As the reflection from her slide guitar cast flickering light among the pews, Laura Marling captivated the audience at Central Presbyterian Church on Friday night. Marling returned to the city of Willie and Waylon to perform in Thursday’s ACL Hall of Fame Induction Ceremony and play an acoustic solo show in this intimate venue the following evening.
This wasn’t the typical weekend beer-guzzling musical rally one might encounter while stumbling along Sixth Street. Somehow, though not explicitly stated, the crowd unanimously understood to keep conversations hushed. Like a buzzing phone during a yoga class’ meditation, interruptions would send sinking frustration to anyone within earshot.
Marling opened with “Howl,” a smooth and languid siren song from her latest album, Short Movie. The crystal-lit crucifix illuminated the altar during “Once,” a tune written in the CPC’s stone hallways years earlier. This nostalgic ditty dripped with longing and seamlessly transitioned into “I Feel Your Love.” Unlike the title suggests, this biting melody is a tumultuous whirlwind of pulsing desperation. Her syrupy voice dipped between breathy high notes and creamy lower tones. With the accelerating momentum of a derailing train, Marling fluttered the lyrics, “I feel your love. Please let me go.”
Following the stunned silence and uproarious applause, Marling took a break from her original ballads to honor her songwriting inspiration, Bert Jansch. Even while quietly strumming someone else’s chords, her signature style infused the song. Marling’s own densely poetic lyrics bare strong resemblance to Jansch’s juicy imagery in “Courtship Blues,” and it’s obvious how her unique sound was fertilized.
Just before the hypnotic tone could take over, Marling broke the trance with pleasant conversation. Though she claims to be bad at banter, Marling had the listeners chuckling and sighing as she adorably fumbled her words and described her discoveries at a local antique store. She returned to her slide guitar for a Townes Van Zandt cover of “For The Sake of the Song.” When the speakers buzzed with reverb, Marling quietly shushed the annoyance and broke the audience’s reverie with yet another wave of bubbling laughter.
The brief, one hour set concluded with “I Speak Because I Can.” Her voice cooed like a mourning dove as she hooked the listeners with intense, magnetic storytelling. In a culture saturated with instant gratification, it’s inspiring to witness a congregation of strangers slowing down to soak up rich and delicate music.
