Review: Blue Lake Weaves a Scintillating Sonic Tapestry on 'Weft'

Maria Zahle crafted “Torso,” a set of ornate, plant-dyed reeds bound together, with a mix of objects she kept for her studio practice and plant matter she uncovered in Scandinavia. The figures, while appearing frail, look exuberant; the pigments Zahle found in the forest could give even the most delicate structures a pop of vitality. Dyeing and weaving mixed-density cloth together helps bring disparate pieces together into one; the dissonance between individual surfaces in each figure feels less important than the fact that they’re now effectively embedded in each other; it’s more than construction, it’s transformation. Zahle’s partner, the American-born instrumentalist and composer Jason Dungan, draws a lot of inspiration for his musical works from her woven art, and vice versa. 2023’s Sun Arcs saw Dungan weave his Texas and Denmark experiences more directly than ever, paying special homage to jazz performed on bright, acoustic instruments. Dungan’s latest work as Blue Lake, Weft, is a cosmic collection of interwoven voices soundtracking abundance, focus, interdependence and more, making the folksy uncanny and the uncanny awfully homey. Weft’s emphasis on first takes highlights how Dungan sees the best of Americana as a living exercise, one where the best performances come from the tug-of-war between apprehension and satisfaction.

Weaving is a constant on Weft. Three out of the five tracks get the live recording treatment, with an emphasis on first takes, where anxious instruments learn to speak and commune in real time. Bandmates on the cello, guitar, zither or woodwind settle into a common groove, realizing which voices must speak the loudest as they come forth and dialing it back when they realize they’ve said their piece. The strings of Dungan’s custom zithers even resemble threads on a loom. The way they congeal on the opening title track into a familiar, satisfying guitar loop rocking on waves of cello plucks and skipping drums welcomes a sunny comfort, an Americana that feels level-headedly reverential, akin to Hour. The emotive open tunings recall the work of Hannah Frances, but sans words; Blue Lake’s arrangements raise feelings from earth with arresting smoothness.

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Recorded primarily with a vintage Japanese nylon-stringed guitar originally owned by Dungan’s mother-in-law, “Oceans” feels like a dialed-back Yasmin Williams composition. Much as Williams’s exercises push the boundaries of American instrumental folk to dazzling extremes in pursuit of narrative and affect, Dungan’s composition is highly technical without sacrificing evocation. Every oscillation or gallop he generates is felt as much as it is heard, coming together in a denouement that resembles a locatable narrative without coming to a strict prescription. The Blue Lake band elevates the most troubling works, like “Tatara,” to a special brilliance: Gentle bowstrokes on the viola, thumping pizzicato on the contrabass, fuzzy hums of the bass clarinet are the ideal backdrop for Dungan to generate newfound sensory possibilities with found percussion from driftwood and scrap metal. The comparatively minimal zither lines in the song’s midsection are downright psychedelic. It’s an uncanny take on American instrumental country that vibes with many of Copenhagen’s finest, who lean into atmosphere and play on triumphs of experimental pop.

“The Forest” originated in Dungan’s own Sweden outpost, but the luxurious layers of piano, drum, zither, reeds and woodwinds came together in his Copenhagen home studio. As each layer grows and settles into a recursive flow, every flourish from the winds feels like a greeting. The drawn-out clarinet calls pierce through with audacity, like an errant ray of light reaching through the understory. It’s when Dungan closes Weft with “Strata,” a solo exercise on his 36-string zither, that the project’s uncanny balance of peace and entropy is at its most noticeable. As voices weave together on prior tracks to develop newfound harmonies, the live zither solo brings the focus back to the loom that initially gathered the voices together. The composition doesn’t come to the cleanest end and drops away rapidly. It’s dissatisfying, but to force the exercise longer and come to a more gradual end disrupts the project’s ongoing naturalism. Balancing the editorial and the unrefined is a delicate act for any artist working with natural and artificial materials, often making the most palatable outcomes impossible but finding still poignant alternatives.

Dungan’s penchant for working with Americana and jazz, which keep him near the sounds of his original home, and turning them on their heads while preserving their affective capabilities is still staggering on the comparatively short Weft. After breaking out with Sun Arcs in the summer of 2023, Dungan’s Blue Lake project has grown to accommodate more collaborators in more settings, letting a panoply of voices mingle with continued brilliance. The predominance of first takes on Weft is palpable; you can hear the exhilaration that players sense on “Weft” and “Tatara” when a motif clicks right into place. For Blue Lake, it’s not just about the voices or the final product; it’s the process through which those voices emerge, acknowledge each other and marvel at the tapestry they form together. It’s rich with moments where you’d be forgiven for whispering “yes” under your breath.

Devon Chodzin is a Pittsburgh-based critic and urban planner with bylines at Aquarium Drunkard, Stereogum, Bandcamp Daily and more. He lives on Twitter @bigugly.

Blue Lake Weaves a Scintillating Sonic Tapestry on Weft

The American-born, Denmark-based instrumentalist’s new effort is a cosmic collection of interwoven voices soundtracking abundance, focus, interdependence and more, making the folksy uncanny and the uncanny awfully homey.