Blue Lake - Weft

A Closer Listen

After the enchantment of 2023’s Sun Arcs, Blue Lake returns with the beguiling Weft.  Gone is the blue lake of the earlier album’s cover; in its place is Maria Zahle’s woven “Torso,” a metaphor for the music within.  Weft does at times sound as if it were created on a loom, with additional instrumentation (piano, melodica, breath) and players; for the first time, we hear the origins of the Blue Lake band.

But first we hear Jason Dungen alone.  An American now living in Copenhagen, the composer relocates an Appalachian sensibility, demonstrating that imported seeds can grow in foreign ground.  The title track showcases the 12-string guitar and sounds like the work of a band, thanks to multi-tracking; already the warmth is apparent.  Perhaps it is the combination of music and cover art, but one thinks of Native American art, wagons on the prairie, a home-hewn house in the woods.  The music still sparkles, as it did on Sun Arc, but the artist sounds even more confident and self-assured, allowing the music to peak and recede.

The next two tracks, “Forest” and “Oceans,” explore the artist’s connection to nature.  The first, recorded in Sweden, builds from a simple repeated motif.  As other instruments are added, the complexity becomes apparent, but the contrast is key.  At nearly ten minutes, there’s plenty of time for the piece to develop, taking on the character, if not the timbre of drone.  One might even receive the piece as a spiritual ceremony, as it creates a trance-like effect, broken at the eight-minute mark as the shower of instrumentation descends into droplets.  Ironically, had the artist titled this piece “Oceans,” we would not have been surprised.  The real “Oceans” is brief and breezy, a counterpart to the previous piece, far less dense, with the implication of sailing on a sun-dappled day.

And now, ladies and gentlemen, meet the Blue Lake band: Carolyn Goodwin (bass clarinet), Tomo Jacobson (double bass), and Pauline Hogstrand (viola), with additional objects: metal, driftwood, bicycle tire.  Dungen must feel some relief, not having to play everything by himself!  “Tatara” is relaxed, even Rachel’s-like, a preview of the live experience.  In this piece, the drone takes center stage, concurrent with the folk aspects; unusual percussion, like bells hung from a barn ceiling, attracts the ear like the sound of a traveling peddler from afar.  And then it is just Jason and his 36-string zither, closing the set with a palate cleanser, the weaving complete, the finished project off to market, the next idea already blooming in the loom.  (Richard Allen)