Laura Marling - A Creature I Don't Know

Whilst across the nation there was a collective shrug of confusion upon the announcement of Marling's victory in this year's BRIT Award for best British female category, in the Collins household (or, the only one of the household who watched it at least) there was much air-punching and whooping. For the academy to recognise Marling's genuine earthy talents ahead of the over-hyped (Rumer, Ellie Goulding) and untalented (Cheryl Cole) was a rewarding surprise for me and restored my faith a little bit in British music and its accolades.

Much like my last reviewed artist - Bombay Bicycle Club - Marling has been quick to put out three albums in just four years. Quite a gauntlet has therefore been thrown down ahead of her - since both I Speak Because I Can and Alas, I Cannot Swim were almost universally praised. How does she rise to the challenge? With a bold slice of saloon-bar reverie in the form of 'The Muse'. A rustic and unexpected burst of banjos and pianos undercuts the whole of her usual routine, and she sounds more mature, more Joni Mitchell. This vocal similarity continues into 'I Was Just A Card', which deceptively swells into something optimistic and beautiful, but is undermined by paranoid and regret: "Could've sworn I had that man when he took my hand".


The bluegrass disappears and we're left with something much more conventional in 'Don't Ask Me Why'. She croons and sighs with nerve-wracking opacity - her response to being lost? "But it's real". It's a brand of tireless optimism that's quite common in modern folk music - to which Marling finds herself connected not only musically but personally (with friends and exes in Mumford and Sons and Noah and the Whale). However there are strong classic influences too - on 'Salinas' she strikes home with heavy Bob Dylan themes thanks to the irregular rhyming structures and unusual lyrics ("I, who speak awkwardly/ Any word, if it is heard, is not intended to be").

Throughout the album it almost feels as though Marling is undressing - by track 5, 'The Beast', yet another layer of instrumentation and façades disappear - and like the ceaseless heterosexual I am I cannot help but find the bareness here more interesting. Darker and rawer than the others, she warns "I'm pulled by the rope/ I swing from the trees into the slope". Similarly, on 'Night After Night' she laments a difference of opinion and philosophy that led to a breakup: "I sold you my hand once and you hit me in fear". "I am full of guilt" she confesses on 'My Friends', which is something of a more intelligent bros-before-hoes argument. The guitars pluck along carelessly and comfortingly whilst Marling dismisses "a reminder of us".

On 'Rest In The Bed' Marling ponders pure bliss: "Know that it's you and I till the end/ And all I want from life is to hold your hand". If you're looking for the catchiest and most mesmerising track on the album then look no further than 'Sophia'. Led by timeless guitars and spurred along by choirs and bouncy rhythms, it's the climax of the album. Instead though she leaves the closing duties to 'All My Rage' which almost matches the epic scale of the predecessor. It almost feels at times that strings may be broken from the almost hymnal intensity.


The characters that Marling creates are doubtless intriguing and well-crafted but they often feel like a barrier between us and her real feelings. Since so many metaphors and allegories are thrown in with so many conflicting emotions the album certainly feels like an emotional experience but there's a nagging feeling that, even amongst all the hubbub, she's distracting us from herself. Which is why I have yet to particularly fall in love with this album as a whole - although the more likely tracks to be personal (such as The Beast, Night After Night and My Friends) are there to prove potential otherwise.

Rating: 8.5/10
Highlights: Night After Night, Sophia, The Beast, Don't Ask Me Why, My Friends
Avoid: n/a (though The Muse requires a little faith)

Artwork Watch: In an embrace with a creature but simultaneously pushing it away. How Kafka.