"""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 clichés 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."""