Alas I Cannot Swim

From the first strains of the mysterious, galloping folk-thumper, "Ghosts," to the aching, string-laden lament of "Tap at my Window," there is something so authentic and sui generis about Laura Marling's debut album, that emphemeral attributes like her youth (18 years old at the time of the recording) and acclaim (Mercury Prize finalist) fall away, leaving nothing but a bright, burning ember of an album--an instant classic heralding a unique songwriting talent.
Marling sings in a weary and conspiratorial whisper over muted guitars and dramatic but tastefully arranged strings and percussion. The acoustic set combines the autumnal textures of lo-fi poets like Beirut and Neutral Milk Hotel with the solidly melodic approach of classic Brit-folks like Richard Thompson, tied together by an assured voice that never reaches too hard, although occasionally bursts into a bluesy wail. It is a late-night album that casts a long shadow the morning after.