compelling. I’m always most thrilled with a new album when it can hit that balance of being recognizable while also original. These are often records I respect the most, because they pay homage to the past without being derivative or saccharine, and are innovative without alienation or pretension. It’s albums like Train on the Island that stand as a reminder that music doesn’t need to exist in these extremes, either completely indebted to the past or wholly pioneering. I feel we are slipping into times with streaming technologies that particularly reward the familiar, and there is pressure for musicians to exist in these extremes, to either create music that fits neatly into an established category for algorithmic optimization, or to resist this easy categorization by completely abandoning the past for fear of being derivative. Perhaps the best place to be is where Aldous Harding is — unabashedly her distinctive self — influences, ingenuity, and all.
– Hannah Blanchette
July 28, 2026 | Blog