Wednesday 11/06/08 Laura Marling @ St. James Church, London

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This whole playing in a church idea is fraught with some major problems. Creating an atmosphere resembling a standard gig is not only difficult, it almost feels wrong. The acoustics, as The Arcade Fire found last year, can be pretty dreadful. There is no bar. Plus, nobody goes to church these days, do they?

It appears they do if Laura Marling is around. In this resplendent setting, she glows with youthful vitality and distinctive tones. The peculiar Piccadilly setting is full hours in advance, with Marling flittering around the pulpit and people settling in the pews which line the hall. Arriving in front of the seated audience, she begins with a soft murmur through ‘Shine’. It’s playful, but delivered with purpose, each syllable concentrated.

Soon, her band joins her up front and she visibly alters, at ease with the physical support of her accomplished company. A few numbers pass uneventfully, competent yet uninspired. ‘My Manic and I’, played suitably subtly yet prickly enough to build a welcome tension, raises the intensity. At her best when not entirely comfortable, she mistakenly repeats a verse here, but remains viscerally in control.

Songs from debut album ‘Alas, I Cannot Swim’ dominate the set, with new tracks ‘Blackberry Stone’ and ‘Rebecca’ breaking the show up, the latter a startlingly simplistic acoustic lullaby.  However, older tracks from previous EPs remain highlights, notably a spine-tingling ‘Night Terror’, its violin piercing through the wall of beautifully gloomy lyricism, conjuring a rich, sorrowful sound.

The building, built by Sir Christopher Wren no less, adds to the misty romanticism of Marling’s craft, its high golden arches and intimate quirkiness ideally blending with her soft strumming style. The sound is stunted when sat in the sides beneath low ceilings, but if positioned on the balcony or centrally, it soars with echoic resonance and archaic significance. ‘Old Stone’ benefits from this powerful clarity, Marling’s petite but captivating voice filling the venue and fulfilling the absorbed onlookers.

There is a distinct sense that Marling desperately wants to be, and succeeds in being, different from the hordes of other young, female songwriters. Sure, she’s giggly and nervous, and her songs consist almost solely of laments to loves lost or labouring. But there’s substance; this isn’t primarily crowd-pleasing stuff, it’s resolute, tinged with darkness and reality.

Moving in a more standard direction is a possibility, as the joyful shanty sing-along encore illustrates. All the same, new single ‘Cross Your Fingers’ has a few too many death references to interest Duffy fans, despite its twinkling pop sentiments. She still stubbornly refuses to play the much-lauded ‘New Romantic’, but the set is memorable enough to convert those inside the church to her charming talent, if nothing more spiritual.