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Non-intentional performance practice in John Cage's Solo for Sliding Trombone Chilton, James Gregory 2007

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N O N - I N T E N T I O N A L P E R F O R M A N C E P R A C T I C E IN SLIDING TROMBONE  JOHN C A G E ' S SOLO FOR  by  JAMES G R E G O R Y C H I L T O N B . M u s . , University o f Western Ontario, 2001 M . M u s . , University of Alberta, 2003  A THESIS S U B M I T T E D IN P A R T I A L F U L F I L L M E N T OF THE REQUIREMENTS FOR T H E D E G R E E OF D O C T O R OF M U S I C A L A R T S  in  THE F A C U L T Y OF G R A D U A T E STUDIES  (Music)  T H E U N I V E R S I T Y OF BRITISH C O L U M B I A A p r i l 2007 © James Gregory Chilton, 2007  ABSTRACT  This dissertation provides a study guide to aid trombonists in understanding and appreciating the Solo for Sliding Trombone (1957-58), one o f the many solo parts from ' the Concert for Piano and Orchestra (1957-58) by John Cage (1912-1992). This seldomperformed piece o f contemporary music is often misunderstood and is overlooked as an important part o f the trombone repertoire. This document aims to help trombonists seeking to perform unaccompanied trombone music to develop an understanding o f Cage's aesthetic o f non-intentional performance and a greater interest i n learning this work. In particular, this dissertation addresses the question o f how one can perform the Solo with non-intention in spite o f the fact that practicing and rehearsing are required to play the work. The Solo score presents new challenges for the trombonist in terms o f using all parts o f the trombone, as well as a wide selection o f mutes, to produce various sounds and timbres in ways never before conceived for the instrument. T o approach this work, the trombonist must also reconsider his or her performance practice; they must learn to maintain extreme patience in performance and must transform the way they listen to and treat "silence." This work was the first indeterminate solo composition for the instrument. This document considers the context and compositional process for this piece, provides guidelines for performing the Solo, examines recordings o f the work, and discusses its influence on later compositions for trombone. Thus, this dissertation presents the first extensive scholarly study o f Cage's Solo for Sliding Trombone.  n  T A B L E OF CONTENTS  Abstract Table o f Contents  '.  List o f Figures Acknowledgements Dedication C H A P T E R I Introduction C H A P T E R II The Concert for Piano and Orchestra (1957-58) C H A P T E R III The Solo for Sliding Trombone (1957-58) C H A P T E R I V Other Indeterminate Works C H A P T E R V Recordings o f the Solo for Sliding Trombone (1957-58) C H A P T E R V I The Solo's Influence C H A P T E R V I I Conclusion Bibliography  in  LIST OF FIGURES  Figure 2.1: Fragment R from the Concert for Piano and Orchestra b y John Cage  21  Figure 3.1: Excerpt from page 181 o f the Solo for Sliding Trombone by John Cage  33  Figure 3.2: Excerpt from page 180 o f the Solo for Sliding Trombone by John Cage  35  Figure 3.3: Excerpt from page 175 o f the Solo for Sliding Trombone by John Cage  37  Figure 3.4: Excerpt from page 179 o f the Solo for Sliding Trombone by John Cage  39  Figure 3.5: Excerpt from page 184 o f the Solo for Sliding Trombone by John Cage  40  Figure 3.6: Excerpt from page 176 o f the Solo for Sliding Trombone by John Cage  42  Figure 3.7: Excerpt from page 182 from the Solo for Sliding Trombone b y John Cage...43 Figure 4.1: Page 4 from Music for Carillon No. 1 by John Cage  50  Figure 4.2: 4'33" by John Cage  53  Figure 4.3: Page 178 from the Solo for Sliding Trombone by John Cage  53  Figure 4.4: Excerpt from Page 45 from Music for Piano Nos. 21-36/37-52 by John Cage  54  Figure 5.1: Excerpt from page 174 o f the Solo for Sliding Trombone by John Cage  59  Figure 6.1: Measure 1 from Sequenza F(1966) b y Luciano Berio  66  Figure 6.2: Excerpt from Page 4 o f Discours II (1969) by V i n k o Globokar  68  Figure 6.3: Excerpt from Page 4 o f linaia-agon (1972) by Iannis Xenakis  69  iv  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS  I would like to express my gratitude to my dissertation committee for their help and support in putting together this document, with particular thanks to Dr. Richard Kurth for his careful direction throughout the writing process. I owe a great deal o f thanks to m y trombone teacher o f four years at the School o f Music, Professor Gordon Cherry, for his unwavering support and guidance throughout my doctoral trombone studies. A l s o , special thanks are owed to m y numerous editors, in particular to Gorsharn Toor and Denise Hubert, m y partner. I also wish to thank Denise for all her love and support while working on the dissertation. M y successful and expedient completion o f this project would not have been possible without her constant encouragement. Finally, I must acknowledge the following publishers: permission granted to reprint the except from Luciano Berio's Sequenza V, Universal Edition, © Copyright 1968 by Universal Edition (London) Ltd., London/UE 13725. A l s o , the various excerpts from several works by John Cage and V i n k o Globokar are used by permission o f C. F. Peters Corporation. Lastly, one except from Iannis Xenakis's Linaia-Agon  is used by permission o f Editions Salabert.  v  DEDICATION  This document is dedicated to John McPherson, mvj trombone teacher at the University ol Alberta, who encoiiraged me to learn the  Solo for Sliding Tromhone  and sparked mij interest in John Cage. Without his inspirational tutelage while I first studied this work, this dissertation would certainly never have been written. Thank i j o u John.  vi  CHAPTER I Introduction  Above all, composer John Cage (1912-92) is associated with the approach to musical composition and performance that he called "indeterminacy." This term forces us to make some important terminological and conceptual distinctions, because it is associated with seemingly related terms that Cage frequently used, but which have very different meanings. Throughout this document the term "non-intention" is used to characterize a performance that avoids adding any preconceived methods or ideas, or specific intentions, to the execution o f the performance directives given by the score. M a n y authors, including Cage, use this term interchangeably with the word "unintentional," which also is sometimes used to refer to an unintended result occurring during a performance. This distinction associates the term "unintentional" with an accidental result, rather that the disciplined avoidance o f the performer's intent during performance. The problem o f terminology is compounded in the presence o f other terms associated with Cage, such as "chance." The element o f "chance" that occurs in Cage's music is not associated with performance, but rather with the act o f composition. A n indeterminate composition is created using "chance operations," and should be distinguished from a non-intentional performance, which is the act o f performing an indeterminate work without intention. Discussing Cage's musical aesthetic can be challenging because o f the various different manners in which authors have used these terms. One o f m y aims with this document is to clarify these issues.  1  Cage's famous indeterminate works o f the 1950's established him as an innovator and leader o f the avant-garde movement o f the mid-twentieth century. In particular, 4 '33" (1952) brought him worldwide notoriety and is still considered his most influential composition. Although indeterminacy first emerged clearly in his compositions in the 1950's, the development o f Cage's aesthetic began two decades earlier, when he commenced composition studies with Arnold Schoenberg in 1935. Already during his early years o f composing, Cage valued duration over harmony and used this concept to introduce silence into his compositions. He adopted duration as his principal structural element by explaining that:  Sound has four characteristics: pitch, timbre, loudness, and duration. The opposite and necessary coexistent o f sound is silence. O f the four characteristics o f sound, only duration involves both sound and silence. Therefore, a structure based on durations (rhythmic: phrase, time lengths) is correct (corresponds with the nature o f the material). (Cage 1973 [1961], 63)  Cage did not believe that other structures were valid, adding that "harmonic structure is incorrect (derived from pitch, which has no being in silence)" (Cage 1973 [1961], 63). In his book, Silencing the Sounded Self, Christopher Shultis questions the conclusions Cage draws from these statements: " A t this point, one could very well question Cage's logic. If duration, by nature, includes silence, while harmony, in and o f itself, does not, does it  2  follow that duration is the only possible approach to structuring music? Obviously not" (Shultis 1998, 87). Schoenberg also rejected this view, as Cage would later recall:  After I had been studying with him for two years, Schoenberg said, "In order to write music, you must have a feeling for harmony." I explained to him that I had no feeling for harmony. H e then said that I would always encounter an obstacle, that it would be as though I came to a wall through which I could not pass. I said, "In that case I w i l l devote my life to beating m y head against that wall." (Cage 1973 [1961], 261)  Cage soon found a means to express an emphasis on duration by writing music for percussion instruments, a new concept introduced in Varese's Ionization (1929-31). In 1938, Cage started working at the Cornish School in Seattle, as pianist and composer-in-residence for dance classes. Here he wrote his first works for percussion using his newly formed aesthetic. In 1939 he wrote First Construction (in Metal) for percussion sextet, using a sixteen-measure pattern consisting o f 4+3+2+3+4 bar phraselengths. This rhythmic structure was repeated sixteen times in total, organized according to the same o f 4+3+2+3+4 pattern. Therefore, the rhythmic structure o f the whole iterates the rhythmic structure o f its parts. This form, invented by Cage and known as "square-root form," allowed h i m to create a temporal structure independent o f the rest o f its musical content, and it became the basis for many o f his compositions up to the 1950's (Shultis 1998, 89). This was a first means to create music not based on harmonic  3  structure. Cage writes, "The rhythmic structure could be expressed with any sounds including noise... or as stillness" (Quoted in R i c h 1995, 148). In a 1939 article entitled "Percussion M u s i c and Its Relation to the Modern Dance," Cage wrote:  A t the present stage o f revolution, a healthy lawlessness is warranted. Experiment must necessarily be carried on by hitting anything—4in pans, rice bowls, iron pipes—anything we can lay our hands on. Not only hitting, but rubbing, smashing, making sound in every possible way. In short, we must explore the materials o f music. (Cage 1973 [1961], 87)  This view was manifested in Cage's music for prepared piano. In 1940, Cage was asked to provide music for a dance piece at the Cornish School. To create a variety o f timbres with only a single piano, Cage placed small foreign objects, such as nails, screws, and other hard objects, on and between the strings o f the grand piano; these altered the pitch of each string and often produced inexact, non-pitched percussive sounds (Rich 1995, 149). Bacchanale (1940) was Cage's first prepared-piano work. H e later wrote, "The prepared piano led me to the enjoyment o f things as they come, rather than as they are kept, or possessed, or forced to be" (Rich 1995, 152). This notion o f not "possessing" sounds would play a fundamental role in Cage's compositional development into the 1950's, guided by his study o f Zen. In 1945, Cage began attending lectures on Zen Buddhism given at Columbia University by the philosopher Daisetz Teitaro Suzuki. Suzuki was admittedly not a Zen  4  master. H e had received no "direct dharma transmission" from an established master, and was therefore not a true roshi (Leonard 1994, 154). Suzuki's family belonged to the abolished samurai class and the Rinzai Zen sect (Leonard 1994, 153). Thus Suzuki taught only the Rinzai sect o f Zen and not the Soto stream (Leonard 1994, 148). M a n y Americans who converted to Buddhism following Suzuki's lectures later traveled to Japan and discovered a substantial difference between Japanese Zen and Suzuki's teachings. Masao A b e , a disciple o f Suzuki, defended his teacher after his death, but conceded to American Buddhists that Suzuki's scholarship was "'unscholarly,' 'subjective,' 'not based on careful historical and textual studies.' Reading Suzuki had converted many o f these people. N o w they were denouncing h i m as an inaccurate 'popularizer'" (Leonard 1994, 148). In any case, Suzuki had a profound impact on Cage, who approached Suzuki's teachings in the same selective way Suzuki approached Zen. Referring to Suzuki's lectures, Cage recalled, "I couldn't for the life o f me figure out what he was saying. It was a week or so later, while I was walking in the woods looking for mushrooms, that it all dawned on me" (Quoted in R i c h 1995, 148). Cage did not live as a devout Buddhist, but instead took only those ideas from Zen that served his compositional interests. Cage remarked, "The taste o f Zen for me comes from the admixture o f humour, intransigence and detachment. I have never practiced sitting crosslegged, nor do I meditate. M y work is what I do" (Quoted in R i c h 1995, 155). Indeed, the study o f Zen forced Cage to rethink his understanding o f music. Cage stated, "Since the forties and through study with D . T . Suzuki o f the philosophy o f Zen Buddhism, I've thought o f music as a means o f changing the mind . . . an activity o f sounds in which the artist found a way to let the sounds be themselves" (Leonard 1994, 147). Cage's  encounters with Suzuki and Zen would ultimately lead to the creation o f 4'33", a piece whose abandonment o f intentional sound production has drawn both high praise and strong criticism from many who debate the theory behind it. One supporter, George J. Leonard, defends Suzuki's presentation o f Zen teachings and Cage's interpretation o f them in his book, Into the Light of Things:  Rather than write off Suzuki as a "subjective" popularizer, making "unscholarly" mistakes, a contemporary literary critic immediately wonders i f he has encountered a "strong" poet creatively misreading some text to breathe new life in it. (Leonard 1994, 151)  Leonard also comments, "Suzuki's 'satori Zen,' the Zen o f Cage's 4'33", has been far more important to American spiritual life than the purist, but still microscopic, Zen congregations" (Leonard 1994, 149). Both Suzuki and Cage present simplified versions o f Zen teachings, each in his own way. W h i l e the more complex, "purist," ideals o f Zen Buddhism might be compromised, Suzuki provided, and Cage applied, an accessible, and thus more popular, approach to the fundamental tenets o f the philosophy. In 1946, Cage met a twenty-five-year-old musician from India, Gita Sarabhai, who became his pupil. Concerned that western music was posing an ever-increasing threat to traditional Indian music, she traveled to N e w Y o r k after studying Hindustani singing, drumming and music theory for eight years. Leonard notes that the relationship with Sarabhai had a deep impact on Cage's aesthetic concepts o f sound and silence:  6  Searching, personally and professionally, for some kind o f direction, he asked her what her teacher in India had said music's "purpose" was. She replied that he had said the function o f music was "to sober and quiet the mind, thus rendering it susceptible to divine influences." (Leonard 1994, 146)  Cage believed that musical art should "let the sounds be themselves," and "change the mind" so that it opens to "experience, which inevitably is interesting" (Leonard 1994, 147). Sarabhai's association with Cage would further alter his aesthetic o f music and the compositions that would follow. Cage's works after this period began to use silence ever more prominently. In a 1946 article entitled, "The East in the West," Cage makes reference to D r . Ananda K . Coomaraswamy, whose 1934 publication, The Transformation  of Nature in  Art, derived a theory o f art from Indian and Chinese treatises, and also from the writings o f a fourteenth-century German mystic, Meister Eckhart (Patterson 2002, 44). Cage often quoted Coomaraswamy's maxim, "Art is the imitation o f nature in her manner o f operation" (Cage 1973 [1961], 100). This statement convinced Cage o f the value o f listening to naturally occurring sounds. In 1949, Cage wrote two important texts: his Lecture on Nothing and Lecture on Something. These texts were a radical new development in Cage's aesthetic o f silence. Each text was notated in a highly organized manner, to affect the reader's control over it. In Lecture on Nothing, Cage divided each line o f text into four measures, and each group o f twelve lines formed a unit o f rhythmic structure. Despite the unusual spacing and  7  position of the words in four columns, Cage indicated the text should be read across the page in a normal fashion, and that the reader should adhere approximately to the written lengths of silences while avoiding a rigid approach. Cage explains in the following instructions:  Each line is to be read across the page from left to right, not down the columns in sequence. This should not be done in an artificial manner (which might resultfroman attempt to be too strictly faithful to the position of the words on the page), but with the rubato which one uses in everyday speech. (Cage 1973 [1961], 109)  Cage spoke of silence in a new, positive manner. In a 1991 essay, Eric De Visscher comments on Cage's new approach to silence: "In order to acknowledge the fully positive character of silence, it is not sufficient to recognize its important role in the creation of structure. One should also be able to think of silence without considering it negatively, i.e., as an absence of sounds" (De Visscher 1993, 120). Essentially, Cage proposes silence as a presence that can fill an acoustic space. He declared his new aesthetic of silence in the opening section of Lecture on Nothing by saying:  I am here, and there is nothing to say. Those who wish to get somewhere, let them leave at any moment. What we require is silence; but what silence requires is that I go on talking. [...]  8  But now there are silences and the words help make the silences. I have nothing to say and I am saying it and that is poetry as I need it. This space o f time is organized. W e need not fear these silences. (Cage 1973 [1961], 109)  Cage is referring to the dichotomy o f sound and silence. Sounds may occur within silences, but the sounds in turn "help make the silences" (De Visscher 1993, 121). De Visscher explains, "Each element contains one part o f the opposing element, so that silence may contain sounds, as much as sound must include silence. Each Nothing is a Something and each Something is a Nothing" (De Visscher 1993, 121). De Visscher notes the Lecture on Nothing alluded to the idea that all sounds are music, an idea which dominated Cage's thinking i n his next compositions. He explains:  In order to establish a fully positive concept o f silence, the composer—and the theorist—has to make a (strictly speaking) radical revolution: he must first turn his attention towards all sounds. He must be able to listen and accept all sounds he is encountering before making any preconceptions, before formulating, in Cage's own words, any "intention." (De Visscher • 1993,121)  Cage made this revolution in his theory and composition through his adoption o f elements o f Zen theory, and his new understanding o f the presence o f silence. The final  9  element o f Cage's revolution was the incorporation o f what he referred to as "chance operations." The 1950's were a period o f intense creativity in which Cage started to experiment with these chance operations. In 1951, a friend and fellow composer, Christian Wolff, exposed Cage to the I Ching (Book of Changes) (Rich 1995, 159). This ancient Chinese oracle text expressed the notion that the universe is organized according to two basic qualities, the Yin, represented by a broken line symbolizing the "female" as passive and nurturing, and the Yang, represented by a solid line symbolizing the "male" as active and dominant. The / Ching sets up a system o f sixty-four hexagrams, each consisting o f six lines, some solid and some broken; each hexagram is interpreted as an oracle that expresses the metaphorical meaning o f the particular combination and ordering o f the Yin and Yang principles. A hexagram oracle is obtained by tossing three coins, six times. Tossing two heads and a tail corresponds to a solid line, two tails and a head give a broken line, three tails give a solid line moving to a broken line and three heads give a broken line moving to a solid line. Hexagrams are generated by six tosses in order to foretell the future (Bernstein 2002, 201). Cage borrowed this idea o f tossing coins to create sonorities in his compositions. The objective o f using chance operations was to create a compositional environment in which randomness formed the structure o f the music. The musical events in succession were unconnected to each other by traditional melodic techniques, and what preceded one idea was not necessarily intended by the composer to have anything to do with the event that followed (Grout and Palisca 1996 [1960], 794-5).  10  In 1950, Cage completed his first work using chance operations. The Concerto for prepared piano and chamber orchestra (1950-51) used this new technique in the third movement. In the Concerto, the yin and yang elements were represented by the opposition and interplay between the orchestra and the prepared piano (Bernstein 2001, 201). Cage constructed the third movement by combining the two charts from the second movement. H e used the I Ching to select sounds from the orchestra chart and sounds from the prepared piano chart. H e was able to combine the material from the second movement using chance operations to create a randomly constructed form for the third movement. Cage would continue to use the I Ching i n his compositional processes for the rest o f his life. Throughout the next decade several more works were created using chance operations, most notably Music of Changes (1951), 4'33" (1952), and the Concert for Piano and Orchestra (1957-58). Music of Changes was Cage's first work composed entirely using chance operations. The work involved eight charts containing sounds and silences, eight charts indicating durations, eight charts indicating amplitudes, and single charts for determining tempi and the number o f contrapuntal layers. The format o f the charts corresponded to the sixty-four hexagrams o f the I Ching, with each chart containing eight rows and eight columns o f cells. Only the thirty-two odd-numbered cells, which contained the sounds, appeared in each chart because the other thirty-two even-numbered cells represented the silences and were therefore not visually present in the score (Bernstein 2001, 203). Although i n many ways Music of Changes satisfied Cage's new aesthetic o f random use o f silence and sound, he found that because the piece used a conventionally-notated score as well as many traditional features o f composition,  11  this method would ultimately not suffice as an embodiment o f this aesthetic. Christopher Shultis explains, "The usual score, even one where chance procedures determine it, is fixed. Once printed, the notation, by nature, is unchanged. This procedure produces an object and Cage fully realized that" (Shultis 1998, 99). Cage also admittedly took measures to alter his own chance operations i n his compositional process o f Music of Changes, by shortening, lengthening, or segmenting the duration o f the sounds, by manipulating the dynamics, and by using pedaling to alter the results to obtain a more musically-pleasing composition (Bernstein 2001, 208). In 1952, Cage's concept o f nonintentional sounds would ultimately be realized in his piece 4'33". 4'33" was premiered by pianist and Cage-collaborator D a v i d Tudor in Woodstock, N e w Y o r k , on August 29, 1952. The work comprises three movements, all marked "Tacet." Tudor sat on the piano bench and did not play a single note; he merely raised and lowered the keyboard cover to indicate the beginning and ending o f each movement. The idea was that the music existed in the ambient sounds in and around the concert hall. The noises made by audience members and by the performer on stage became equal parts in the music. In this way, Cage blurred the distinction between musical silence and actual silence. Cage had actually conceived the idea o f a "silent piece" several years earlier, noting it should be three or four and a half minutes long, the standard length for "canned" music. The title at that time was Silent Prayer (Shultis 1998,95). Cage constructed 4'33" using the / Ching. The use o f chance operations created a formal design in which silences could exist as part o f the structure. Shultis compares this structure to Coomaraswamy's doctrine o f art imitating nature, described earlier: "It was  12  Cage's use o f chance operations that made possible a formal design to place the silence in. A n d when one listens to the silence o f 4'33", one hears nature" (Shultis 1998, 95). Cage encountered a further problem with 4'33", in that he was still providing a framework for the piece. Although the piece consisted o f non-intended sounds, and the length o f the piece was chosen non-intentionally through chance operations, the act o f constructing a fixed frame o f 4'33" resulted in the creation o f an intended object, which was contradictory to the notion o f the piece as arising through non-intentional processes (Shultis 1998, 95). Shultis addresses this problem and explains how the two elements o f sound and silence can function together in 4'33":  4'33" allows the unintentional into music. The performer simply sits and listens as the audience listens. A s such, this piece exemplifies a movement toward the silence o f "nothing" and the acceptance o f nOnintentional sounds. But what about intentional sounds? A r e these accepted? A t what point in 4 '33" does Cage allow the performer (or the composer, for that matter) to produce the "something" o f intentional sounds? H o w can something and nothing be unopposed i f only "nothing" is allowed? These are, o f course, rhetorical questions, and as such their answers are obvious. Something and nothing can be unopposed only i f both intention and non-intention equally coexist. (Shultis 1998, 95)  In playing John Cage's indeterminate music, one can sometimes perceive an unintended continuity in the work. When this occurs, it would seem to contradict his goal o f non-  13  intention. In an interview with the composer, Daniel Charles asks Cage how he deals with this issue. Cage responds:  I simply notice what happens. I used to talk about a "continuity o f discontinuity." I wanted to avoid the melodic aspect, because as soon as there is melody there is a w i l l and desire to bend sounds to that w i l l . However, I do not refuse melody. I refuse it even less when it produces itself. But it must not begin through imposition. I do not want to force sounds to follow me. (Charles 1981, 87)  Cage achieved total indeterminacy by creating the Concert for Piano and Orchestra, a work that was free from the determinate elements o f 4'33". The Concert for Piano and Orchestra (1957-58) was Cage's first completely indeterminate work for a large ensemble, and it used new compositional processes in which control over the decisions concerning all aspects o f the music was given to the performers. For the first time, creative control lay more with the performer than with the composer. Every performance would sound completely different, and each could be o f any length. Cage referred to this compositional process as "Indeterminacy." With the Concert, his concept o f silence was extended. Cage's chance operations evolved to m i x both ambient sounds with stricter compositional devices. James Pritchett has recently described how Cage's concept o f silence had to change to lead h i m to the creation o f the Concert:  14  Where before he had seen silence as impassiveness, flatness or aimlessness, he now saw it as a complete negation o f the composer's w i l l , tastes and desires. Silence had nothing to do with the acoustic surface o f events, but instead was a function o f the inner forces that prompted the sounds. Acoustic silence changed from being an absence o f sound to being an absence o f intended sound. (New Grove Online, s.v. "Cage, John," accessed 20/12/2007)  Traditionally, the concept o f intention in a musical process is inherent in the act o f composition and is demonstrated in every musical idea. For Cage's indeterminate works, intention takes on a new level o f meaning and importance, in both the creation o f the musical idea and i n the performance process that brings the work to fruition. When performing the Concert or any o f Cage's other indeterminate works, the problem o f playing with intention w i l l arise. Cage felt that the successful performance o f his indeterminate works could only occur when they were performed without the preconceived musical ideas that are inherently conditioned into all classically-trained musicians. In Richard Kostelanetz's collection o f interviews, Conversing with Cage, he mentions a 1970 interview with Geneviere Marcus in which Cage discusses the problems that arise when the ego becomes involved with the performance o f the Concert. Marcus asks:  [Marcus:] Last night you told a student that he should not have any ego involvement in the performance  of your compositions, but rather should  15  perform it in the spirit of the piece. But Ifeel that, in your music especially, there is a necessity for ego involvement because you leave so much for the performer to decide. [Cage:] N o . The performer can use similar methods to make the determinations that I have left free, and w i l l i f he's in the spirit o f the thing. When I have a number o f musicians, some of them decide that because I've given them this freedom they w i l l do whatever they please, and generally, in order to make m y work appear foolish, they turn themselves into clowns. Actually, they've succeeded i n showing how foolish they are. I've given them freedom and I would hope they would use that freedom to change themselves rather than to continue being foolish. Have you heard that Town H a l l recording o f m y Concert for Piano and Orchestral  [Marcus:] Yes... [Cage:] A t one point one o f  the woodwind instruments quotes from Stravinsky. I think it's Le Sacre. Y o u could look at the part I had given him and you'd never find anything like that i n it. H e was just going wild—not playing what was in front o f him, but rather whatever came into his head. I have tried in my work to i free myself from m y own head. I would hope that people would take the opportunity to do likewise. (Cited in Kostelanetz 2003 [1987], 72-3)  Given a performer's subconscious musical conditioning, how does one perfc the Concert without intention in spite o f the fact that practicing and rehearsing are required to play the work? In a 1965 interview from Conversing with Cage, Cage s to Michael K i r b y and Richard Schechner, and attempts to address this concern:  16  [Cage:] If you have a number o f people, then a "non-knowledge" on the part o f each o f what the other in going to do would be useful. Even i f one o f them was full o f intention, i f none o f them knew what the others' intentions were, (they) tend i n a non-intentional, unstructured direction, and would resemble what I referred to as daily life. If you go down the street i n the city you can see that people are moving about with intention but you don't know what those intentions are. Many, many things happen which can be viewed i n purposeless ways. (Cited in Kostelanetz 2003 [1987], 76-7)  When examining the instrumental solos from the Concert, two kinds o f elements are encountered. The solos include notes, but these are all separated (before and after) b y silence. Both the silences and the notes are to be performed without intention; however, the notes are i n part based on a system o f notation conceived with intention by Cage. The question then arises: i f the silences between the notes can be played without intention, can they also be mixed effectively with written notation that is based on a concept o f intention? For Cage, silence took on different meanings throughout his life. A t first Cage developed a structural concept o f silence, considering it as an absence o f sound helping to structure the music through its alternation with sound. Cage believed the silence between the notes gave the work its cohesion. Cage then adopted a spatial concept o f silence, in which silence was made up o f all the ambient sounds that taken together formed a  17  musical structure. Finally, Cage's aesthetic o f silence evolved into a view o f silence as non-intention. Both silence and sound would possess no direction or personal meaning and would exist only in the non-intentional manner o f nature (De Visscher 1993, 129-30). In the Concert, we see the results o f this evolution, and we must recognize the problems that the piece poses for performers struggling to perform the work without intention.  18  C H A P T E R II T h e Concert for Piano and Orchestra (1957-58)  The Concert for Piano and Orchestra (1957-58) was Cage's first composition for a large ensemble to use ambiguous notation on a significant scale. Cage used an abundance o f varied notations to create the Concert, rather than using a single specific notational approach, as i n most o f his previous compositions (Revill 1992, 189). The decisions concerning the selection o f pages to play, as well as the pacing o f the notes, were left to the discretion o f the individual musicians playing each solo. The blank space on each page was another important factor in the overall creation o f the piece, for the possibilities for each performance increased dramatically through the indeterminate lengths o f silence indicated between notes. In each solo part o f the ensemble, the silences not only serve to isolate each musical event, but also to enhance the unpredictability o f each note. The notes are spaced at random distances across the page, giving a general indication o f how long each silence might last, as no defined measures or tempi are specified. In the Concert, Cage employed a method for achieving indeterminate performance that he had previously used in Music for Piano (1952-56). Richard Kostelanetz explains how Cage created indeterminacy by minimizing the number o f notes in his composition:  The principal o f indeterminacy allows each performer to work apart from the other, indeed in this case unaware o f each other, each with scores  19  designed to minimize habit. If a reader is required to speak only fifteen words in sixty seconds, he or she cannot resort to pet ways o f phrasing. (Kostelanetz 1996, 82)  Cage titled the work a "concert" rather than a "concerto" because all members o f the orchestra, as well as the pianist, had solo parts that were completely independent o f one another. The instrumentation consists o f separate solos for three violins, two violas, one cello, one contrabass, flute (playing flute, alto flute and piccolo), clarinet, bassoon (doubling on saxophone), trumpet, trombone, and tuba. The conductor's part is also separate and contains a table o f timings (using clock time) to establish a performance time for the soloists. The conductor leads with a broad sweeping motion o f his arms, resembling the second hand o f a stop watch. The aim is to create a performance that fills the entire duration o f the concert (Pritchett 1993, 112-3). The sixty-three page piano solo, written for David Tudor, contains eighty-four different composition fragments. The compositions are separate from each other and appear as isolated examples on each page o f the Solo. Some notations appear vertically and may be superimposed upon horizontal systems (Duckworth 1972, 105-6). Each fragment is one o f three types: 1) a completely new method o f composition, 2) an existing method o f composition, or 3) a variation on an existing method. The musical fragments were selected for inclusion using the / Ching and are lettered A to Z for the first twenty-six, then A A to Z Z , B A to B Z and C A to C F (see Figure 2.1 for Fragment R ) . The piano solo is the most extensive o f the parts o f the Concert and contains detailed  20  instructions for interpreting the numerous types o f compositions Cage created (Pritchett 1993, 113).  Figure 2.1: Fragment R from the Concert for Piano  and Orchestra  by John Cage.  The Concert's twelve-page trombone solo (pages 173-184 o f the orchestra parts) may be played with or without the other parts for the orchestra. Therefore, it is both a trombone solo and a part within an ensemble. The trombone part was written for Frank Rehak, a prominent jazz trombonist from the 1940's through 1960's (a heroin addiction brought an early end to his performing career). Rehak met with Cage in early 1958 to discuss the capabilities o f the instrument. Cage was interested in creating maximum diversity in the sounds, using the trombone in any manner to produce them. In a letter written in 1977, Rehak recalled the time he spent with Cage experimenting with possibilities for the Solo for Sliding Trombone:  John Cage came to m y house in mid-town Manhattan one afternoon after having called me to ask i f I were able to play the sliding trombone without having the notes written out in front o f me. I more or less assumed that he was referring to the articulation o f a jazz solo with a chordal reference and assured him that that was part o f the business I was in and asked for a few  21  more details. I had never heard o f him at this time. About 10 minutes later, m y doorbell rang and I met John for the first time. W e spent much of the afternoon discussing many aspects o f music, with my being critical of some o f his theories and enthusiastic o f others. I have long since learned that I had spent that afternoon wisely. I remember that we spent a long time with the instrument, taking it apart, playing without slide, without mouthpiece, adding various mutes, glass on the slide section, minus tuning slide, with spit valve open, and any other possibilities o f producing a sound by either inhaling or exhaling air through a piece o f metal tubing. W e also discussed double stops, circular breathing, playing without moving slides, and on and on. I recall having mixed feelings as to whether I was working with a genius or someone o f a slightly different bent. From these ideas we gathered together, we put forth a part that would be playable as a solo or i n conjunction with a group o f other players. (Cited in Dempster 1979, 97)  The first performance o f the Concert took place at Town H a l l , N e w York, on M a y 15, 1958. Three o f Cage's friends and professional associates, Robert Rauschenberg, Jasper Johns, and Emile de Antonio, decided to present a concert o f Cage's music that would give his chance techniques wider exposure. The program, selected by David Tudor, contained a selection o f Cage's works since 1934 and was titled a 25-Year Retrospective  Concert of the Music of John Cage (Holzaepfel 1994, 201). The Concert  was Cage's most recent work: the piano solo had been completed in 1957, and the  22  ensemble parts were composed in 1958, in the weeks prior to the concert. For every solo part, Cage met with each player to discover the possibilities o f their instrument (Duckworth 1972, 106). In an interview about the notational process for the solo parts, Cage recalls:  [Cage:] I developed that notation with the players themselves, so the notation was not strange to them, but arose out o f our conversations. [Duckworth:] But you worked with people who were in some way interested in and dedicated to new music. When that piece is handed to orchestra musicians, who are more dedicated to music of the past, it becomes very confusing for them. [Cage:] The people I wrote it for were the first ones. The subsequent ones are a result o f circumstances over which I have no control. But when I made the notation, it was made with people who knew its meaning. Since then, the ambiguity that you speak of is certainly present. (Cited in Duckworth 1995, 18)  Scheduled as the last piece on the program, the first performance o f the Concert was less than favourable for Cage. The entire concert was recorded by George Avakian on three LP's that captured both the audience's applause and the protests that accompanied most o f the works. Cage's close friend and collaborator, Merce Cunningham conducted the ensemble for the Concert, and recalled having only one rehearsal the day o f the performance. Nevertheless, the reaction to the work left much to be desired. Cage recalls unprofessional behaviour from certain members o f the  23  ensemble, as well as continuous disruptions from groups o f people in the audience. Cage recounts:  After a general rehearsal, during which the musicians heard the result o f their several actions, some o f them—not all—introduced into the actual performance sounds o f a nature not found in my notations, characterized for the most part b y their intentions which had become foolish and unprofessional. (Cited in Holzaepfel 1994, 121)  This response was perhaps the unfortunate result o f the numerous solo parts performing simultaneously, which left little silence amidst the cacophony o f the performing ensemble. The resulting broad wash o f continuous sound likely contributed to some o f the audience's disapproval. Some o f the unconventional sounds created by each instrument were not heard by the audience, but were instead lost in the collective sound o f the ensemble. This was one factor that probably contributed to the polarized reaction o f both the ensemble and audience. However, it remains surprising that some performers abandoned the written notation, especially as Cage had developed it i n collaboration with them. Nevertheless, Frank Rehak recalls a general improvement in subsequent performances:  The performance that evening was good, but I personally felt that some o f the players were having trouble realizing some o f John's concepts about  24  sound. W e did two more performances later in the months to come and the players' response was absolutely thrilling. The idea o f breaking with the traditional drill and beginning to make some hitherto unheard o f sounds on the instruments was very appealing to me. I remember running up to John after the third performance and lamenting the fact that we had not recorded it, since it was so much better than the first. (Cited in Dempster 1979, 97)  The first trombonist to perform the Solo for Sliding Trombone regularly as a solo independent o f the concert ensemble was American avant-garde trombonist Stuart Dempster. Dempster viewed the Solo with high regard, and wrote later in his career:  It should go without saying that the Solo is one o f the most important trombone works o f our time, and should be acquired for careful study. [...] [0]ne can choose to make it simple or elaborate, and in m y approach I tend to make a rather involved philosophical statement coupled with lighthearted buoyancy. To me the Solo is a meditation with particular attention to breathing patterns and theatrical considerations. It is a constant source o f food for thought, and every time I work with the piece it seems to say something new. It is this factor that makes the Solo one o f the most difficult works I have ever performed. (Dempster 1979, 96)  25  In March 1966, Dempster performed a landmark trombone recital at the San Francisco Tape M u s i c Centre, i n which the Solo was performed along with premieres o f Luciano Berio's Sequenza V, Robert Erickson's Ricercar for Five Trombones, and Pauline Oliveros's Theatre Piece.  Reviews o f the recital were positive, with the exception o f the  Cage piece. M a n y reviewers questioned its appropriateness on the program. Paul Hertelendy from the Oakland Tribune wrote:  Composer John Cage, that high priest o f avant-garde inanities, made the b i l l , somehow. Hearing his 15-minute ordeal o f one note episodes for trombone, one was reminded o f a proverb, " A s k not what you can do for music; ask what music can do for you." For Cage, musical sensationalism has done a great deal. Concert Piece: Cage's Solo for Sliding  Trombone  with its barks, scratches and underwater trombone bubblings, has our impassioned vote so far for this year's most artless concert piece. Before the year is out, however, it may well be rivalled by other splendid attempts to attract the maximum audience with a minimum o f talent, Caged or unCaged. (Cited in Baker 1974,472)  Carl Cunningham o f the San Francisco Chronicle wrote:  John Cage's Solo for Sliding Trombone was a tasteless inventory o f all available trombone sounds, visceral and otherwise, including the gurgling of the instrument, with its bell under water. Dempster avoided the stigma  26  o f total trickery by presenting this program as a serious survey o f current trombone technique. Skeptics who doubt the eventual acceptance o f all or part o f it into musical literature should not forget the precedent set by Bartok in exploring new means o f producing string tone some forty years ago. The only question is whether the management should have replaced the intermission wine with a roll o f Turns. (Cited in Baker 1974, 473)  These remarks indicate how writers and music critics typically responded to Cage's music at the time. Reviewers often saw Cage's apparent lack o f concern for the audience's entertainment as a means o f inflating the composer's ego, and as a result many audience members often felt insulted. The irony o f these statements is that Cage, a self-proclaimed egoless composer, created the Concert as a means to remove ego from the art o f performance. The act o f removing intention from his compositions and their performance was an attempt to present the sounds as nothing more than sounds—a concept the audience often did not accept or understand. In the Concert, Cage attempted to create an environment in which all sounds would be equal. When the sounds are considered individually, and are not compared or associated with those that precede or follow, then the concept o f a "good" sound is abandoned. Cage describes listening to these unconventional sounds without evaluating them:  Some people, for instance, develop ideas about what are good sounds and what are bad sounds. A n d they don't want to hear the bad ones. I had a  27  composer friend who was that way. The result was that he couldn't stand the sounds o f traffic, which I love. H e had to put cotton in his ears to keep them out. M a n y people in our society now go around the streets and in buses and so forth playing radios with earphones on and they don't hear the world around them. They hear only the music that they've chosen to hear, or whatever it is they've chosen to hear. I can't understand why they cut themselves off from that rich experience which is free. (Cited in Kostelanetz 2003 [1987], 251)  Placing value on the music becomes irrelevant when each musical event is allowed to exist on its own and for itself. Ultimately, the Concert reveals and characterizes the value o f the performance. Sam Richards explains this with reference to the Caucus-race from Lewis Carroll's Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, i n which A l i c e and a party o f animals become drenched in a pool o f tears and propose a race to dry off. The race begins and ends at no particular time and continues until the Dodo declares the race to be over and everyone asks who has won. The Dodo announces that everyone has won, and for a prize A l i c e is asked to accept the thimble from her own pocket. Richards explains:  O f course, nobody wins in a performance o f music, unless it happens to be an actual competition. Y e t there is a sense in which performers seek reward. This may take the form o f a personal challenge surmounted, the feeling o f mutuality with a group o f other performers, an audience's  28  applause, payment, and so on from the noblest to the basest o f motives. In a Cage performance "Everyone has won, and all must have prizes." But the prize, in the end, turns out to be the last thing in your pocket: the thimble, the apparently insignificant thing that was there all the time. Or, in other words, looking beyond one's own sense o f integrity and authenticity for approval is ultimately a doomed exercise. The performance, like the Dodo's presentation o f Alice's thimble, gives back to the performer something presumed lost but actually never absent—the ability to participate and by so doing to refine one's sense o f audition. (Richards 1996, 31)  The value in a performance o f the Concert lies simply in listening to the sounds produced, without placing value on them or attempting to connect them together. W i t h the Concert, Cage achieved "purposeful purposelessness."  29  C H A P T E R III T h e Solo for Sliding Trombone (1957-58)  The performer who approaches the Solo for Sliding Trombone must first take many factors into consideration. Even today, the Solo for Sliding Trombone is unique in the demands it places on the trombonist. To perform the Solo, the trombonist must acquire new techniques for the instrument. These techniques also raise issues for consideration. In his book, The Modern Trombone: A Definition of its Idioms, Stuart Dempster comments, "The piece demands much o f the performer. The performer may take the role o f composer or improviser as well as the role o f music reader; silence must also be dealt with. These choices must be made, and then within that more choices w i l l be necessary" (Dempster 1979, 96). Each performance choice affects the aesthetic o f the work. Above all, the performer must find performance techniques that maintain Cage's discipline o f non-intention. These performance techniques affect the relationship between audience and performer, and how each o f these parties relates to the music. T o understand these techniques, one must first carefully study Cage's performance instructions included with the music for the Solo. Cage writes: "Though there are 12 pages, any amount o f them may be played (including none)" (Cage 1960j). Therefore, the first issue to consider is the selection o f pages to be performed. One must first decide whether or not to select pages in advance or during the performance. If pages are selected before the performance, a suitable program-length can be predetermined. This conforms to Cage's instructions in paragraph two, which state, "Each page has 5 systems. The time-length o f each system is free. Given a total performance time-length, the player  30  may make a program (including additional silences or not) that w i l l fill it" (Cage 1960j). B y pre-selecting pages, the performer can also omit specific techniques and sounds that he or she finds problematic or cumbersome, and can carefully rehearse the page order beforehand. However, this decision may contradict Cage's aesthetic o f non-intention. When selecting pages during the performance, the choices become indeterminate—or at least less determinate—and can potentially create a performance more free o f intention for both audience and performer. In his instructions, Cage further states: " A l l notes are separate from one another in time, preceded and followed by a silence (if only a short one)" (Cage 1960j). In the Solo, the silence between notes not only isolates each musical event but also enhances the indeterminacy o f each note. The notes are spaced at random distances across the page to give an approximate suggestion o f how long each silence might last. The trombonist can reduce the intention to play notes at specific times by simply not paying careful attention to the duration o f each silence, but he or she must also be careful not to inadvertently fall into a regular or predictable pattern o f entries. This approach supports Cage's free notation o f time-length but creates new problems. If the silences become too long, it can be difficult to fit the music into the time allotted, and to create an appropriate kind o f aesthetic disinterest in the audience. In a recent interview, Stuart Dempster warned me o f these dangers, commenting, "At the pace you were going here, everybody is asleep by the time you end off the first page" (Dempster 2006). Dempster recommended choosing a cadence at which to count the tempo o f the silences. He further suggested, "I think you should consider using a more proportional [...] notation approach to it. So you pick a speed that you are going to go, and then keep that flow [...] which means a lot [...] when  31  you've got these big long spaces" (Dempster 2006). L i k e the matter o f pre-selecting pages, the concept o f choosing a cadence makes the piece easier to practice and perform, and helps to determine a program length. This decision may also allow the audience to follow the performance more easily, as the silences are better controlled. Dempster said, "It does indicate [...] that each note should exist in its own space, but that can happen fast too [...] then suddenly a big silence makes some sense and you can take thirty seconds, which would seem like an eternity" (Dempster 2006). However, this performance strategy may also produce a sense o f intention on the part o f the performer, and as a result, may connect the notes through a consistent flow o f silence. The importance o f pleasing the audience must be weighed against Cage's concept o f indeterminacy. The use o f indeterminate material in the Solo is most prominent in the treatment of the notes themselves. W i t h regards to the dynamics and note lengths Cage wrote in his instructions:  Notes are o f three sizes: small, medium, and large. A small note is either ppp, pp, p in the dynamic range or short in duration or both. A medium note is either mp, m f in the dynamic range or medium in length or both. A large note is either f, ff, fff in the dynamic range or long in duration or both. The possible interpretations are many: thus, a large note may be long in length but o f any amplitude; or it may be loud, but o f any duration in time. Also, a small note may be short i n length but o f any amplitude, or it may be soft, but o f any duration in time (Cage 1960j).  32  These instructions become increasingly problematic when one considers that no tempo marking is indicated. Choosing to play the notes as part o f a continuous flowing cadence presents problems for choosing a note length based on Cage's directions. For example, on the last line o f page 181, the third note is marked as large but is also spaced closely together with the following note (see Figure 3.1). ACCEL..  TR-lUU b  ,1:  S  ti  s COHE (*VUT£)  Figure 3.1: Excerpt from page 181 of the  Solo for Sliding Trombone  by John Cage.  Since each note is to be separated by a silence, there is little room for the note to sound. Following an underlying tempo through this group o f notes forces the trombonist to play the third note short. Since a large note is either loud, or long, or both, then it must be played loud and short, as there is not enough room for it to be both loud and long. This problem might be solved by adjusting the pacing for these situations, but that strategy can create its own problems. B y changing speed for certain sections, the performer creates continuity between the notes because they become related by sharing the new tempo. This problem is amplified when one considers that any note regardless o f its size can be any length as long as it corresponds to the indicated dynamic marking ("long O R loud O R both"). M a k i n g conscious choices to alter the music i n order to achieve a seemingly  33  more random result during the performance can be both effective and problematic with regard to tempo and duration, and in the treatment o f dynamics. The Solo presents additional challenges in terms o f pitch choice and the use o f the various parts o f the instrument. The trombonist is required to remove the bell section and play only with the slide, and to play on the mouthpiece in the bell without the slide. A variety o f tones are also produced by actions such as playing with the spit valve open and the tuning slide removed, as well as playing into a variety o f mutes and even ajar. The player must also blow into a conch shell, which typically has an aperture similar i n size to a trombone mouthpiece. Cage included the instructions:  Curves following notes are sliding tones (gliss.). Arrows going up or down or down and up are smaller (microtonal) slides. A l l tones are to be played with vibrato (slide or lip or slide and lip) unless accompanied by the indication ' N . V . ' . F L U T T . means fluttertongue.  SP. means spit valve  open (used only on overtone series o f B flat). // and /// mean double and triple tongue; when preceded or followed by a curve, preceded or followed by a sustained tone. These and trills have speed indications. T. means tongue (hard, soft). B R E A T H means breathy attack. Where the indications are made to play without bell, or without bell into jar, with tuning slide out or slide disconnected, make the action, not necessarily producing the pitch notated, but attempting to make simply a sound o f that general range. Accidentals and indications apply only to the note they accompany. (Cage 1960j)  34  W i t h regard to pitch, Cage writes, "Notes below a staff and attached to it by a stem are extremely high sounds (above E flat)" (Cage 1960j). This use o f unconventional notation is disruptive to a performer's preconceived notion o f associating high-pitched notes with notes that are written high on the staff. Cage also includes the number 8 over certain notes, without mentioning it in the performance instructions (see Figure 3.2). The most common interpretation o f this symbol is to play the note in an alternate octave. However, since there is no clef indicated anywhere in the music it is up to the performer to interpret and decide what pitches should actually be played. These notational devices serve to impede the performer's control over the notes by disrupting his or her expectations and understanding o f the score. Cage viewed the loss o f control as one way to combat the problem o f intention (Kostelanetz 2003 [1987], 238).  FUUTT. b-  Figure 3.2: Excerpt from page 180 of the Solo for Sliding Trombone by John Cage.  35  When following Cage's instructions, "Mouth Piece in B e l l , " the performer must make several decisions. Dempster explains two possible interpretations for executing this manoeuvre. He writes:  This last presumably involves removing the mouthpiece from the instrument and turning the bell around so that the performer plays on the mouthpiece facing right into the bell. However, this instruction could also mean to remove the bell section and insert the mouthpiece, as described above, for the ram's horn effect. (Dempster 1979, 49)  However, the latter interpretation would involve an extra step o f first removing the slide section from the instrument, which is not indicated in the instructions. Both interpretations create very different sounds and dynamic levels, with the bell section only acting as an echo chamber for the mouth piece in the one case, while serving as an amplifier in the other. O n page 175, an additional problem is created (see Figure 3.3) because the instructions indicate to play with "Mouth Piece in B e l l , " while at the same time using a mute. This is contradictory i n that the mouthpiece cannot be played into the end o f the bell while a mute is i n the way.  36  8  Figure 3.3: Excerpt from page 175 of the Solo for Sliding Trombone by John Cage.  The uses o f mutes in the Solo present additional opportunities for indeterminacy. Cage's instructions for mutes include, " A dotted line under a note or notes means consordino.  5 are used. #2 is a plunger to be sometimes opened and closed during the  tone production. #4 produces a buzz. #5 is a hat. #1 and #3 may be freely chosen by the player" (Cage 1960j). In selecting a plunger, one may choose a traditional rubber toilet plunger or a metal one, such as is called for in Luciano Berio's Sequenza V. Dempster offers suggestions for creating a "buzz" mute. He writes:  When, i n 1964,1 first encountered the Cage Solo, I was confronted with the term "buzz" mute. The "buzziest" sound that was to be found was the wa-wa mute held backwards gently against the bell, which produces a terrific rattling. Similar effects, since discovered, can be achieved with aluminum pie plates held over the bell. They can even be controlled by putting a finger in various places on the plate, like producing harmonics on cymbals—and these "harmonics" can be changed quickly by putting  37  different fingers down. Quite a variation can be achieved by using different sizes o f plates. For that matter, one can simply buzz with the lips through the wa-wa. (Dempster 1979, 61)  The use o f a hat mute traditionally refers to a derby hat. However, as this is not specifically mentioned, any type o f hat may serve. For mutes one and three, many possibilities may be considered and any number o f mutes may be selected and exchanged randomly during a performance. Placing unconventional items in the bell, such as pop bottles, may also serve to create an even broader range o f timbres. The use o f vibrato presents some interesting problems for the trombonist. Since it is indicated to be used on all tones unless otherwise notated, the majority o f notes are to be played with vibrato. This can result in a feeling o f monotony in the sounds, so it may be advisable to alter the vibrato between slide and lip. This w i l l be easier on certain notes and impossible on others. For example, all notes that have the indication "SP." (spit valve open) must be played in first position, because the majority o f players cannot reach the spit valve while the slide is extended. In this case, a lip vibrato would be the only option available, unless the trombonist had particularly long arms. The slide vibrato is also cumbersome in longer positions and can be less favourable on notes that are notated with a glissando, as the slide is already constantly moving. The use o f vibrato is impossible on notes that are to be played with a continuous double or triple tongue, as the articulation occurs far more quickly than the trombonist can oscillate the pitch to produce vibrato.  38  Other instructions, like playing with the spit valve open, present additional challenges in choreography with the instrument. For example, on page 179 a note is indicated "SP." but also with the buzz mute in (see Figure 3.4). Since the performer must use the left hand to hold the mute in the bell, the trombonist must first hold the trombone vertically resting it on the ground before inserting the mute with the left hand. The performer must then grasp the spit valve with the right hand, and lift the trombone in this way, bringing the mouthpiece to his or her lips. This is a visually interesting movement that requires practice to avoid dropping anything.  Figure 3.4: Excerpt from page 179 of the Solo for Sliding Trombone by John Cage.  Another problematic choreographic move, also involving holding the spit valve open, occurs at the first note o f the fourth line on page 184, where Cage indicates "Without B e l l in Jar" as well as "SP." (see Figure 3.5). This instruction produces another complicated move, as the player must detach the slide section from the instrument, then play into the mouthpiece and hold the spit valve open with the right hand, while also holding ajar over the end o f the open connective tube with the left hand. Cage's " N . V . "  39  notation eliminates the question of vibrato in this case. Dempster offers an alternative approach, reinterpreting Cage's instruction "Without Bell in Jar," which is somewhat vague. He suggests, "Playing without bell in jar, presumably means to remove the [outer] slide and put the top tube into ajar. [...] I also found that putting water in the jar is a nice effect" (Dempster 1979, 49). This interpretation would involve removing the outer portion of the slide only, while keeping the trombone together. This still supports the notion of "Without Bell," as the sound does not travel through the bell but instead comes out entirely through the top tube into the jar, which may be filled with water.  HX  9%  f-  Figure 3.5: Excerpt from page 184 of the Solo for Sliding Trombone by John Cage.  Cage manipulates the instrument in a variety of other ways to substantially increase the qualities of sound the trombonist can produce. For example, he indicates the trombonist should play some notes with the tuning slide out, thereby creating additional timbres. The performer may take one of two approaches to this, depending on the design of trombone used in performance. The trombonist may use an instrument without an F change valve system, like that originally used by trombonist Frank Rehak. Creating this  40  sound simply involves removing the tuning slide from the instrument and playing normally, which would cause the note to sound through the open tube and not through the bell. This method creates a visual interest for the audience, as well as an expectation o f the type o f sound that may be produced. Alternatively, the performer could use a trombone with a trigger valve system, removing the F tuning slide prior to the performance. This would enable the trombonist to change very quickly between pitches that are notated with or without tuning slide. Depressing the trigger would also be relatively unnoticeable to the audience and would thus serve to remove any expectation o f the sound to be heard. In addition, the removal o f the tuning slide creates an interesting visual effect at the opening o f the Solo on page 173, when the first two notes are marked con sordino using mute three. W i t h the tuning slide removed, the sound is not heard through the bell, and the use o f a mute is purely a visual effect. Occurring in the opening notes o f the Solo, this deliberately creates an expectation that is not satisfied for the audience members, thereby providing them with an indeterminate experience. A similar effect occurs on page 176, where the penultimate note o f the fourth line is marked "Slide Disconnected," while also indicating the use o f mute three (see Figure 3.6).  41  FUUTT  SLIDE prjCOhrtECTEP  Figure 3.6: Excerpt from page 176 of the Solo for Sliding Trombone by John Cage.  "Slide Disconnected" could mean that the outer slide is disconnected on the bottom tube, or that the outer slide is removed entirely from the instrument. W h i l e these options each produce a different sound, in either case, the sound does not reach the bell; therefore, the use o f the mute produces no change in timbre. Meanwhile, for notes marked with a glissando, disconnecting only part o f the slide is the more viable option, as the pitch can still be altered with the slide half connected. When the Solo was written, none o f these techniques for the trombone had been used before. Moreover, the score was composed for a "sliding trombone," which for Cage was the tenor trombone Rehak used. Theoretically, a performer could also choose to use an alto or bass trombone. This presents additional opportunities for indeterminacy, as the score can be interpreted for each. Interpreting the Solo for the alto, i n particular, would require a complete reconsideration o f the piece because o f the difference in instrument key. In any case, Cage's innovations greatly extended the trombone's range o f sound production. A number o f different sounds can be achieved by eliminating the  42  resonance produced by the bell, allowing a performer to enhance the musical possibilities for each note and for the silences between each note. Despite his success in achieving indeterminacy through his performance instructions, on at least one occasion, Cage's notation actually works to indicate a definite pitch. This unusual situation arises on page 182, where the first note on the fifth line is notated "S.P," which requires that it be played in first position. The note, interpreted in any clef, cannot be played in first position without the use o f a trigger (see Figure 3.7). Since the note is also marked with an "8," it can only be interpreted as sounding one octave higher in bass clef as C 5 . This lends credence to the theory that the notated "8" requires the performer to displace the note one octave. This is a rare example i n the music where the exact pitch is determined by the other notations surrounding it, and it is likely a result o f Cage's unfamiliarity with the trombone.  8  Figure 3.7: Excerpt from page 182 from the Solo for Sliding Trombone by John Cage.  To create a broad palate o f sounds and timbres for the audience, a performer can make predetermined decisions that w i l l result in maximum variation in the music. For  43  example, the performer may select certain notes to play as loud as he or she can, while other notes may be played as softly as possible. A performer may identify a particular note to play for the shortest possible duration, while choosing another to play for the longest possible duration, or he or she might focus on producing the highest and lowest notes possible. Producing certain notes at the extreme ends o f the performer's ability allows one to ensure that a wide variety o f sounds w i l l be heard in the performance. Although these techniques require intention on the part o f the performer, this intention should not be perceptible to the audience. The audience should hear a seemingly indeterminate performance, even i f the performer in fact creates only a partially indeterminate one. In considering Cage's music, this raises an important question regarding the value o f pleasing the audience. One might remark that a performance o f his music could exist without an audience at all, except for the trombonist listening to the sounds and silences he or she produces. The importance o f the audience should be weighed heavily prior to the performance, and ultimately, the trombonist must make his or her own decision as to an appropriate way to proceed. Nonetheless, the audience can play a role in the performance o f the Solo, as it does in 4 '33". The engagement o f an audience in a performance also contributes to the audience's ability to focus. Dempster says:  Everything thing that you are doing, [...] all these movements should be interesting. Y o u should be involved, as it's part o f the performance. [...] I think that helps the audience a lot when you are involved, when you are just as committed to playing this in a way that can come across as it would  44  [in] any other piece you would play. [...] You want to give them things to do, [...] and one of the things you can give them to do is to listen, and you can do that by listening yourself. (Dempster 2006)  He further asks, "What would I like to share with an audience? [...] You want to keep the audience interested. [...] The audience deserves a good, rich experience" (Dempster 2006). Ultimately, there are many things that the performer can do on stage, both to help engage the audience and to serve the ideas of non-intention and unpredictability. For instance, breathing can convey the intention to play a note before it actually sounds. The trombonist can use this correlation to disrupt the audience's expectations for the sounds they will hear. Long, slow breaths can make it difficult to anticipate the beginning of each note. Taking false breaths and delaying the beginning of each note can also be effective. The performer might also make unexpected, incidental noises throughout the choreography of the performance, such as clanking mutes and thumping heavier items like the conch shell as they are picked up, used, and replaced. These apparently incidental and accidental noises then become part of the general soundscape, as with 4'33". In the case of the conch shell, placing it down in a loud manner sometimes, and placing it down silently other times disrupts the audience's expectations. This disruption of expectations sometimes produces imagined sounds in the minds of attentive audience members; they expect to hear a sound, and when they do not, their minds work to fill in the blank. With regard to this phenomenon, Dempster notes there is, "[a] playfulness you can have with that whole idea of the imagined sounds; and are they any less valid, if [the audience] imagined a thump at that point?" (Dempster 2006). Dempster takes this idea a  45  step further and suggests the trombonist randomly play certain passages o f the Solo by only blowing air through the trombone, without actually vibrating the embouchure to produce the sounds. The simulation o f a specific note or notes, using only air, can also provoke audience members to imagine the simulated sound when they expect to hear it. Audience members may imagine it as similar to a sound they have already heard, or i f the sound is actually produced and heard later in the performance, it may confirm the audience's first, imagined sound. Dempster asks, "Does it make the sound any less valid when you hear something else later and you are doing the same thing, or does it confirm the sound they [thought they] heard before? Either way, that earlier imagined sound, to me, seems perfectly valid" (Dempster 2006). Beyond the challenges o f interpreting the written score, a common performance problem is deciding how to begin and end the performance. The Solo itself has no recognizable beginning or ending, as the page selection is variable, while the silences before and after notes make it difficult for the audience to determine whether the performance has begun or is paused for a silence, or as it progresses, whether the performer is observing silence or has completed the piece. Therefore, the performer must work out a solution that w i l l be reasonably obvious to the audience. One option is to use lighting to emphasize the beginning and ending o f the performance. This can be achieved by raising and dimming the lights to indicate the start and finish. However, to execute this effectively, coordination with a lighting technician is necessary. This approach also requires a certain amount o f predetermined action, either through an obvious signal to the lighting technician to change the lights, through an agreed-upon duration for the piece where the technician w i l l dim the lights regardless o f what the  46  performer may still intend to play, or through an agreed-upon page order and final note. A simpler approach suggested by Dempster, might be to use a see-through wire stand and simply open the music to the first desired page so that it is obvious to the audience that the music has commenced. A n added visual bonus o f this strategy is that the large print o f the composer's name on the title page becomes visible through the stand, and remains in view throughout the performance until the final page is concluded and the score is closed. The performer must decide on an appropriate strategy for their particular performance environment. H e or she must also decide whether to sit or stand, and where to place items such as mutes and other objects. When first approaching the Solo, a performer must make several decisions i n order to produce an indeterminate performance for the audience, and ultimately for himself or herself as well. Each o f these decisions w i l l present unique problems that either support or contradict Cage's aesthetic o f non-intention. The trombonist must interpret the music to create a performance that is fundamentally indeterminate in nature, while engaging an audience prone to skepticism. Dempster warns o f the dangers o f approaching the piece without sincerity. H e says:  Y o u can let the piece have its own humour, or you can overdo it, and sometimes overdoing it has the reverse effect. [...] This piece offers a lot just in trying to execute anything that's indicated. There is a heck o f a lot o f stuff to do, and i f you can do that really eloquently, and thoughtfully, and interestingly, and [become] involved in performance mode, I think you'd be quite surprised how it seems. (Dempster 2006)  47  Ultimately, performing a work o f such a grand scale involves careful study and contemplation. Dempster also points out, " Y o u have to practice. [Laughs.] Who would have thought with a piece like this that you have to practice?" (Dempster 2006).  48  C H A P T E R IV O t h e r Indeterminate W o r k s  The Concert for Piano and Orchestra (1957-58) was a landmark i n Cage's development o f "indeterminacy." In partnership with each performer, Cage created a score that would produce completely different results with every performance. Cage began working toward achieving varied performances in the years following Music of Changes (1951). H i s use o f unconventional notation in Music for Carillon No. 1 (1952) made it more difficult for performers to impose intention on his pieces. In the mid1950's, he produced Music for Piano Nos. 1-84 (1953-56), indeterminate piano works that featured many elements o f notation later used in the Concert. A comparison o f the relative or intended lengths o f these works with other pieces, in which some durations are strictly fixed while others are left to the performer's discretion, w i l l demonstrate how Cage's instructions allow willing performers to discover the non-intentional spirit o f the piece, rather than imparting to it their own personal direction. In fact, an apparent lack o f structure and direction in the music creates structure through the absence o f material. However, it must be noted that the very nature o f a critical analysis o f this written music is ultimately irrelevant to Cage's philosophy o f non-intention. Following Music of Changes, Cage sought to further limit the performer's control during performance. H e simplified his compositional methods to create Music for Carillon No. 1. Whereas Music of Changes required numerous coin tosses for each o f the thousands o f sound events, including durations and dynamics (Pritchett 1993, 92), in  49  composing Music for Carillon,  Cage simply folded scraps o f paper and poked holes at the  points o f intersection created by the folds. He used the paper as a template and laid it over quarter-inch graph paper, then marked the points on the graph paper. Cage explains the discovery o f his method, saying:  The process o f composition was fairly complex. O n first studying the sound o f a carillon, I realized that the duration o f a given bell's resonance could not be strictly delimited. For the first time, I decided not to specify duration. Whole notes appear i n a space, which takes the place o f a time indication. (Cited in Kostelanetz 1970, 129)  The notes that were to be used were marked on three vertical inches o f the graph (Pritchett 1993, 92). Each horizontal inch o f the graph represents one second o f time. Each point on the graph represents the beginning o f a note i n time, without a specific duration, imitating the gradual decay o f the sound o f a carillon (see Figure 4.1).  Figure 4.1: Page 4 from Music for Carillon No. 1  by John Cage. i:  50  This method allowed both the onset and duration o f sounds to be more indeterminate than in his previous works, in which Cage had used chart methods derived from the / Ching. James Pritchett describes the advantage o f this new method over that of Music ofChanges.  H e says:  The new method was an improvement over the chart technique, which had only dealt with sounds that sprang from Cage's imagination, and not directly from the tonality o f acoustic possibilities. In the Music for Carillon,  Cage was working within a space bounded by sonic parameters  of pitch and time; in the chart pieces, the space was one o f prefabricated sonorities and rhythms. (Pritchett 1993, 92)  B y using a graphically-notated score, Cage eliminated many aspects o f his own control. A s in the Concert for Piano and Orchestra, the durations and specific pitches o f each sound would be determined by the performer, but without intention. Music for  Carillon  achieved indeterminacy i n one o f its simplest forms. In the same year, Cage found additional means o f removing control from his compositions, with 4 '33". This work involved detailed calculations using the I Ching to decide the composition's duration and form. Although the published score simply indicates to the performer to remain "Tacet" for each o f three movements, totalling 4'33", the original score David Tudor used for the premiere contained several time durations determined by I Ching methods. In a 1987 interview with Peter Dickinson, Tudor talks about using the original score:  51  [Tudor:] Since the procedure for Music of Changes was that out o f 64 possibilities 32 were silence, he simply arranged his chart so it only dealt with the 32 numbers that would produce silence. Then another interesting fact—which has completely disappeared because the score has disappeared—is that the original manuscript was notated in the style o f Music of Changes.  So when I performed it I was looking at sheets o f  music paper scored for piano—two staves—with measures o f four beats and the structural delineations given b y the constant tempo. (Dickinson 2006, 86)  4'33" removed control from the composer and performer, creating performances that were as much a product o f the audience as o f the performer on stage. The published score may be seen simply as performance instructions indicating not to play. However, i f the score is read during a performance, and the silences are treated properly and not ignored, then the words on the page take on new meaning, becoming the notation o f the score. The word "Tacet" becomes a means o f notating the performance o f and attention to silence. Therefore, 4'33" is Cage's simplest graphically-notated score (see Figure 4.2). A comparable notation exists on page 178 o f the Solo for Sliding Trombone (see Figure 4.3). In the Solo, the blank page is between pages with notated sounds. Page 178 produces the same effect for both audience and performer as 4'33", letting the sounds o f the concert hall become the sounds o f the performance.  52  Figure 4.2: 4'33" by John Cage.  Figure 4.3: Page 178 from the Solo for Sliding  — -  Trombone by John Cage.  From 1952 to 1956, Cage wrote a series o f indeterminate works entitled Music for Piano.  In a manner similar to Music for Carillon,  Cage used small imperfections in  manuscript paper to mark points on the page. He then added musical staves to the sheet, creating notes from the points on the paper. Cage used the I Ching to determine clefs, accidentals, and additional elements o f the music, such as indications for plucked and muted strings. Music for Piano consisted o f 84 different compositions, grouped as Nos. 1, 2, 3, 4-19, 20, 21-36, 37-52, 53-68, and 69-84. The pieces collected in groups o f sixteen (4-19, 21-36, 53-68, and 69-84) are one-page compositions that can be played separately or together as a series. Music for Piano was similar to Music for Carillon in  53  that duration was not indicated but was determined by the performer. Cage altered and developed his performance instructions with each set of compositions. With Music for Piano No. 1,  Cage limited the tempo to seven seconds per system and specified dynamics  through the I Ching. Then with Nos. 4-19 and 20, he added directions for strings to be either plucked or muted but made the dynamics and tempo free. With Nos. 21-52, Cage added a new element of indeterminacy by composing two staves: one to be played on the interior of the piano, and the other to be simultaneously played on the exterior (see Figure 4.4). In Music for Piano, Cage included instructions that he would later also use in the Concert for Piano and Orchestra:  "Given a programmed time length, the pianist may  make a calculation such that their concert will fill it" (Cage 1960g).  P  Figure 4.4: Excerpt from Page 45 from Music for Piano Nos. 21-36/37-52 by John Cage.  Music for Piano used another  means to achieve indeterminate results through its  notation. Pianist Sam Richards discusses the difficulties of performing Music for Piano, and how they help achieve non-intention from the performer, claiming that Cage sometimes "deliberately wrote impossible music and called on performers to master it somehow" (Richards 1996, 128). He further states:  54  To cite an example, not untypical: how does a pianist play selected notes throughout the range o f the keyboard while simultaneously locating specified pitches on the piano strings, plucking them with a fingernail, or finger—muting them as well as playing the appropriate key with the other hand? According to the timing scheme selected by the performer, such complexes o f actions may need to be accomplished within a second or two. (Richards 1996, 128)  Using chance operations and notations, Cage sometimes created compositions that were virtually unplayable. This would ensure, incidentally, that no two realizations o f the work would be identical. In his instructions, Cage commented on performing several o f the compositions in Music for Piano together, "There may or may not be silence between them or they may be overlapped" (Cage 1960g). This instruction creates a very different result from the Concert, as it potentially gives a performer an opportunity to relate notes o f different compositions together, even through inadvertent intention. Cage later avoided this problem i n the Concert with the instruction that all notes are to be preceded and followed by a silence. Following Music for Piano, Cage abandoned his point-notation methods, deciding that they were flawed. Although they gave him greater speed in composing, he realized that they reduced diversity in the music. James Pritchett explains:  55  In the Music for Carillon and Music for Piano, on the other hand, the forms are all identical and of the simplest type: the single point. Hence their beauty in not as complex and rich, but is akin to that of a starry night sky: not an unsatisfactory result, but a limited one. The superimposition of multiple pieces changes only the density of points, but not the overall effect. (Pritchett 1993, 95)  Throughout the 1950's and in the decades following, Cage composed works using numerous types of notation aimed at creating an indeterminate performance. The works preceding the Concert were partially successful at achieving this goal, and in their own way contributed to the rich variety of notation seen in the work. Cage used whatever means necessary to remove his own intentions, and ultimately the intentions of the performer, from performances of his works.  56  CHAPTER V Recordings of the Solo for Sliding Trombone (1957-58)  M u c h has been written about the Concert for Piano and Orchestra, but since it is seldom performed or recorded, little is known about the individual solo parts that form the orchestral ensemble. The Solo for Sliding Trombone is no exception, and for this reason, it has failed to become a standard part o f the trombone repertoire and is infrequently recorded. Three commercial recordings o f the Solo have been made in recent decades, and as a result o f the work's indeterminate design, all three recordings bear little resemblance to one another. Thus any comparison o f these recordings, by trombonists Christian Lindberg, Bob Gillespie, and James Fulkerson, must be based on Cage's perspective. It is essential to consider how these individuals approach the Solo, and the issues their interpretations raise with regard to Cage's aesthetic o f non-intention and his views on audio recordings. In 1988, the Solo was included on The Solitary Trombone, an album exclusively featuring contemporary unaccompanied works for trombone performed by the Swedish trombone virtuoso Christian Lindberg. For this recording, Lindberg performs pages 174, 175, 177, 178, and 179 o f the Solo. This is an interesting selection o f pages for a recording, as page 177 contains only one note and page 178 is blank, suggesting a long pause before the single note on page 177 and an even longer pause after that note, corresponding to the silence indicated on page 178. O n the recording, Lindberg adheres to these guidelines and leaves a three-minute silence before the single note, with another  57  nearly five-minute silence after the note. This is a bold approach for a commercial recording, and it represents a musical gesture in keeping with Cage's instructions. In 2001, American trombonist Bob Gillespie released a recording o f the Solo on his live album, A Walk on the Wild Side: Perpetual Horizons.  He includes pages 173,  174, the second half o f 183, and 184. Gillespie makes several choices in his performance that conflict with Cage's aesthetic. H i s choice o f pages shows a conscious decision to adhere to a traditional approach to the work, beginning the performance with the first and second pages before making a cut in the music to the middle o f page 183, to finish at the end o f the Solo on page 184. Although this does not oppose Cage's instructions, it demonstrates a definite intention to follow traditional notions o f starting at the beginning and finishing at the end, thereby representing the notated structure o f the piece. However, Gillespie makes several other choices that seem to oppose Cage's instructions. Most notably he chooses to ignore the indications o f approximate durations between notes. A l l notes are played with nearly even pacing. This decision creates a relationship between sounds, adding surface rhythm to the notes, since they occur at regular intervals i n time. Essentially, Gillespie imposes a form o f intention or expectation upon the silences, and therefore changes the listener's perception o f the piece. Gillespie also connects several notes together, completely eliminating the space between them. For example, on the second system o f page 174, he connects the F to the subsequent E flat, to show the contrast between the timbres o f the first, muted note, and the second note without tuning slide. This contrast is musically interesting, but it creates a brief two-note melody that eliminates the feeling o f randomness (see Figure 5.1).  58  &REATK.  <5  COflCtt  Figure 5.1: Excerpt from page 174 of the Solo for Sliding Trombone by John Cage.  Gillespie admits his performance choices on this recording are a response to the perceived impatience o f audience members:  S O L O was extremely difficult to organize from the staging point o f view. The built-in rests are easily augmented to the point that one loses an audience's attention. Also, I used one extra bell section so that I would not have to put too many things together during the performance. (Gillespie 2007)  Using an extra bell facilitates sometimes cumbersome changes during performance, and also allows Gillespie to play notes with minimal silence between them. However, eliminating elaborate staging movements can also diminish the visual interest o f these various manoeuvres, which was certainly among Cage's considerations i n composing this piece. Moreover, in an interview with Richard Kostelanetz, Cage discusses the unimportance o f creating a performance pleasing to the audience. H e says:  59  W h y do you speak o f holding an audience? I think that these notions imply dropping the idea o f controlling the audience, for one thing. W e have spoken o f wanting to turn each person into an artist, have we not? We've spoken o f individual anarchy, etc. So, in the case o f a performance, we would think o f it, wouldn't we, as a celebration o f some kind; and we would certainly not think o f holding those people to us. If somehow they weren't enjoying the situation or consuming it, then would we be more pleased i f they left? (Cited in Kostelanetz 1970, 29)  A s noted earlier, audiences frequently resented Cage's unwillingness to entertain them with his compositions. W h i l e Gillespie, or any performer for that matter, clearly has a vested interest in keeping his audience's attention, this interest runs counter to Cage's aims with this piece. In 1992, American trombonist James Fulkerson recorded the Solo overlaid with Fontana Mix, Cage's piece for magnetic tape composed i n 1958, just after the Concert for Piano and Orchestra. Fontana Mix was derived from the notation " C C , " from the Solo for Piano, which represents four acoustic variables, including frequency, timbre, amplitude, and duration. Cage indicated in the score, "The use o f this material is not limited to tape music, but may be used freely for instrumental, vocal, and theatrical purposes," and he noted it could be performed with any part o f the Concert for Piano and Orchestra, including the Solo for Sliding Trombone (Pritchett 1993, 130-2). Fulkerson comments on his selection o f Fontana Mix for the recording, remarking, "It is one o f the options for the piece. Since Cage gave me a copy o f his original version, I use that—  60  which has become an 'old-favorite'. A t one time they were noises, now one hears it like a favorite song" (Fulkerson 2007). Fulkerson further differs from Lindberg and Gillespie in his page selection. H e begins with the final page, 184, and then proceeds i n reverse order with pages 183, 182, the blank page 178, and 174, before ending halfway through page 175. This does not oppose the performance instructions, as Cage does not indicate an order in which the pages are to be played. Fulkerson says:  I don't think about the ordering in such terms per se (beginning at the front or the end and working forwards—in fact, most often I jump around in terms o f the ordering o f pages/systems). I simply choose a period o f time to fill and then make a selection o f systems to be played in order to fill that up. (Fulkerson 2007)  Fulkerson adopts the conductor's method o f using a stop watch to maintain various tempi throughout the piece. This allows h i m to approximate Cage's spatial indications o f sound and silence, and to give a performance that fills the time required for a program or recording. H e says:  I make a schedule o f the time per system (it can vary from system to system) and then use a stop watch to control how I am doing with that requirement. [...]  61  Basically the note or silence is just something to be performed. I follow m y stop watch and an approximate space = time value within this time scheme. (Fulkerson 2007)  This method is not indeterminate since it requires that the time lengths for each system be planned ahead o f the performance, but changing tempo in each system prevents the audience from perceiving any consistency, thereby ensuring an indeterminate experience for them. The most obvious difference between Fulkerson and Lindberg's recordings, as compared to Gillespie's, is their duration. The Lindberg and Fulkerson recordings are both just over seventeen minutes long, while Gillespie's recording lasts only seven minutes. This shorter duration results primarily from Gillespie's consistent shortening o f the silences between notes. Another noticeable difference between these recordings is the use o f the conch shell, which may be substituted by other noise elements, as per Cage's instructions. This presents an opportunity for varied performance, as the performer is free to produce any sound. Rather than play a conch shell, Lindberg makes a variety o f replacement sounds, such as groans and barks. Fulkerson remarks, "I don't use a conch shell but usually use another sound for this ([a] tenor sax mouthpiece)" (Fulkerson 2007), which enables h i m to produce a wide range o f squeaks and glissandi. Gillespie is the only performer o f the three to play an actual conch shell; however, he creates yet another instance o f unwanted consistency i n the performance by producing the same pitch every time. The reoccurring pitch and timbre punctuates the music and disrupts its randomness. This decision also belies a definite intention in his performance.  62  Despite their different approaches, each trombonist succeeds in creating a multiplicity o f interesting sounds that reinforce the indeterminate nature o f the Solo. Cage used the conch shell to force improvisation, assuming the performer would lack the ability to play it with any great consistency. He hoped this loss o f control would help combat the problem o f intention (Kostelanetz 2003 [1987], 238). Because Cage worked to create music that would be different in each performance, he viewed recordings as objects o f distaste. In Silence, a volume o f his collected writings, Cage condemns the use o f recordings, stating:  Records, too, are available. But it would be an act o f charity even to oneself to smash them whenever they are discovered. They are useless except for that and for the royalties which the composer, dead now some thirty-odd years, can no longer pick up. (Cage 1973 [1961], 76-7)  Cage believed recording a performance was the lowest form o f music production, because each playing was identical and therefore eliminated the factor o f indeterminacy entirely. He also recognized the tendency in people to listen to recordings to eliminate silence from their environment. In Silence, he further asserts, "It is better to make a piece of music than to perform one, better to perform one than to listen to one, better to listen to one than to misuse it as a means o f distraction, entertainment, or acquisition of'culture'" (Cage 1973 [1961], 64). Therefore, it is most unlikely that Cage would have appreciated any o f these three trombone recordings. Nonetheless, each honours his aesthetic in different ways. Each  63  performer makes compromises in order to present a performance that follows Cage's instructions i n certain ways, while ignoring them in others. Understood as a fixed record o f an original, variable performance, recordings can be useful for any trombonist studying the Solo; however, every idea presented in these recordings must also be taken with a grain o f salt. One must always ask whether or not each sound on the recording serves Cage's aesthetic o f indeterminacy, and whether each sound arises in a manner that supports the concepts o f indeterminacy and non-intention.  64  C H A P T E R VI The Solo's Influence  Despite its minimal notoriety, the Solo for Sliding Trombone has had a great influence on avant-garde trombone works from the 1960's onward. Some trombonists have acknowledged the significance o f the work. For instance, Stuart Dempster notes, "[it] has become a classic in its own time. The Solo may be the first truly avant-garde piece for trombone; certainly it is the first piece for trombone o f an avant-garde nature to receive any sort o f fame" (Dempster 1979, 96). B o b Gillespie remarks, "There is no doubt that SOLO is 50 years ahead o f its time. Hsiao and Berio are the only composers to have explored trombone technique as thoroughly as John Cage" (Gillespie 2007). This is high praise when considering that the Solo for Sliding Trombone is the only solo work Cage wrote for trombone, and only one o f a few pieces he composed that included the instrument. Despite this praise, the Solo's influence has yet to be formally recognized through scholarly research. In this chapter, an examination o f several later trombone works reveals two aspects o f the Solo's influence on the trombone repertoire. First, there is the question o f how later works have further explored the aesthetic problems raised by the work, or the performance issues associated with its unique notational features. Luciano Berio's Sequenza F"(1966), V i n k o Globokar's Discours 7/(1969), and Ernst Krenek's Five Pieces for Trombone and Piano (1969) are all works that effectively use unconventional notation inspired by the Cage Solo. The second influence involves a comparison o f Cage's compositional methods with those o f Iannis Xenakis in Linaia-Agon (1972), o f  65  Roger Reynolds in .. .From Behind the Unreasoning Mask (1974-75), and o f Christian W o l f f in Dark as a Dungeon (1977), especially with regard to the use o f indeterminacy and chance operations. Berio's Sequenza V\s the first theatre piece for solo trombone to achieve international recognition. Cage's Solo for Sliding Trombone is not, strictly speaking, a theatre piece; there are no physical actions notated in the Solo that are not also necessary to perform the work. The type o f theatre that occurs in a performance o f the Solo is an incidental result o f Cage's instructions, while Berio's work features carefully notated theatrics superfluous to the performance o f the music (Dempster 1979, 76). Although Sequenza Vis not an indeterminate work, Berio adopts Cage's concept o f durations measured in real time to control the tempo o f various sections o f the piece. This method, also used i n the Concert, dictates the tempo in the opening measures o f Sequenza V, with five centimetres o f the notated music corresponding to six seconds o f temporal flow (see Figure 6.1).  Al •6  c a  •  (standing)  (plunger  Figure 6.1: Measure 1 from Sequenza  66  I (1966) by Luciano Berio. 7  Berio indicates that only one note sounds in this time span. However, for the third system, he makes a temporal shift, specifying that a five-centimetre measure corresponds to a three-second time span; moreover, he writes i n nineteen notes instead o f one, thereby placing great technical demands on the performer. The first measure o f Section B is to occur in a maximum o f twelve seconds; by not specifying the exact duration, Berio adds a true element o f indeterminacy to the piece. O n account o f the individual trombonist's breath control, Berio's notation necessarily achieves varying results in performance. L i k e Sequenza V, other trombone works that followed the Solo for Sliding Trombone also used distance measurements to indicate tempo. Although this was a common compositional method in many o f Cage's indeterminate works, the Solo was the first trombone work to use this concept. The Solo was also the first piece for trombone to use an extensive array o f newly invented notational devices written specifically for the work. M a n y o f the avant-garde trombone works composed after the Solo, such as Sequenza V, Globokar's Discours II, and Krenek's Five Pieces for Trombone and Piano, contained original symbols to notate vocal sounds and slide manoeuvres. In particular, Krenek's work included an instruction taken directly from the Solo, an indication for the trombonist to "bark." Globokar uses a symbol that combines two different notations found in the Solo. H i s notation o f a downward pointing arrow below the staff indicates the trombonist should play the note as low as possible (see Figure 6.2). This is comparable to the Solo, where a downward pointing arrow was first used to indicate small microtonal glissandi. A l s o in the Solo, note heads below the staff and attached to it by a stem indicate that the trombonist should play very high notes in these places. The various notations in these trombone works that  67  indicate numerous types o f glissandi and other slide oscillations owe their conception to the Solo for Sliding  Trombone.  Figure 6.2: Excerpt from Page 4 of Discours II (1969) by Vinko Globokar.  Cage's notions regarding indeterminacy also influenced many trombone works from the 1960's onward, but these often treated indeterminacy very differently than Cage does in the Solo, blending this concept with determinate compositional elements. This can be seen in Xenakis's Linaia-Agon.  This piece is based on the legend o f the celebrated  musician Linos, who provokes A p o l l o and is struck down. Xenakis explains, "Here the legend is incarnated by a musical game between two adversaries; Linos = the trombone, A p o l l o = the French horn or the tuba. Contrary to the legend, this game gives Linos a chance to extricate himself. This actual chance is mathematically provided by decision matrices" (Xenakis 1972, 2). The game is created by one instrument choosing a note corresponding to a number in the matrix, which awards the player a certain number o f points. The opponent must respond with a note in the matrix that intersects with the previous note, according to the varying rules o f each matrix throughout each section o f the piece (see Figure 6.3). The performers freely choose certain elements o f each musical  68  event, such as dynamics and duration; however, the general structure of the piece is decided through a cause and effect relationship between the two opponents. This treatment of indeterminacy differs greatly from the Concert for Piano and Orchestra, as the actions of each performer in the Concert do not affect one another. More specifically, the individual notes of the Solo for Sliding Trombone do not affect one another either. Furthermore, in Linaia-Agon,  the element of chance only occurs during the performance  of the matrices of the game, while the notes of the Solo for Sliding Trombone were originally conceived of using chance operations, and are thus inherent to the construction of the work.  Figure 6.3: Excerpt from Page 4 of Linaia-Agon (1972) by Iannis Xenakis.  69  In .. .From Behind the Unreasoning Mask for Trombone, Percussion, and Tape, Roger Reynolds creates indeterminacy through methods similar to those used by Cage. B y composing music that is largely unplayable, he is able to achieve unpredictable variations in its performance. In his article, "Contemporary Notation and Limited Indeterminacy: Roger Reynolds' ...From Behind the Unreasoning Mask," David Loucky explains, "Using standard notational technique for the most part, he composes 'events too complex for practical control or phenomena which maintain a significant independence in spite o f the performer's positive efforts'" (Loucky 1996, 39). For instance, the trombonist is asked to play for almost one minute without a break in sound. The flow o f sound is maintained by alternately playing and singing while inhaling through the instrument; this technique was i n fact first used for trombone in Berio's Sequenza V. Loucky explains how this procedure ensures an indeterminate result:  Reynolds specifies time durations for each note, whether played, sung or ingressively sung, but actual time durations for these notes must necessarily be determined by the lung capacity and breath control o f the individual player. It is exceedingly difficult to sing ingressively for five seconds at a loud dynamic. The lungs inflate quickly. Thus a player with greater lung capacity has the potential to sing such a note for a longer time span and at a louder dynamic than a player with smaller lung capacity. (Loucky 1996, 40)  70  Finally, Christian Wolff, a colleague o f Cage and fellow innovator o f indeterminacy, composed Dark as a Dungeon in 1977, which is a duet for trombone and double bass that follows Cage's aesthetics more closely than other avant-garde pieces written for the trombone. W o l f f s approach to indeterminacy is similar to Cage's in that he dictates as few elements o f the music as possible. Although the two instruments are meant to blend together through precisely notated melodies, W o l f f is careful to allow certain elements o f the music to be freely chosen. In his performance instructions for Dark as a Dungeon, W o l f f states, "Whole notes (in bass part) are o f free duration (don't count). O n page 2, second system from the bottom, second phrase trombone is free to come in any time after the bass's low F. Ways o f playing, colors and dynamics are free and variable, though the balance o f the two instruments should always be a point o f reference" (Wolff 1977). Thus W o l f f created a piece featuring interplay between the parts and with unpredictable aspects o f its performance. The trombone and bass form an ensemble that collectively produces an indeterminate result. The greatest difference between the Solo for Sliding Trombone and the other works discussed here lies in the grand scope o f the indeterminate factors Cage used. From its initial formation to many aspects o f its performance, the Solo exhibits indeterminacy in every dimension o f its composition. N o other trombone work has been as thorough in its indeterminacy, and many subsequent compositions have employed fewer elements o f chance. In most cases, indeterminacy is introduced by giving the performer freedom to make personal choices throughout performance. Consequently, these works often demonstrate the intention o f performers, even though the results may  71  vary with each performance. This is not indeterminacy as Cage understood it, though his influence on these works is undeniable.  72  C H A P T E R VII Conclusion  To discuss the musical value o f the Solo for Sliding Trombone, one must first define the work, and then its context and frame o f reference. Each performance o f the Solo yields unpredictable results, and this makes it difficult to define the work, at least in conventional ways. The score does not define the music: it is only a partial indication o f the possibilities that a performance might include. When Cage wrote the Solo for Frank Rehak, he created a composition that could be followed as a guide, similar to a jazz lead sheet, which does not contain the exact notes to be performed, but only certain indicators of the possibilities. In this sense, the music o f the Solo does not exist in the notation o f the score but rather through each performance. However, i f the music exists only in its indeterminate performance, how can it be evaluated when it differs with each realization? This question o f evaluation is impossible to answer without considering the fundamental problem o f non-intentional performance practice proposed earlier for the Solo for  Sliding  Trombone: H o w can one maintain non-intention in a rehearsed performance? Throughout this document, I have examined the evolution o f Cage's compositional aesthetic, his philosophy o f intention, and the development o f indeterminacy that culminated i n the creation o f the Concert for Piano and  Orchestra.  Throughout, I have attempted to provide insight into appropriate performance practices for the Solo for Sliding Trombone and other works like it. Cage's early works show his preference for rhythm over harmony, and how this led him to explore the possibilities o f non-pitched percussive sounds. Through the study o f Zen, he developed an interest in  73  silence as a musical concept and began incorporating this idea into his compositions in many different ways. A t first, he viewed silence as an aimless absence o f sound that was passive and offered no direction to a particular composition, providing an opportunity to abandon traditional harmony. In the 1950's, the I Ching altered his view o f silence. Chance operations allowed Cage to use silence to relieve his compositions o f intention. This theory was realized through his most controversial work, 4'33" (1952). For the remainder o f the decade, he explored new compositional methods aimed at achieving his concept o f "indeterminacy." This was achieved in the Concert for Piano and Orchestra (1957-58), in which all instruments were free to perform independently i n various indeterminate ways. Cage had been developing the notational methods used in the Concert throughout the 1950's, creating original compositional systems based on chance operations. The point-drawing system used in Music for Carillon achieved a simple form o f indeterminacy. H e used this method again in Music for Piano, but later abandoned it because it limited the randomness o f events. The Concert used newly-developed forms o f notation for each instrument and produced various important solo works. A m o n g these is the Solo for Sliding  Trombone,  which Cage created using the I Ching. The Solo explored new techniques for the trombone and fully incorporated Cage's aesthetic o f indeterminacy throughout. Though it received mixed reviews, the Solo proved an important part o f the trombone repertoire, and influenced many avant-garde trombone works that followed. However, the Solo for Sliding Trombone raises many problems for those attempting to perform the work in an indeterminate fashion, in keeping with Cage's  74  aesthetic. Every decision will have positive and negative consequences. The Solo may be presented as an exploration of trombone timbres or as a study of sound and silence founded on Cage's ideas of non-intention. Numerous approaches are possible and vary with each player. Recordings of the Solo demonstrate this variety of interpretations, and explore possible solutions for performance. Each trombonist offers new ideas to support Cage's aesthetic and others to contradict it. Nevertheless, one must also understand the problematic nature of recording an indeterminate event, and how Cage would view such an effort unfavourably. The Solo broadened the repertoire of contemporary trombone techniques, expanding the possibilities for future composers using the instrument. Since then, numerous compositions have drawn inspiration from Cage's notational ideas, resulting in a significant growth of trombone sounds and techniques. Cage's influence is still seen today in unaccompanied trombone works that continue to build upon his concepts. These considerations point to several general conclusions regarding the questions of evaluating the Solo for Sliding Trombone, and of practicing the music non-intentionally. Cage created indeterminate works as a means to imitate nature. He created an environment where all sounds were considered equal and immune from value judgments. Sounds were no longer a means to express intentions but were simply allowed to be nothing more than sounds without purpose. Since the Solo for Sliding Trombone exists only as sounds without purpose, placing value on them becomes problematic, especially as each performance differs.  75  The difficulty o f evaluating his work is probably a major cause for the disdain that Cage's music has sometimes received. Audiences have reacted unfavourably to performances o f the Solo for Sliding Trombone, not understanding its lack o f purpose. They seek traditional means o f evaluating the sounds through harmonic and rhythmic connections, while forgetting to simply listen. Other trombone works that contain elements o f indeterminacy do not face these criticisms because they are ultimately constructed on a framework that is predetermined by the composer. Audiences are more willing to accept unpredictable music when they perceive it as an improvised expression o f the performer's intentions or feelings. Improvisation exists within a predetermined form, and requires the intention o f the performer to convey his or her interpretation o f composer's musical concepts. A n audience can then evaluate the performance in terms o f its execution, and also in terms o f the quality o f the composition itself. They do not come to listen, but instead to place value on what they hear. Cage sought to combat this problem by composing music that transcended value judgments and only existed during a unique performance. When approaching the Solo for Sliding Trombone, rehearsal and practice are essential elements for a conscientious performance, but must always be disciplined to conform to Cage's aesthetic o f non-intention. The performer must make thoughtful, intentional decisions prior to the performance, as well as spontaneous, non-intentional decisions before each note is played. Thus the value in a performance o f this work lies in whether each performance decision is i n keeping with Cage's instructions or not. Moreover, the performer uses intention and non-intention together to create a soundscape that allows the audience to listen without intention. The performer's need to prepare for a  76  performance requires a compromise between non-intention and planning (or preparedness). The result should be a performance that elicits from the audience attentive listening without intention, even i f the performer cannot entirely avoid intent or directed action. Ultimately, and somewhat paradoxically, non-intention can only be achieved through the performer's self-disciplined intention to create it. Finally, while this document represents a step toward understanding Cage's works, and the Solo for Sliding Trombone in particular, it is also an important starting point for future research regarding other indeterminate works. M u c h has been written about the structure and concept behind Cage's music; however, very little has been said about the execution o f these works. If one considers that indeterminate music comes into existence during its performance, then research into the performance practice o f indeterminate music should be o f utmost importance.  77  BIBLIOGRAPHY  Baker, David N . 1974. Contemporary  Techniques for the Trombone. N e w Y o r k : Charles  Colin. Berio, Luciano. 1968. Sequenza V. London: Universal Edition. Bernstein, David W . "Cage and H i g h Modernism." In Nicholls 2002, pp. 186-213. Bernstein, David W . and Christopher Hatch, eds. 2001. Writings through John Cage's Music, Poetry, and Art. Chicago: University o f Chicago Press. Boulez, Pierre and John Cage. 2002. Correspondance  et Documents. M a i n z and N e w  Y o r k : Schott. Broyles, Michael. 2004. Mavericks and Other Traditions in American Music. N e w Haven: Y a l e University Press. Cage, John. 1990.1-VI. Cambridge: Harvard University Press. . 1983. X: Writings '79-'82. Middletown, C T : Wesleyan University Press. . 1973 [1961] Silence. Hanover, N H : Wesleyan University Press. . 1960a. 4' 33": For any instrument or combination of instruments. N e w Y o r k : Henmar Press. . 1960b. 27'10.554"for . 1960c. 31 '57.9864"For  a Percussionist.  N e w York: Henmar Press.  a Pianist. N e w Y o r k : Henmar Press.  . 1960d. Concert for Piano and Orchestra. Stony Point, N Y : Henmar Press. . 1960e. Music for Piano No. 1. N e w Y o r k : Henmar Press. . 1960f. Music for Piano Nos. 4-19. N e w Y o r k : Henmar Press. . 1960g. Music for Piano Nos. 21-52. N e w Y o r k : Henmar Press.  78  . 1960h. Music for Piano Nos. 53-68. N e w Y o r k : Henmar Press. . 1960L Music for Piano Nos. 69-84. N e w Y o r k : Henmar Press. . 1960j. Solo for Sliding Trombone. N e w Y o r k : Henmar Press. . 1960k. Seven Haiku. N e w Y o r k : Henmar Press. . 19601. Two Pastorales for piano solo. N e w Y o r k : Henmar Press. . 1960m. TV Koln: for piano solo. N e w Y o r k : Henmar Press. . 1960n. Variations I. N e w Y o r k : Henmar Press. . 1961a. Imaginary Landscape No. 5, any 42 phonograph  records. N e w Y o r k  Henmar Press. . 1961b. Music for Carillon  (Graph) No. 1. N e w York: Henmar Press.  . 1961c. Music for Carillon Nos. 2 & 3. N e w York: Henmar Press. . 1961 d. Music for Piano No. 20. N e w Y o r k : Henmar Press. . 1961e. Music of Changes Vol. 1-4. N e w Y o r k : Henmar Press. . 1991. Four . N e w York: Henmar Press. 5  . 1990. One for piano solo. N e w York: Henmar Press. 5  . 1990. One for violin solo. N e w York: Henmar Press. 6  . 1991. Six: for percussion. N e w Y o r k : Henmar Press. . 1994. "Concert for Piano and Orchestra (1957-58)." The 25-Year Retrospective  Concert of the Music of John Cage. W E R G O . 6247-2.  . 1982. Themes and Variations, N e w Y o r k : Station H i l l Press. . 1991. Three : for three percussionists. 2  N e w Y o r k : Henmar Press.  . 1989. Three: for three players having a variety of recorders. N e w York: Henmar Press.  79  Cage, John, Merce Cunningham, and Jasper John. 1990. Dancers on a Plane. London: Tate Gallery Publications. Charles, Daniel. 1981. For the Birds. Boston: Marion Boyars. Corbett, John. 1994. Extended Play. London: Duke University Press. Cruden, Robert M . 1994. A Brief History of American Culture. N e w Y o r k : Paragon House. Delio, Thomas. 1984. Circumscribing  the Open Universe. Lanham, M D : University Press  o f America. . 1996. The Music of Morton Feldman. Westport, C T : Excelsior Music. Dempster, Stuart. 1979. The Modern Trombone: A Definition of Its Idioms. Berkeley: University o f California Press. . 2006. Personal Interview, December 12, 2006. Seattle W A . De Visscher, Eric. "There's no such a thing as silence...' John Cage's Poetics o f Silence (1991)."' In Kostelanetz 1993, pp. 117-33. Dickinson, Peter, ed. 2006. Cage Talk: Dialogues with and about John Cage. Rochester, N Y : University o f Rochester Press. Duckworth, W i l l i a m . "Expanding Notational Parameters i n the Music o f John Cage" D . E d . Diss. University o f Illinois, 1972. . 1995. Talking Music. N e w Y o r k : Schirmer Books. Feldman, Morton. 1968. False Relationships  and the Extended Ending. N e w Y o r k : C F .  Peters. . 1962. Mon. N e w Y o r k : C . F. Peters. 1963a. Rabbi Akiba. N e w Y o r k : C . F. Peters.  80  . 1963b. Vertical thoughts 3. N e w Y o r k : C . F. Peters. Fleming, Richard and W i l l i a m Duckworth, eds. 1989. John Cage at Seventy-Five. London: Bucknell University Press. Fulkerson, James. 1992. "Solo for Sliding Trombone." John Cage: Music for  Trombone.  Etcetera. . 2007. "Re: Cage Solo." E-mail to the author, January 22, 2007. Gena, Peter and Jonathan Brent, eds. 1982. A John Cage Reader in celebration of his 70  th  Birthday. N e w Y o r k : C . F. Peters. Gillespie, Bob. 2001. "Solo for Sliding Trombone." A Walk on the Wild Side: Perpetual Horizons. South African Broadcasting Corporation. . 2007. " S O L O - J O H N C A G E - R E P L Y . " E-mail to the author, January 20, 2007. Globokar, V i n k o . 1969. Discours IL N e w Y o r k : C . F. Peters. Griffiths, Paul. 1981. Cage. London: Oxford University Press Grout, Donald J and Claude V . Palisca, eds. 1996 [I960]. A History of Western Music, 5  th  ed. N e w Y o r k : W . W . Norton. Herwitz, Daniel. 1993. Making Theory/Constructing  Art on the Authority of the Avant-  Garde. Chicago: University o f Chicago Press. Holzaepfel, John. 1994. "David Tudor and the Performance o f American Experimental Music, 1950-1959." Ph.D. Diss. City University o f New Y o r k . Krenek, Ernst. 1969. Five Pieces for Trombone and Piano. Kassel: Barenreiter. Kostelanetz, Richard. 2003 [1987]. Conversing with Cage, 2  nd  ed. N e w Y o r k : Routledge.  , 1996. John Cage (ex)plain(ed). N e w Y o r k : Schirmer Books.  81  , ed. 1970. John Cage. N e w Y o r k : Praeger Publishers. , ed. 1993. Writings about John Cage. A n n Arbor: University o f Michigan Press. Leonard, George J. 1994. Into the Light of Things. Chicago, University o f Chicago Press. Lindberg, Christian. 1989. "The Solo for Sliding Trombone." The Solitary  Trombone.  BIS Records. Loucky, David. 1996. "Contemporary Notation and Limited Indeterminacy: Roger Reynolds' ...From Behind the Unreasoning Mask." ITA Journal 24.2: 36-42. M c E v i l l e y , Thomas. 2003. The Art of Dove Bradshaw: Nature, Change and Indeterminacy. N e w Jersey: Mark Batty. Nicholls, David, ed. 2002. The Cambridge Companion to John Cage. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Oliveros, Pauline. 2000. Pieces of Eight: A Theater Piece. Baltimore: Smith Publications. Patterson, David W . "Cage and Asia: history and sources." In Nicholls 2002, pp. 41-59. , ed. 2002. John Cage: Music, Philosophy and Intention, 1933-1950. N e w Y o r k : Routledge. Perloff, Marjorie. 1991. Radical Artifice. Chicago: University o f Chicago Press. Perloff, Marjorie and Charles Junkerman, eds. 1994. John Cage: Composed in America. Chicago: University o f Chicago Press. Pritchett, James. 1993. 77ze Music of John Cage. N e w Y o r k : Cambridge University Press. . 2006. "Cage, John." New Grove Online. <http://www.grovemusic.com/shared/views/article.html?section=music.49908.4>. Accessed December 15, 2006.  82  Retallack, Joan, ed. 1996. Musicage: Cage Muses on Word Art Music. Hanover: Wesleyan University Press. Revill, David. 1992. The Roaring Silence, John Cage: A Life. London: Bloomsbury. Rich, A l a n . 1995. American Pioneers: Ives to Cage and Beyond. London: Phaidon Press. Richards, Sam. 1996. John Cage As.... Oxford: Amber Lane Press. Roth, M o i r a . 1998. Difference/Indifference:  Musings on Postmodernism,  Marcel  Duchamp and John Cage. Gordon and Breach Publishing Group. Shultis, Christopher. 1998. Silencing the Sounded Self. Boston: Northeastern University Press. Snyder, Ellsworth. 1991. John Cage, Works on Paper, 1982-90. Madison: Regents o f the University o f Wisconsin. Stockhausen, K a r l . 1983. In Freundschaft. Kurten, Germany: Stockhausen-Verlag. Sumner, Melody, Kathleen Burch and Michael Sumner, eds. 1986. The Guests Go in to Supper. Oakland: Burning Books. Sylvester, David. 2001. Interviews with American Artists. N e w Haven: Y a l e University Press. Wolff, Christian. 1977. Dark as a Dungeon (Duet). N e w Y o r k : C . F . Peters. Xenakis, Iannis. 1972. Linaia-Agon. Paris: Editions Salabert.  83  


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