By Sophie Scannell, Music Editor
Real name Isabella Tweddle, Billie Marten is the archangel of devastating revelations swaddled up in gently ticking folk rhythms. Her audience, consisting of several fellow English cohort members that I eventually lost count of, swept into Electric looking to escape the rain and feel the embrace of some syrupy guitar to lull them into serenity for the evening.
The stage was modestly set, with Marten joined by Tommy Heap and Caspar Miles. The trio swanned through an eclectic setlist of tracks new and old. Of course, most of its time was devoted to Dog Eared, the artist’s latest album offering, but this is not to say that stellar arrangements of ‘This Is How We Move’ and ‘Mice’ were left by the wayside by any means.
Serenaded up the stairs of Electric by the overture of ‘Feeling’, the opening track of Marten’s latest project, we found resemblance between Marten and a plethora of doppelgangers that evolved throughout the course of her performance. A blend of Rapunzel, Before Sunrise’s Celine, and Laura Marling: Marten was the perfect picture of dashing charm and domineering elegance.
A speaking voice so delicate and unassuming, it’s interesting how that same cadence when set under sweet guitar melodies and light drum scrapes can become so overwhelmingly enchanting. From the sidelines looking into the centre of the room, the crowd looked hypnotised, all swaying in succession and methodically all in the same direction as each other.
What Marten seems to lack in boisterous volume she certainly gains back in charm. Ushering in the existential lyrics of ‘Mice’ with the reassuring ‘we’re going to lead you into a pit of despair now’, the show was not one to shy away from funny quips throughout that somehow nestled neatly in and amongst the scathingly heartbreaking ethos of its music.
Swiping a twenty pound note from drummer, Caspar, Marten deposits it into the hands of an immediate crowd member for it to be whisked across the crowd to the bar behind. She calls out an order for a so-called ‘medicinal’ whisky to be similarly sailed back up the audience to the singer. Cheeky yet genius, a whisky was materialised onto the foot of the stage by the next song.
Honey Ryder
Aching yet comfortable and gut-wrenching yet swaddling, the run of new songs off the new album showcase some of her best writing yet. ‘You and I Both’ being a personal highlight, with ‘Leap Year’ and ‘Goodnight Moon’ following close behind for their soothing lullaby melodies and sweetly set lyrical wonder.
All in all, Marten provided wonder on an otherwise gloomy night in the centre. The perpetual sway-state we were in had to come to an end at some point, but we were kept warm by the rapture of her gentle lullabies all the way home.
Featured image: Epigram / Sophie ScannellHave you listened to Dog Eared?
