I don’t know how Wanderwelle’s Lost in a Sea of Trees
ends or begins – only how it is in spots, in some indeterminable places; like waking up from a dream, although to put it more aptly, it's like waking up in
the dream. Your eyelids begin to blink open to the sound of a trickling stream flowing nearby, as you lift your head up from the cool, mossy ground and the disorientation begins to fade. Looking up, adjusting your eyes to glimmers of bright moonlight, brilliant beams funneled through a web of small cracks in the autumnal canopy hanging above. A thin layer of mist wraps around your ankles and the damp forest floor pads the soles of your feet as you begin making your way; an uncanny comfort begins to seep into a wandering mind as timid steps ease into a rhythmic cadence, slowly, intentionally, like a blind soldier marching without rhyme or reason or thought, only because it is what he knows.
There is some hypnotic pulse, a muted resonance sourced from another place which directs you, unwittingly, through endless rows of interspersed trees and over their vast network of exposed roots. At some point, after an uncertain amount of time has passed and an unknowable distance has been crossed, you notice the enclosing trees have changed almost imperceptibly – or perhaps it is simply your perception itself that has changed. What seemed so regal and towering, and which were coated almost entirely with such thick, vibrant layers of moss, have been at once stripped of any prowess or color they previously held. A new collective, thinned wisps of their former selves, replace them; columns of lifeless bark rooted throughout the surrounding area, held upright only by some unseen presence.
The wind would begin to change its tune too, its stillness becoming one of uncertainty rather than tranquility, only occasionally kicking up to whisper faint echoes and leave the mind with dark, indelible thoughts. This uncertainty is central to everything, it seems. The squish of repeated steps would switch to the dry crunch of twigs underfoot, the pulse which welcomed and guided you further along would become unnerving, and the moonlight filtering through the treeline would gradually shift in intensity and hue, digging under your skin as it makes contact and bringing the cold of night in with it. Despite this, all these things, unfolding slowly and intermittently, back and forth, and with no explanation or logic, continue without raising any question or concern, and are instead met with vacuous acceptance. Left, right, left, right…
Lost in a Sea of Trees
is, well, just that – it’s lost in the densely padded beats which power its mysterious pulse, in its natural soundscapes of gusting winds and twinkling stars, in its peculiar morphing of tone, from mystifying to menacing to mystifying again, each time wiping the slate cleaner than before. Yet for all its confused, meandering tendencies, its lush aesthetic is so immersive, so convincing, that its call to the dream is never interrupted, constant in its calming mesmerism until its sound eventually becomes a distant footnote, unannounced and unnoticed.