Laura Marling appears on the Corn Exchange stage to a clamorous round of applause. Next month, some of us will be sitting exams in the same venue. Although young enough to be an undergraduate, Marling leads a life far removed from late night cramming sessions in the library. As first lady of the ‘Mumford and the Whale’ folk scene, Britain’s most illustrious musical collective since So Solid Crew, she’s recently enjoyed top five album success.

Spending a Saturday evening in the company of any other 20-year old folk artist could have been a twee affair. Support act Alessi’s Ark (another nipper, aged 19) wore her best Amish costume, but did assure that proceedings would improve upon her departure. Indeed, seconds into opener ‘Devil’s Spoke’, Laura Marling dispelled any concerns regarding her precociousness. Seeing Marling play live, her youthfulness is irrelevant.

The meandering guitar lines and harmonies of ‘Ghosts’ were enhanced by the backing of a four-piece band. They soon scamper off, though, leaving Marling alone. Once a notoriously shy performer, her confidence and stage presence have blossomed. ‘Night Terror’ reveals her Grade Eight with distinction whistling capabilities, and she intersperses her songs with sharp anecdotes.

A solo segment of the show is used to preview a new song composed on this tour. It follows a similar convention to her current material: melancholic lyrics over an intricate finger-picked guitar line. ‘What’s it called?’ comes a cry from the back. But there’s no time to reply; another gig-goer has just professed his love for her. ‘You too’, Marling mumbles in reply, glancing awkwardly at the floor.

Interruptions aside, the hushed theatrical environment grants her songs a hair-raising resonance, superior to that on record. Her voice shines on ‘Failure,’ immaculate in its range from low-pitched, breathy anguish to piercing wails. She fluffs the lyrics and briefly stops to apologise. But the spell had already been cast, and she resumes as vigourosly as before.

With her band having returned, she confesses that she’s ‘never understood encores’, so jokingly warns that the next song will be the penultimate. She ends with ‘I Speak Because I Can’, the title track from her new record. Its wistful lyrics, regretting never having rid her ‘bike down to the sea / never finished that letter I was writing’ make for a powerful, affecting ending.

Filing out past the merchandise, an intrepid fan asks if there’s any chance of an after-gig signing? Merchandise Lady shakes her head, ‘Laura’s very shy’. She really needn’t be. With a talent like that, Marling can be confident that a fruitful career lies ahead.