It’s been one minute since I listened to the new Laura Marling album, ‘Patterns In Repeat’. It has made me rethink art entirely.
I have found myself obsessively enraptured by her music and writing over the last couple of years. I have intensely studied her guitar playing and learnt to play quite a shocking amount of her catalog. I knew what I liked about her playing; a year ago I would have described it as in tune with my melodic language or something to the tune of pseudo-technical prowess. For a songwriter who, while talented, well-read, educated, and informed (i.e. all the things I gush over in artists), has a body of work almost entirely related to the experiences of women in relation to a world of men, I often found myself asking what it was about her work that spoke to me, a man, so much.
There was a separation in my head between her beautiful guitar playing, compositions, and overall musicianship, and her writing, which, until now, felt a firm distinction, which I never saw as exclusive to Marling, but present in all the music I liked.
This came from discussions I’d have with friends about what you’d listen to first, music or lyrics. Often for me, it was music; if I didn’t get on with the sounds, I wouldn’t bother myself with trying to unpack the lyrics. After these conversations, I’d make a concerted effort to take the lyrics first, so long as I was sure the sounds would resonate with me. This changed my perspective, along with the somewhat intense study of, but more I suppose, intense thought about, literature. I began to see words as the primary function of songs, and music: melody, harmony rhythm, and timbre, as a way of delivering those words in a digestible way, with the added effect of accentuating the emotional points of those words.
But I was still thinking about two distinct artistic functions. That of aesthetic, and that of ideas. A marked distinction between sounds, images, smells, tastes, feelings, and words. The five senses alone, I thought, were not only distinct from the power of words, but less important, less useful. I thought purely sensory art was less meaningful than that which was backed by ideology. This goes for instrumental music, modern art, fine dining, sensory experiences generally, and everything in between. I used to think these forms would pale in comparison to poetry, film, lyrics, novels and the like in terms of their utility, importance, or power.
While this isn’t necessarily untrue, and part of me still sees it this way, I think it is more compelling to view it as such. That here is in fact no separation between words and sounds, or words and images; aesthetic and ideology are not distinct. The results are the same in each case; affect. The aesthetic value of the senses is equally powerful as any associated ideology. Maybe my dearth of knowledge in philosophy and literary criticism is coming through here. I sincerely doubt I am the first person to say this, and I’m sure there are relevant schools of thought which disagree, agree, or take issue with the entire premise of the argument, but I hope I have been able to articulate this in a way that some of you reading may relate, or even to have provided a basis upon which to rethink your relationship to art in all its forms.
To take inspiration from the model in Sita Balani’s Deadly and Slick, I think ideology and aesthetic exist on a mobius strip; perpetually bound, always intertwined. Ideas contain within them, a significant aesthetic value; a beauty which has the same affective power as beauty itself. This inherently exists, and on an equal plane; there is no greater power afforded through the leveraging of language to create ideas than there is afforded by, say, blending aromatic compounds to create a smell or taste.
Both result in affect, whether that be a deep thought or feeling on politics or philosophy, or a deep thought or feeling of nostalgia, evoked by a sudden air of a specific scent. Perhaps then, what I mean is that there is no real distinction between thought and feeling - though this is a bold claim which I haven’t thought through yet, get back to me on that one.
But to round this thought off, next time you look at a Turner or a Pollock, be stirred, next time you read Baldwin or Dickinson, be equally so.
And to reconcile this with Laura Marling, I think my love of and obsession with her music is far more holistic than I initially realised. Despite not being able to relate to her experiences of girlhood, womanhood, and now motherhood, I feel a resonance with her artistic vision. It’s affective power comes from the specific combination of aesthetic and ideology, a combination which can never be separated. The elements intertwine and create an intensely affective body of work, by which I find myself deeply moved.
There’s something far more abstract about the relationships we have with artists. It doesn’t hinge on identity, experience, or material understanding. It’s something far more transient, elusive even, but certainly powerful. This is the connection I feel when I listen to Laura Marling’s music, and it has no less meaning than those former touchstones.
P.S - The new album is brilliant. Listen to it.