Reminds me a bit of if Krasznahorkai was tasked with writing a Lispector novel and managed to read There's a Monster at the End of this Book and "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock" along the way. Deeply introspective narrator caught up far too much with the concerns of the present, preventing them from enjoying themselves until a brief exhale at the very end. 

I quite enjoyed the drum tracks and paintings as well. I can't say I've encountered another novel like this one.