Photo: Alexia Arrizabalaga
“That was fucking brilliant!” an enthusiastic fan has just shouted from the back of the packed Queen Elizabeth Hall. Laura Marling, no-doubt used to these over-zealous shows of affection by now, smiles coyly, approaches the microphone, and quietly utters, “Why thank you.” The Californian sunrise behind her turns to day, and she continues on.
She may have only just turned 25, but it’s been seven years since Marling stepped quietly but assuredly onto the music scene with her debut album, Alas I Cannot Swim. Four more albums later, and the shyness with which she was so often associated has transformed into a steely resolve. She still stares intently as she performs – but these days her gaze isn’t directed at the floor, it’s fixed defiantly upwards.
Her stage patter, admittedly, remains minimalist at best. After the powerful, syncopated punch of ‘I Feel Your Love’ leaves a sense of force hanging in the air, she breaks the spell by asking the audience, apologetically, “Are you OK?” It matters very little though – the lingering memory of tonight will be her vocals, which alternate between wistful vibrato and playfully aggressive speak-singing with staggering ease throughout her career-spanning set.
Career-spanning, that is, with the exception of her debut album, which she appears to have quietly retired. There’s perhaps no place for its simplistic pop-folk here among the warm Americana to which she has turned – though I suspect, given the ease with which she transforms her older material into new, fresh incarnations, she could have quite easily done the same even with the plodding banality of ‘New Romance’.
Lyrically, too, she makes subtle adjustments to old songs. “I will not be a victim,” from ‘I Was An Eagle’, she changes to “I’m not your victim.” Instead of “Called them all and told them I’ve got to move,” from the hauntingly poignant ‘Goodbye England (Covered In Snow)’, she sings, “Called my Ma and told her I’ve got to move.” Marling has always been careful to ensure her lyrics remain abstract enough that she doesn’t give too much of herself away – but it still feels as though she’s updating the sentiments as she grows.
As the Californian sun sets, and is replaced with a night sky filled with stars, Marling’s set comes to an end, and she leaves with as little pomp and ceremony as she arrived with. The audience roar for an encore, but she doesn’t come back. She never does. It doesn’t matter though – tonight, she’s done enough.
