Twenty-Nine 
John Cage
One4 • Four • Twenty-Nine
OgreOgress Productions,
;
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Radios, audiotape, records, turntables, even oscilloscopes... Like a black hole from which no recording technology could escape, John Cage used every gadget available to him in the realization of his music, even though he was notoriously against armchair listening. For Cage, leisurely dropping the needle in your living room was by no means a surrogate for actually experiencing a live musical performance. This conviction was carried through to the final chapter of Cage's oeuvre—the Number Pieces—where performance is absolutely paramount, even going so far as to spell out the number of performers required for each composition, conferring said integer as the composition's title. By the way, those superscripted Arabic numerals indicate the chronological position of that particular piece with respect to all the other pieces composed for the same number of players. For example, One4 is the fourth composition for a solo performer in the series. Contrary to the systematic titling scheme, the Number Pieces manage to balance their sense of control with a liberal dash of anarchy, allowing performers a great deal flexibility during performance. The composer's use of flexible time brackets insure that each performance will yield different results, while maintaining enough individual cohesiveness that renders one Number Piece distinguishable from any other. The paradox of this new CD release is the way in which Four and Twenty-Nine were recorded. These are not documentations of "real" performances per se, but then again, with take after take after take, punch-ins and edits, what studio recording these days is anything close to an actual live performance. So it's difficult to gauge what a lover of imperfection, like Cage would react to these pure studio creations. Through the old-school magic of overdubs, Twenty-Nine is here performed by four musicians—Glenn Freeman covers the parts of four percussionists, Michael Crawford's bass is multiplied by six, Karen Krummel takes on eight cello tracks, and Christina Fong juggles ten violas, and replicates herself again, becoming 3/4 of a string quartet on Four. Whatever philosophical caveats may arise, the recording manages to capture an aura of austere beauty. And somehow—probably abetted by the absence of a bona fide live performance—these recordings open gossamer cracks embedded somewhere in the music, enhancing focus on periodicity, the passage of time delicately marked by sonic signposts. But if the Burma Shave ad element of the music were to disappear and listeners were able to drop in and out of the experience, the perfect setting for listening to this music may just turn out to be the living room, or even that old La-Z-Boy recliner. —RN
1. One4 (6:55)
2-7. Four (30:00)
8. Twenty-Nine
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