Stark avant-classical musings from the Melee/non-Olson Graveyards posse (I think). “High” art violin scrapes and minimalist museum percussion contemplations interact in a distant, fractured sort of way. Seems like this could be the score to a really baffling performance art piece or something like that. Light snare-rim tapping. Fingers absently plucking strings. A small bell ringing in dead silence. Whoa. Don’t sneeze/cough, etc. Might interrupt whatever heavy message is being communicated here. Bland/stock cover photo of a tween girl smiling at a birthday party only compounds my non-comprehension.
