Album: Laura Marling, Alas, I Cannot Swim (Virgin)
*****
Reviewed by Andy Gill
Friday, 8 February 2008Even by the advanced standards of precocity displayed by many of today’s tyro performers, Laura Marling is an extraordinary young talent. Listening to the mature reflections and acute observations in these 13 songs, it’s hard to accept that their author turned 18 this week, and is already getting her second wind, dismissing her earlier output as „shit pop“ and „absolutely awful“.
The change in her work apparently came through encountering Bonnie Prince Billy’s haunting I See a Darkness, an aesthetic epiphany that forced her to think more deeply about what she was doing. The result is Alas, I Cannot Swim, on which her young voice reveals an old, old heart. It’s most evident in songs like „Old Stone“, in which a standing stone – „10,000 years and you’re still on your own“ – prompts reflections on the comforts of solitude and self-sufficiency, while rolling tom-toms swell and ebb against the drone of harmonium; and in „Cross Your Fingers“, in which apprehension about the fragility of seemingly secure structures leads to contemplation of the broad flood-plain of old age leading to the estuary of death.
Elsewhere, one gets an impression of someone building their worldview as they grow, struggling to deal with new situations, and simultaneously drawn to both the outgoing urges of youth and more introspective moods. In „My Manic & I“, she’s caught up in a torrent of doubt which, one suspects, is self-directed: „I can’t control you, I don’t know you well, these are the reasons I think that you’re ill“; while over the sombre acoustic guitar picking of „Shine“, she warns a potential emotional intruder: „I need shine – stay away from my light.“ But there are shafts of light; in the opener, „Ghosts“, a young man scarred by „a ghost that broke my heart before I met you“ ultimately finds redemptive love with the singer. „It turned out I’d been following him, and he’d been following me,“ she explains.
Marling goes against the grain of most modern pop, eschewing mockney bitchiness, diva showboating, indie guilt and trite hip-hop attitudes in favour of a folksy simplicity relying on well-turned melodies and sensitive arrangements of guitar, piano and violin embellished by French horn, trumpet or accordion, and even a male voice choir. Producer Charlie Fink has created a warm, welcoming instrumental backdrop that frames Marling’s voice perfectly, revealing (but not accentuating) the echoes of singers like Sandy Denny, Jacqui McShea and Jolie Holland. It all adds up to a hugely impressive debut from an outstanding talent.
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Dirty, dirty feet from the concert in the grass / I wanted to believe that freedom there could last (Willy Mason)