Liz Harris' music has been termed many things, and worn many different aesthetics, but it remains quintessentially her own.
Having traversed a more traditional, deep-sinking drone with her looped guitar fragments on Cover The Windows and Walls (released for the legendary Root Strata imprint), she created songs proper for Dragging a Dead Deer Up A Hill, strumming through the rain on her way to structure. Ruins saw her make a record of remote piano ballads, but it spoke to how consistently she connects with listeners in any sphere: Grouper is Grouper, always.
As Harris' music has evolved, it has retained its elusiveness while becoming more direct and human. Her recent record, Grid of Points, sounds as distinct as she can make it, offering the listener snatches of clarity from within blurry scenery. It's as close to city living as she can relate; the grainy hiss and tape noise of these songs sounds like traffic passing by, while her layering of vocals this time sounds like a communal effort. Following simpler, more improvised melodies instead of the once-typical assembly of loops, she's proven herself a songwriter adjacent to ambience. Her music's appeal has seen her enlisted for a series of bemusing collaborations, including work with dub producer The Bug and avant-pop shredder Xiu Xiu.