Four Minutes and Thirty Three Seconds of...Silence? Nothing? Something?

John Cage has been called many things - a composer, a Music philosopher, a master. His work has challenged the very definition of music, posing a huge problem for listeners, but even more for critics.

Cage’s 4’33” is the epitome of a musical challenge to audiences, critics, and musicians. Consisting of three movements of “silence,” his 1952 composition instructs the performer to tacet for a total duration of four minutes and thirty-three seconds.

In its original form, it was only performed three times, each by pianist David Tudor. At its premiere in Woodstock, NY, people walked out. Quite obviously, such a piece is fraught with analytical difficulties.

James Pritchett, in his introduction to The Music of John Cage, says “the problem with treating Cage as a composer is clearly a problem with his work after 1951.” Pritchett asks how one can understand one of Cage’s randomly-made compositions, or chance operations. “To criticize it would be to criticize a random act; how does one judge the toss of a coin?”

Avoiding the obvious pitfalls of Pritchett’s question of criticism and its bearing on music’s existence, the heart of it comes later: “The way out of this dilemma has traditionally been to ignore the music and dwell upon ‘the ideas behind it.’”

So to begin an analysis of Cage’s “composition,” it is first necessary to view the work in its most “pure” form. Below is a performance by David Tudor:



Analytically, it seems impossible to address the technical or musical abilities of the performer. At least by conventional standards.

First, a traditional analysis operates under the premise that the performer is the source of the “music.” The performer is in control of the music. S/he is the gatekeeper of the composition, interpreting the composer’s instructions. Through the performer is the only way for the audience to experience music.

Second, for the audience to experience the music presupposes specific requirements for the audience and the venue. In this tradition, it is assumed that the audience and the venue merely exist, that they make no noise.

Finally, in a conventional style of analysis, the premise is that the performer produces sound. The composer creates a structure for the performer to make noise, with the assumption of silence from the space and the audience.

To analyze Cage’s work, however, we must rethink the roles of composer, performer, audience, and venue.

In 4’33”, the composer Cage has created instructions and a structure for the performer to interpret. The performer remains the gatekeeper, controlling the beginning and end of movements, as Tudor signified by opening and closing the piano lid. And in many ways the performer does produce sound. By directing the audience’s attention to the ambient sounds of the space, s/he is creating what the audience hears,

The only fundamental - and most important - difference in analysis is that Cage realizes that the “silence” of the audience and venue is an impossibility. They have the ability to create as much music as any performer making noise.

“There’s no such thing as silence,” said John Cage about the premiere (Kostelanetz 2003, 70). “What they thought was silence, because they didn’t know how to listen, was full of accidental sounds. You could hear the wind stirring outside during the first movement. During the second, raindrops began patterning the roof, and during the third the people themselves made all kinds of interesting sounds as they talked or walked out.”

With 4’33” Cage challenges the audience to listen in a way they never have before. The noise the audience makes are just as important as the noise the performer makes. Cage transforms a dead venue into a live sound space, a vital part of the composition.

This is what people continue to miss in the discussion of 4’33”. They still see it as an exercise in silence. They don’t listen to what is there, but rather they listen for what Cage said didn’t exist - silence. When that happens 4’33” becomes a gimmick.

Consider this performance by the BBC symphony orchestra:



The “announcers” create a situation for an expectation of silence. The conductor makes a mockery of the “technical” difficulty of the piece by wiping the sweat from his brow after the first movement. And the audience completely misses the point, by holding their breath during the movements and then making all their noise between the movements. Cage’s idea that the noise they make during the movements consists of the music has been lost in search of an impossibility.

Looking for silence leads to even more contrived attempts, like this “tutorial” (watch specifically around the 40 to 45 second mark):

This “performer” actually disregards the instructions of the composer when he “accidentally” makes a noise. It was actually frustrating for me to watch. The idea of “teaching” a piece like 4’33” is ridiculous. In fact, it could be argued that in order to “hear” 4’33” we must first unlearn how we listen to (or for) music.

Consider Cage’s own words on silence and music:



The music is within the structure of a place like Sixth Avenue. 4’33” takes the venue and makes it the instrument. So why does the venue need to be a concert hall?

A classmate proposed this idea once. She said that if the space was as much a part of the performance as anything, then the possibilities for structuring the “sound space” were relatively endless.

I explored this idea with a friend, by taking 4’33” onto the 1 train of the New York City subway system:



I think people largely ignored me during the performance. There is the chance, however, that one person in that car listened more intently to the surrounding sounds. If that happened, then Cage’s work (and my interpretation) has conveyed its message.

A composer has an idea behind her/his work, something s/he wants to say. Every composer is a “music philosopher,” attempting to reveal a higher truth to the listener. Some messages are easier to interpret. A Mozart or a Beethoven piece might easily evoke an emotion, but a piece like 4’33” challenges the very definition of music. The philosophy is more readily apparent, but runs deeper.