Laura Marling

Just as the blues courses through American rock & roll, the long, long history of the ballad form infuses the English genetic code. Time and time again, that U.K. DNA makes for stirringly unique, folksy singer-songwriters with a knack for spare eloquence, a jabbing line, an attitude at once vulnerable and a bit stoic, and a voice that immediately creates an emotional landscape. About once a decade, a new talent comes along who steps up to the pantheon.

Eighteen-year-old Laura Marling could be the next. Despite her youth, the Hampshire lass already has enjoyed a solid career, dividing her time between solo work and the Twickenham outfit Noah and the Whale (the allusion isn’t Biblical—that was Jonah—the musicians are simply huge fans of filmmaker Noah Baumbach). Her soft, delicate alto falls into a similar range and effect as Beth Orton and Chan Marshall of Cat Power. That’s especially so in a slower, plaintive song like “Old Stone,” in which she conveys a more fragile tone, or “Tap at My Window,” which blooms into string arrangements.

But her writing feels very different from traditional folk tropes. It’s flintier and funnier. “Ghosts,” a comic vignette that opens the album, is about a man who confesses to his new love that he’s literally haunted by all of his exes. “Stood at the table where she sat / And removed his hat,” Marling sings over a sprightly acoustic rhythm, “In respect of her presence.” It’s the last bit that completes the moment, locking it in. Marling’s stories about heartaches and eccentric characters really are literary stories, her narratives well-served by natural wit and a full-blooded presence. Maybe she can’t swim, but she sure can write.

Marling visits Bottom Lounge Saturday 20.

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