To go by this debut, which was written well before she turned 18 last week, Laura Marling's "adolescence" was essentially a protracted period of soaking up Joni Mitchell and Bonnie "Prince" Billy. The unnervingly grown-up Alas I Cannot Swim is the result, and if it doesn't install her as the heir to the likes of Devendra Banhart, there's no hope for folk-pop. Simplicity is the key: playing acoustic guitar and singing in a gentle verge-of-womanhood voice, she keeps things homespun and rootsy. Background noises are unedited, and her laughter at the end of Tap at My Window has been preserved. But most impressive is her ability to articulate heartbreak: the album abounds with delicately chiselled observations such as, "The ring on my finger slips to the ground, a gift to the gutter," which mark her as a lyricist to watch. Remarkable, coming from someone so young.
(Virgin)