Photo: Vic Frankowski
In one of two new songs Laura Marling performs at the Royal Festival Hall tonight, there’s a line so striking it swirls around my mind for much of the rest of the show. It’s about a woman – we’re not told much about her – who plans to write a book. “Of course the only part that I want to read,” Marling utters, her voice inflecting upwards in that Bob Dylan-esque lilt that so divided people on her previous album, “is about her time spent with me. Wouldn’t you die to know how you seem? Are you getting away with who you’re trying to be?”
For an artist who’s been written about for almost a decade, from her late teens through much of her twenties, you’d think Marling would have had enough of that by now. Of reading – in the form of interviews and reviews - about how she comes across to those around her. It’s the fact that she hasn’t, that she still wrestles so openly with her own identity, that makes her so captivating to watch.
The song, which she performs flanked by a string quartet, two backing singers and her usual band, is musically ravishing too – traversing freeform through verses, bridges and a sort-of chorus without ever quite settling into itself. The quartet and backing singers come and go throughout the evening, adding depth and richness to a set list which incorporates elements of all of her albums (except her debut, Alas I Cannot Swim, with which she now seems to have a bittersweet relationship).
As the years have gone on, Marling’s shy and awkward stage presence has transformed into something steadfast and confident, with a sharp flick of humour. In one seemingly spontaneous tangent, she talks of stumbling across an article on Kundalini Yoga – a practice she had to abandon when it got too intense – while looking for The Times’ crossword. “That shit will fuck you up,” she warns with a smile as she re-tunes her guitar.
In days gone by, moments like this might have been noticeably excruciating for Marling. Perhaps that’s why she designed the opening four tracks of Once I Was An Eagle to run into one another – to minimise the chance of between-song awkwardness. Tonight though, she is completely at ease.
Her voice, too, has blossomed into something formidable. From the soft gravelly depths of ‘You Know’, she leaps into a pure vibrato on the delicious high notes of ‘I Was An Eagle’. A cover of Bert Jansch’s ‘Courting Blues’ doesn’t add much to proceedings and is a little under-prepared, but even in forgetting the words she’s a captivating performer.
There’s another line in ‘Wild Fire’ that stuck out – one which serves as a riposte to the male musicians’ narrative of a woman rendered more beautiful by her own ignorance. “You always say you love me most, when I don’t know I’m being seen,” she sings, as violins quietly ripple behind her. “Maybe someday when God takes me away… I’ll understand what the fuck that means.” Tonight, in front of an audience of 2,500 people, Marling knows she’s being seen. And slowly but surely, she’s learning to revel in it.
