ADDENDUM P-ART JOURNAL 10 Covering Silence as Sound Silent Revolution Essay, written by Margaret Leng TAN (2002, Andante©) who belongs to the P-ART WEB of ARTISTS (< click) In August 1988, Lincoln Center Out of Doors presented a joyous "Cage Alfresco" with simultaneous performances lasting into the evening. I remember vividly being one of eight pianists stationed at upright pianos around the reflecting pool performing Winter Music. Amid the swirl of activity in the Plaza, John Cage presented a version of his 1962 composition, 0'00", a "solo to be performed in any way by anyone." What appears on first impression as an invitation to unbridled self-expression is quickly dispelled by the conditions which the score goes on to stipulate: 0'0" does not call for the performance of a musical composition but rather of "a disciplined action in a situation provided with maximum amplification ... fulfilling in whole or part an obligation to others." For this particular occasion, Cage wrote a letter of recommendation with a microphone placed in the immediate vicinity of his pen so that every stroke and scratch on the paper became painstakingly audible.
For myself, 0'0" presented the perfect means of escape from the cloistered confines of High Art. I became an artist with a practical mission and my interpretation of 0'0", which I performed as a first anniversary memorial tribute to Cage, allowed me to flex my muscles as a zealous animal rights activist. I stamped info-leaflets with the slogans "The Agony of Fur" and "Toy Pianos Don't Kill Elephants." My work surface was amplified so that each stamp resounded like a gunshot. The leaflets were then distributed to my captive audience.
0'0" was written for Yoko Ono and Toshi Ichiyanagi, key figures in the burgeoning Fluxus movement of the '60s which naturally regarded Cage as the wellspring of their inspiration. Contrary to being an incitement to anarchy, 0'0" was, and remains, a call for artists to assume social responsibility, a summons that has been heeded by the generation of artists that has emerged from the ivory towers since Cage paved the way four decades ago.
While he believed that artists had an ethical obligation, Cage always remained apolitical, stalwart in his conviction that government is extraneous and actually a hindrance to the efficient functioning of society. A case in point i s his frighteningly prescient In the Name of the Holocaust from 1942, which I recorded on my albums "Sonic Encounters" and "Daughters of the Lonesome Isle." When I asked him about the political inferences, he side-stepped my question, stating that he had come up with the title simply as a pun on "In the Name of the Holy Ghost."2002 is an important year for John Cage devotees. It is the tenth anniversary of his death, the ninetieth anniversary of his birth, and this August will mark a half-century since Cage's legendary silent piece, 4'33", was introduced to the world. Within the sylvan setting of the aptly named Maverick Concert Hall in Woodstock, New York, the pianist David Tudor sat at the piano with a stopwatch without playing but implying - by the opening and closing of the keyboard lid - that the work had three movements whose respective durations amounted to four minutes and 33 seconds.
In his book, Silence, Cage wrote, "There is no such thing as an empty space or an empty time. There is always something to see, something to hear. In fact, try as we may to make a silence, we cannot ... sounds occur whether intended or not." With audacious courage, Cage then proceeded to redefine the parameters of silence to encompass "all the sounds we don't intend."
4'33", the quintessential masterpiece of Conceptual Art, is alive and well even as I write this in the third floor study room of the Lincoln Center Library for the Performing Arts, where silence is de rigueur. I am enjoying the lively spontaneous performance of 4'33" that is taking place with the ostinato hum of the air-conditioning system punctuated by fingers tapping incessant rhythms on computer keyboards and the occasional murmur of distant voices. I have become simultaneously performer and spectator in a work whose prescribed duration of four minutes and 33 seconds is intended simply to provide a structure - temporal training wheels - to help initiate us into the process of listening to the ever-changing, never-ceasing music of the environment captured in what Cage liked to call the "Now-moment."
In addition to 4'33", 1952 also saw the creation of Water Music for a pianist using, among other objects, an assortment of whistles (including a siren and a duck call), water , and the radio. An extremely precise collage of real-world sounds, no two performances are alike because there is always something different on the radio. Water Music is an affirmation of Cage's long-standing belief in the synonomity of art, life and theater. Along with the famous untitled event Cage staged at Black Mountain College in North Carolina in the same year, Water Music became the impetus for performance art, happenings and multimedia in the ensuing decades. Cage's incorporation of radio into his compositions of the forties and fifties was an uncanny anticipation of the ghetto blaster as an American street phenomenon decades later. Equally impressive was his 1937 prediction that music would be produced through the aid of electrical instruments. (I refer to the lecture "The Future of Music: Credo" in Silence).
Whenever I practice Water Music, I am amazed anew that the piece is a microcosm of the world outside. Stand in the street below my open window on a late summer day and you can enjoy first-hand virtually all the sounds employed in the piece: water gushing from the hydrants, the occasional arpeggio emanating forth (yes, the pianist plays arpeggios in Water Music), the geese flying over Prospect Park, and of course the ubiquitous radio and the sirens screaming up the avenue.
The truth of the matter is, John Cage's presence has permeated the fabric of our lives even while we remain largely oblivious to its impact. American to the core, Cage released twentieth-century American musical culture from the weight and shadow of the European tradition and gave American artists the confidence to be themselves. The musical developments of our time cannot be understood without taking into account his music and his ideas. In essence, we are all Cage's spiritual children.
He gave me the courage to explore the piano in adventurous new ways with his most famous invention, the prepared piano, as my springboard. His slyly simple yet sophisticated Suite for Toy Piano revealed to me an exciting new instrument with hitherto untapped possibilities. (I recorded it on "Daughters of the Lonesome Isle" and "The Seasons.") Most importantly, however, is Cage's approach to living as summed up in his writings, notably Silence, the bible of many artists in my generation. I shall never forget the first time I came across his definition of error as "simply a failure to adjust immediately from a preconception to an actuality." And even while I miss his sage and sanguine presence, there is solace to be gleaned from his conviction that "Life goes on very well without me, and that will explain to you my silent piece, 4'33". ... One need not fear about the future of music."
John Cage would be the first to acknowledge his heroes: Thoreau, Meister Eckhart, Marcel Duchamp, James Joyce, Buckminster Fuller - revolutionary thinkers all. But Cage stands alone in his all-encompassing sphere of influence on the arts and philosophy of the mid- and late-twentieth century. Arnold Schoenberg called him an "inventor of genius;" it will be a long while before there emerges another of his stature.Margaret Leng TAN If you would like to respond to this essay, please write to letters@andante.com. http://www.andante.com/magazine/article.cfm?id=16636 © andante Corp. April 2002
BACK TO P-ART JOURNAL #10 Covering Silence as SoundNEXT item