Grouper is the ongoing musical project of Oregon born musician Liz Harris. I listen to Grouper all the time, perhaps more than any other contemporary band, but their music is so enigmatic that I can't say I really know it, in fact, virtually every listen is an exercise in unknowing. Much of it is so lo fi it sounds like it is drifting in from another room. It reminds me of radio waves from space: as a non-scientist, I have no way of measuring where it came from, who sent it, or how long ago.
Harris builds repetitive but mobile layers of treated guitar, organ and piano to create noisy but clearly very personal soundscapes. When Harris sings it is beautiful and haunting, but any words are either indiscernible or indecipherable, and so it carries some of the mystery of Medieval music. There are no drums, ever. This may not sound like much fun, and it certainly doesn't result in something you might bang on the car stereo as you're driving to B & Q (other destinations may apply). There is no foot tapping, head nodding or air punching. It is, however, supremely listenable: compelling, hypnotic, unfathomable. I understand that this might be perplexing to some, even annoying, and that's okay, we all have different tastes and needs.
When I listen to Grouper, I find myself transported to an indeterminate landscape where it is no longer possible to analyse and understand everything, and I find that this is a relief rather than a frustration. When I was a kid I wanted to know everything about everything. Now I'm old I've learned how important it is that at least a few mysteries (the meaning of life, Bigfoot, Grouper) remain.
You can find most of their remarkable back catalogue here. There is no right or wrong entry point, it's all good.
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