On this wonderful, foggy dream of a record, Portland’s Lizz Harris has gone and bested nearly everything she‘s done as Grouper, her often murky drone-folk solo project. For most of these 12 languid songs, it is just guitar strum, pillowy resonance, and, sunk in the mix, her heavenly voice, singing about… well, it’s really hard to say. As lucid as this album is for Harris, the lo-fi recording sounds like it‘s filtered through a wall or three: The sounds bleed and mingle like differently shaded rivers at a junction. Music this lovely could almost change the world.