Live Review: Grouper

Listening to Grouper under the vaunted ceiling of an old church is the closest an adult human can get to completely regressing back into the womb.

It's weightless, warm, and enveloping. Vibrations push against you through what sounds like a barrier of flesh and blood, and noise is omnipresent, totally washing away your sense of gravity and space. Time slows down. Sleep waits patiently and diligently, ebbing and flowing as your concentration waxes and wanes. It's zen.

The small gathering, having crossed the threshold of dead leaves outside, sits on the floor. Liz Harris sits underneath the pulpit, surrounded by her gear: modular synths, pedals, her guitar, and cassette tape decks. She is totally absorbed, and will be for the next hour. Our being there is of little consequence to her. This is not an ordinary exchange. We sit and listen, or more accurately, absorb. The noise is pleasant, but completely without form. It's like a dream. Her voice sits way back, like a ghost in a crowded room. It floats in and out. Consciousness does too. The visuals on screen are impressionistic Super 8-type reels of places where industry meets the natural world. Harris wanders the landscape as the images double up over each other, sunlight pouring through cracks in grates to warm the grass and throw diamonds off the rippling surfaces of water flowing over rocks.

After several shifts in tone and texture the show ends. Harris stands and neatly exits the room without pause. We all awoke, crossed back over the threshold of dead leaves, and into the night.