On the black and white album cover for Once I Was an Eagle, Laura Marling reaches up to the sky, stretching her fingers wide like a shadow puppet of a bird. It evokes freedom and a certain feminine self-possession. And this, her best and most accomplished album—and her personal favourite of her catalogue—is an extended and expansive album about motion. It was recorded before her move to LA from her home of England, but feels like it could have been made anywhere in the world, its eclectic mix of instruments both Eastern and Western. It’s as though Marling has answered the call to the wild, refusing to be stationary. The first four songs work as one extended unit, conceived under the influence of marijuana, something Marling was playing around with for the first time. In these tracks, she tosses away her past relationship. “I will not be a victim of romance,” she retorts on “I Was an Eagle,” a magical tapestry of sitar playing and strings, and reasserts that she is a great symbol of American freedom while her ex-partner is a meek dove. Later, she finds a fresh love. “Hey there, new friend across the sea/If you figure things out, would you figure in me?” she sings in “When Were You Happy? (And How Long Has That Been).” Each song blends into the last and has a trance-like quality, which has the effect of bringing calm as she asks great questions of life, like she’s a philosopher channelling wisdom. Can one’s desires ever be fulfilled (“Pray for Me”)? How true can connection really be between two individuals (“You Know”)? The album ends with an explosion of emotion on “Saved These Words,” and conversational, sometimes barked, Fiona Apple-esque vocals. “Thank you naivety, for saving me again/He was my next verse,” she exclaims of a lover over an accumulation of all the instruments played across the record: sitars, African drums, and more. The fact that Marling recorded her vocal and guitar parts in a single take each, and in one day, only adds to the emotional immediacy of the record. The adventurous Once I Was an Eagle then stood alone in her cryptic discography as being autobiographical; a personal grasp for freedom, happiness, and love, the latter of which still hangs in the balance.