Laura Marling, The Lowry, Salford, 30th September 2013 10/10

I spoke rapturously of Laura Marling’s musicianship after her A Creature I Don't Know tour in March 2012. The surprise in Manchester last night was the extent to which she’s developed with the release of Once I Was An Eagle this year. Even after the depth of the opening sequence on this album, I wasn't prepared for such an intense live experience. The venue was plush, but the set completely stripped down, the stage bare except for two acoustic guitars and a microphone. The only lighting was a static white spotlight, and there were no backing musicians. This was an intimate occasion, the size of the space shrinking so that your field of attention became utterly focused. I've been to classical concerts where the audience have been noisy in comparison to this: there was utter hush and concentration, but no lack of passion. Photography was discouraged adding to the reverent atmosphere.

As I waited for the show to start, I read the powerful article Lauren Mayberry of CHVRCHES had just written for The Guardian. This is a scathing and disturbing account of sexism and misogyny on-line. Lauren movingly explained that 'despite the positive messages in the majority, the aggressive, intrusive nature of the other kind becomes overwhelming'. Laura Marling shies away from discussing her feelings publicly, but it's not difficult to discern an inner strength when you read the lyrics of the opening song last night, I Was An Eagle:

'When we were in love, if we were, I was an eagle and you were a dove… I will not be a victim of romance or circumstance…You were a dove and I rose above you and preyed.'

In this analogy gender roles are reversed; powerful imagery expressed through poetry.

As she came on stage, the endearingly shy trademark introduction: ‘Hello, I’m Laura' was just about audible from the stage. As the 75 minute set progressed, her rapport became more informal and relaxed. Responding to a review of her Edinburgh date which remarked on the time she spent tuning, Laura decided to fill the gaps by reading lines of poetry. Later on, she told an amusing anecdote about Walt Whitman's arrogance she found in an introduction to his Leaves of Grass. The daughter of a baronet, Laura’s life appears to that of a genteel introvert. In a recent interview about her move to LA, she said she always has a crossword on the go. Songs such as The Muse and Sophia are full of literary imagery, but the delivery of this music is far removed from reserved. 

I've felt previously that Laura's emotions are contained just below the surface, but this time they exploded outwards. There was an exhilarating sense of risk in her singing, and twice a song actually did break down mid flow. Expression was prioritised over technical perfection. Far from being primarily interested in beauty of tone, she focused on the lyrics, at times adopting a declamatory style midway between speech and singing. We were put through an emotional roller coaster, harrowing at times, bringing me to tears in I Speak Because I Can. Her vocal range, particularly in the lower register, was remarkable, with an agility and rawness reminiscent of Fiona Apple in songs such as Breathe. A native American legend inspired Master Hunter; a song whose power is testimony to her versatility.

Laura mentioned that she collected records from 1969 before performing the cover of Townes Van Zandt's For the Sake of the Song towards the end of the set. Her fans already know that she doesn't do encores: instead she closed with Where Can I Go. This recent material is darker and less immediate: she's moved some distance from the boisterous nu folk of former lovers Marcus Mumford and Charlie Fink. Despite the English reserve, Laura is taking her devoted fans on an unpredicable musical journey of her choosing. As her petite, pale figure stood alone on the stage in a simple white dress, I became totally lost in the music, oblivious to the passage of time. Far from being a distant presence, she inhabited my soul: when music making reaches this plane, it can become a religious experience.

James Blake, Ritz Manchester, 20th September 2013 7/10

James Blake grew up in Enfield, London in a highly musical household, and planned to be a professional pianist until he fell in love with electronic dance music whilst studying at Goldsmiths University. One of the highlights of this show, Limit To Your Love from his first album, shows that he didn't leave behind his devotion to the piano with this radical shift in direction. In fact, he's created a brilliant blend of the tender singer songwriter with elements of dubstep, dance and even reggae. Just this week, he revealed his collaboration with Chance The Rapper by posting a remix of Life Round Here, although this didn't influence the show beyond his 1-800 Dinosaur t-shirt.

James is not lacking acclaim from the critical establishment, his 2013 album Overgrown following the first in being nominated for the prestigious Mercury Prize. Yet seeing him for the first time, the question was how such personal, intimate music would translate to a sizeable venue. Performing as a trio with two childhood friends on guitar / keyboard and drums, the sound reverberated around the large space. Visually, an elaborate lighting setup added interest, even if mid set, chatter from the floor threatened to break the spell. Little talk came from the stage: James was slightly awkward in manner, with a very English modesty and shyness despite his 6 foot 5 inch statue. Oddly placed on the far right hand edge, with the drummer in the centre, he never emerged from behind his keyboards, or even stood up, let alone danced. As yet, he isn't a performer with the stage presence of The Weeknd or Ghostpoet.

The recent single Retrograde was the crowd's favourite, inspiring rapture from the predominantly female fans near the stage. Yet, to their likely disappointment, it undoubtedly reflects his relationship with Warpaint's Theresa Wayman; the line 'Suddenly I'm Hit' capturing the moment when he fell in love. The mood varied between the turbulent and the soothing, yet despite the musical energy, the audience didn't contribute much to the atmosphere. Not only is this cerebral music, but it's also rooted in electronica which is notoriously challenging to perform live. It was fascinating to see James doing live recording, overlapping his vocals to create layers, but deconstructing the process of the music's creation undermined some of the magic for me. It's also disconcerting to watch a drummer, guitarist and keyboard player, then hear horns leap out of the PA system: at times the visual and auditory senses contradicted each other.

So at times I was left with a similar impression to Bon Iver: beautiful, brilliant music to which the live experienced added little. It was also felt like a uneven set; at times soaring and at others dangerously close to losing the audience. But what saved the show for me were the more introverted songs like To The Last where James performed soulful live vocals. His trembly tenor voice, obtuse time signatures and use of dramatic pauses were in the end incredibly moving. The lyrics are often poignant, and it's obvious that the emotions came from his heart. This was a cerebral experience, but far from austere: ultimately his talent as a songwriter transcended his considerable skills as a producer, and overcame a lack of charismatic stage craft.