Ballad playing is an integral part of the jazz canon, and it is fascinating to see how many new avenues musicians have opened up in pursuit of the tender moment. Danish guitarist Mikkel Ploug's group shows itself to be a model of sensitivity and subtext on this enjoyably wistful set that benefits substantially from the presence of contemporary saxophone colossus Mark Turner.

In fact, the pall of mist floating over the dark outline of forestland on the exquisite monochrome sleeve is an entirely appropriate visual nod to the ensemble sound. There is indeed a hovering, ethereal character in the themes and wavering chords that drift sensually behind the beat, with Ploug's delicately needled harmonics threading their way into Turner's breathy, perfectly articulated motifs.

One could draw a line from Jim Hall-Sonny Rollins to Bill Frisell-Joe Lovano to Ploug-Turner, and there is also a pleasingly subtle folk-rock current on some of the pieces in which the bass-drums axis of Jeppe Skovbakke and Sean Carpio starts to spin with a touch more muscularity.

Yet the quartet raises energy levels without losing any lyricism. The prime example is ‘Lacrimosa’, a quite sumptuous mid-tempo number that drives forward to a Ploug solo in which he scats, scrapes and picks but does not boil over into melodrama. The mist lingers beautifully.