CityLife

Laura Marling

Laura Marling

Laura Marling
The Lowry
April 12, 2010

Paper faced beauty Laura Marling, glides ballerina-like across the stage, all oversized knitwear and top-knotted hair, gazing forlornly at her shoes like a shy sixth former.

It's all too easy to forget Marling has two critically lauded albums, a Mercury Prize nomination and a veritable array of collaborations with indie folk royalty under her faux leather belt.

The unlikely subject of gossipy whisperings regarding the demise of her and Noah and the Whale frontman, Charlie Fink’s relationship – traces of heartbreak were doubtlessly scrutinised for, but any rubberneckers hoping for a glimpse of a broken woman would be somewhat disappointed.

A fittingly minimalist set compromises mainly of several sort of floating orbs and a glistening golden glow. Her backing band are predictably clad in a Mumford and Sons-esque getup, flatcaps and waistcoats being the apparent uniform of the folk leaning pop artists of today.

Marling makes for a ghostly presence – the lighting illuminating the further reaches of her skull makes the whistle solo during Night Terror positively eerie. Measured and controlled, artists this gracefully poised often do so at the expense of character or ambience. Marling's set however, is resplendent in charm and atmosphere.

Laura Marling belongs to that long forgotten school of folk, sitting aside the likes of Pentangle, James Taylor and Fairport Convention rather than her folk revival contemporaries. Anecdotal and illustrative, Marling’s songs eschew needless quirks in favour of candour and sincerity. Not one to hide behind overly kitsch ploys or self-reference, Marling is comfortable baring her soul and is not afraid to be taken quite, quite seriously.

You need only look at her album’s titles (Alas, I Cannot Swim, I Speak Because I Can) for an idea of the level Marling is aspiring towards.

Unassuming and softly spoken, Marling talks sparingly between songs – later confiding that she has come to that point in her touring career where her onstage banter is wearing a little thin. Aged only 20, she might want to consider remedying that. This sparsity of audience engagement and the refined atmosphere of the music lends the set a shamanic quality – songs bleed blissfully into one another, fluctuating and lingering long after they end.

Marling has something of the timeless female artist about her. The conversational manner with which she dispatches her songs are reminiscent of a young Joni Mitchell, whilst during her more impassioned moments she throatily rasps like a yelping Patti Smith or PJ Harvey.

Marling politely explains her feelings about encores (she doesn't like them) before fluffing her words and loudly declaring she won't be doing one. But like a carefully measured dose, Marling leaves us feeling comfortably sated.