Museum Of No Art

Only a clarinet sings - minimal, quivering, wavering. Breathing mad notes in the cracks between notes, weaving a dazed, fuzzy kind of magic. The latest recordings by Museum of No Art are tripping - floating in suspense, somewhere out in the irrational corners of the world inhabited by the haunted elegance of Ben Bertrand or Bernhard Herrmann. But still, entirely her own - a quiet revolt of classical clich?s in search of a new dawn for lunatic woodwinds. She sings through her instrument and it sings to her. It carries her, and she lets it. A distinctive timbre tumbling through tonal fog. Four freely formed compositions for dispari. One petite and tempting. Two mid-length wanderers - teetering, wobbling. And one epic piercer. All drifting in inspiring airs. Ephemeral, nebulous, fragile, like the desolate candy snowman, melting on a warm tongue, threatened with complete dissolution. Fleeting like a stolen glimpse of the intimate curve of an anonymous stranger's neck.

• 1 Travelling At The Speed Of Time I
• 2 Travelling At The Speed Of Time II
• 3 Travelling At The Speed Of Time III
• 4 Travelling At The Speed Of Time IV