NOTHING

An introduction to Cage’s (in)famous concert work that asks the musical question: What is to be heard when no lyrics, no score, and no instruments are played?

Describing, and then in a far wordier postscript explaining, what the piece known only by its length is all about, Day recounts its 1952 premier, during which pianist David Tudor sat on stage for the indicated time doing—as Raschka repeatedly inscribes with page-filling glee in his luminous, exuberantly brushed images of the scene—“nothing.” Audience reactions were understandably mixed: “We have been tricked, they say. They do not use their inside voices.” But it wasn’t a trick; Cage, gifted since birth with (as the author puts it) “massive ears,” wanted audiences to realize that “there is always something to hear inside the silence.” He goes on to explain that each time the piece is performed, “the audience hears something different. They hear whatever there is to be heard in that moment.” Younger readers should have no trouble buying in to the notion, and for older foot draggers, the ensuing smaller-type essay eloquently builds a case for Cage’s sincerity with further details about his boundary-pushing works and his involvement with Zen. The backmatter also includes photos of the composer, a copy of the “score,” and a bibliography of titles aimed mostly at adults.

Goofy yet profound.