Once I Was An Indie Badass
12:27 PM
They say that
breaking up is hard to do, and man were they right. After all, I’ve recently
broken up with carbs for the summer and it’s been more emotionally scarring
than I anticipated. But in all seriousness, breakups are everywhere, right? We
see them empowered in ladies’ anthems like Beyoncé’s “Single Ladies (Put A Ring
On It)” and we see them mourned in ballads like Adele’s “Someone Like You.” So,
how does one pen the perfect breakup track or album? How do you chronicle the
ups and downs of a relationship without falling into a cliché and come out
better on the other side? Well, for starters, you can become Laura Marling and
write her fourth studio album, Once I Was
An Eagle. The London native turned Los Angeles implant ambitiously sheds
all the stereotypes of typical indie folk breakup album and instead brings a
darker, sexier, angrier feel to the whole concept, while delivering the most important
thing a breakup can deliver: catharsis. We get an entire emotional arc that is
less about the heartbreak and breakup itself, but more so the catharsis and
healing that arises from it.
The first thing that sets Once I Was An Eagle apart from Marling’s
other discography is its setting. Marling recorded the album in just ten days
in her producer’s British countryside recording studio, but this time after the
album was done, Marling was set to relocate to Los Angeles. The impending move
to Los Angeles parallels a lot of what Marling has to say about relationships
failed, with stages of intense mourning that are followed by intense stages of
healing, all of which usually accompany uprooting one’s own material life to a
whole new location and setting. Each possession packed away, each box loaded
into a moving van is a series of small goodbyes that all will eventually
culminate into a new beginning. And so before making this life-changing
decision, Marling locked herself in this countryside cabin, with just herself,
her producer, and her instruments (very Bon Iver of you Laura).
Eagle
took only 10 days to manufacture, with the vocal and guitar parts each
being recorded in a single take. Besides guitar, we get a plethora of classic
instruments like cellos and organs and pianos, and there’s some carefully-placed
drumming thrown in just for good measure. Eagle’s
instrumentation is a large part of what makes the album seem like one
singular piece of art, rather than 16 different songs put together to make one
large album. The first four songs on the album, “Take the Night Off,” “I Was An
Eagle,” “You Know,” and “Breathe” are written as a proper suite, so basically
they ebb and flow together seamlessly, transitioning from Marling’s staple
acoustic finger pickings to overpowering cello and drums and then back to the
quiet all over again. In the album’s first track, “Take the Night Off,” we’re
not met with that first stage of grief aka denial, but rather we’re met with a
stroke of resignation and withdrawal. Marling proclaims in the opening stanza
of the song, “I don’t want you to want me/Wouldn’t want you to know/I don’t
care where you’ve gone beast/I care where you go,” with the quiet strumming of the
guitar in the background. Then all of a sudden, we’re met with rumblings of
musical turbulence with both the tempo and the volume increasing in the
instrumentation. The record doesn’t ever really touch on the relationship itself,
but more so Marling’s inner thoughts concerning the relationship, and when the
tempo and volume pick up, we hear those inner thoughts get louder and louder
and angrier and angrier. Like I mentioned before, this track is part of a
four-part suite and so it blends seamlessly into “I Was An Eagle.” This
particular track is my personal pick for best track off the album. Here,
Marling follows the same instrumental formula as “Take the Night Off,” but the
lyrics get more defiant than before. Marling vows to herself not to fall victim
to “chances, circumstance and romance/Or any man who could get his dirty little
hands on me.” Marling isn’t mourning the relationship or the other person once
involved in the relationship, but rather reflects on how she refuses to fall
into the trap that a relationship can sometimes become. What hits home with this
track is where Marling proclaims “When we were in love, if we were/When we were
in love/I was an eagle/And you were a dove.” Marling chews the relationship up
and spits it back out, questioning both its validity and empowering herself at
the same time. I’m not sure if you know anything about birds, but an eagle
could eat a dove for dinner in a cage match. And on an even deeper level,
Marling being the eagle in the relationship flips a bunch of clichés on their
heads. Doves are a common symbol for docility and sweetness and usually
represent the woman in literature and poetry, while the eagle represents
strength and free-will, often representing the man, and usually the two go
hand-in-hand. In “I Was An Eagle,” Marling not only inverses these outdated
gender roles, but she severs the two concepts, proclaiming that she can indeed
stand on her own, without her ‘dove.’ Marling isn’t the empowered one because
she is the eagle, she is the eagle because she is the empowered one. Even with
just the first two tracks on the album, Marling has already set the tone that
she is no longer naïve and quick to believe the appeals of romance, but is now
able to face the hard truths that love and relationships bring with them. And
this right here represents not just a realization of growth, but also a healing
over the loss of the person Marling was before.
Don’t worry though, the entire album
doesn’t consist of Marling shitting on her ex, because the magnifying glass is
then turned on Marling herself. The first half of the album focuses on an unnamed
“you,” but the second half of the album brings about an “I” in the narrative
that isn’t always evident whether it's Marling or not, but is certainly present. In “Where Can I Go?,” we’re
introduced to what can be deemed as Marling’s alter-ego, Rosie, for now. Rosie
comes out of the gate, quite like “I Was An Eagle,” strong and defiant, with
tracks like “Master Hunter,” a track that is more resolute, more loud, and more
aggressive than anything we hear in the first half of the album. Funnily enough
though, similar to in relationships, the insecurity and the doubt begin to set
in, as Marling has to look within herself to see her part in breakdown of the
relationship. “Little Bird” is perhaps where Marling castigates herself the most
asking, “So why not run from everyone/Who only tries to love you?” I love this
track on the album because of how stripped down it is, with the song being
comprised of just Marling and a trusty, acoustic guitar. The Nick Drake
influence is dripping all over this song, from the hushed, quiet, inquisitive
tones to the subtle guitar in the background, and Marling manages to channel
him and pay ode to him all at once. “Little Bird” plays out like the moment
when you turn off the lamp on your nightstand and let your deepest and darkest
inner thoughts play out until sleep eventually catches you. And speaking of
indie folk founding fathers, the track “When Were You Happy (And How Long Has
That Been),” channels some major Bob Dylan and Joanna Newsome vibes, especially
in its guitar and percussion use. Marling looks into what inspired her
impending move to Los Angeles, as she questions her “new friend across the sea.”
Another gem on the album, the song works because Marling is brutally honest
with herself, as well as her audience. One of the bigger aspects of a breakup
is finding one’s own identity when standing alone, as opposed to when with a
partner. Towards the end of Eagle, Marling
continues to search for that peace and inner healing that both her and the
audience have already had a glimpse of earlier on in the album. And manages to
hold her own with the greats like Joni Mitchell and Cat Power.
So, what does all of this build up
to? The closing track, “Saved These Words,” gives us the moment we all wait for
at the end of a relationship; the moment of clarity, the moment when one
realizes that they can move on and be at peace with the end of the
relationship, the catharsis. “You weren’t my curse” is what Marling finally
realizes and comes to terms with, but rather thanks her inner self, exclaiming,
“Thank you naivety for failing me again/He was my next verse.” At Eagle’s conclusion, all animosities and
all resentments have been put aside and the confusion of the relationship is
suddenly made clear, sorted, and packed away, much like the belongings Marling
plans to take to Los Angeles with her. Once
I Was An Eagle is a masterpiece and a hard-won achievement, but most importantly,
it’s the beginning to a fresh start.
In case you’re thinking I’m full of
shit when breaking this album down, critics far and wide raved about Marling’s
fourth studio album, and rightfully so. After all, Laura Marling is only 23, already
on her fourth successful studio album, and just getting started. What critics
and audiences alike admire the most about Marling is the incredible strength
that she exudes through her music. Even when showing the audience that she does
indeed doubt herself, like we all do, she does so with her head held high,
something that doesn’t come as a surprise, as she casts herself as an eagle two
tracks into the album. I think, too, because the album is so different than the
other music being put out, both in the genre and in general, critics appreciate
it for how forward and relentless it is. Marling never presents herself as sad
or delicate, which is the expectation at the conclusion of a breakup. I mention
melancholy here and there in my last blog post, but in Eagle, Marling ensures that her voice is heard loud and clear over
the tidings of melancholy in her music.
Once
I Was An Eagle is through and through a concept album. We get a theme and a
storyline at the start of the album, we follow that storyline, and it brings us
all the way home at the conclusion of the album. And it’s important to think
about those themes and what the audience takes away from them. We know Marling
is here to talk about breakups and failed relationships, but what can we learn
from that? How do we take from that and better ourselves because isn’t that the
point of music at the end of the day? For it to change our lives in little and
big ways alike? Marling accomplishes what all breakup albums should accomplish,
and that’s to reflect on what was lost, only to turn around and see everything
that was gained from that loss. Eagle may
require a few spins in order to really be able to pick up what it’s putting
down, and it certainly doesn’t make for easy listening at times, but I think
that’s what makes the album such a strong one. It may take some time for the
feelings and thoughts that the album works to evoke to materialize, but once
they do, they’re almost unshakeable.
Eagle’s
album cover boasts an assumingly nude, ethereal Marling reaching towards
up, up and up towards the sky, almost angel-like. And with her pale, blonde
hair and almost waifish physical demeanor, Marling just might be indie folk’s
resident angel. The album is dark and it’s sexy and it’s angry, but it’s also
brutally honest and takes us to the darkest places of Marling’s mind, while
also letting us see what makes her shine as an artist. Like her album cover,
Marling is reaching for the stars, and with Once
I Was An Eagle, she soars over them.
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