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"A MUSICOLOGICAL SWEATSHOP": MAKING AN INVENTORY OF THE MUSIC MANUSCRIPTS OF JOHN CAGE, 1992-1993.

ABSTRACT

In December 1992 and January 1993 a team of five musicologists (Paul van Emmerik, Martin Erdmann, Laura Kuhn, James Pritchett, and Andras Wilheim) worked on the inventory of the music manuscripts legacy of composer John Cage, who died in August 1992. These manuscripts were kept in his apartment, and elsewhere in New York at his publisher Henmar Press and at the Margarete Roeder Gallery. The musicologists were faced with the job of making, within thirty days, a both pragmatically and philologically acceptable description of the collection. They did so by using forms designed in advance, on which for each relevant category (title, date, format, stage of the composition process, hand, condition, completeness, volume in number of folios, type of paper and writing tools) various possibilities could easily be entered or ticked. The 824 forms that came from the inventory process were next put into a chronologically ordered and slightly more simple list. Not only did the inventory project bring to light a few dozen unpublished works, but for the first time, it also brought together the sources of a large number of compositions arranged according to stages in the composition process. In 1995, thanks to an anonymous donation, the New York Public Library for the Performing Arts acquired the music collection containing well over 26,000 folios. Since it has been publicly accessible, this collection has proved its usefulness, as various source studies of the music manuscripts have shown, for the study of Cage's music.

BACKGROUND

When John Cage died on 12 August 1992, he left the world a large body of work consisting of music, texts, and visual art, the exact size and makeup of which was, however, known to few at that moment. Especially in the last years of his life, Cage was an exceptionally prolific composer, visual artist, and poet, and in those years, researchers, in a manner of speaking, were having difficulty keeping track of his work. As to his music, a few musicologists knew Cage kept most of his music manuscripts simply at home, in his apartment in the New York neighborhood of Chelsea, which he shared with his life companion, dancer and choreographer Merce Cunningham. These musicologists had, to be sure, always been welcome to study his manuscripts, because Cage considered being accessible "a part of twentieth-century ethics," (1) yet no one, in fact, knew the exact size and composition of the complete collection. During Cage's life, only a few had written analyses of his compositions in whole or in part based on source studies of the manuscripts in his home. (2)

Cage had, it is true, always carefully kept the manuscripts that he had not otherwise given away, loaned to his publisher, or sold, in three low chests of drawers; he never had listed them or had them listed, however. Cage's personal assistants during the last years of his life, notably Andrew Culver and Laura Kuhn, had dealt chiefly with Cage's current work. It had become clear to the musicologists who, during Cage's life, had consulted the older manuscripts, too, that the number of documents was substantial, and that the collection of music manuscripts Cage kept at home had to be by far the largest of its kind in the world.

I was one of the privileged musicologists described in the previous paragraph. For a week in early January 1992, together with my Hungarian colleagues Andras Wilheim and Zoltan Racz, I had the opportunity to study part of the manuscript collection in Cage's apartment. My plan to start making an inventory during a next visit (planned for October 1992) was untimely thwarted by Cage's unexpected death in August 1992. Nevertheless, my plan had come to the attention of the trustees of Cage's inheritance, represented by musicologist Dr. Laura Kuhn (b. 1953), and certified public accountant Bennet H. Grutman of the New York based office of Davis & Grutman, the latter of whom financially and legally kept watch over what originally was informally called the Cage estate, and which was formalized as the John Cage Trust in 1993. In addition to the music manuscripts, an inventory of the manuscripts of his texts present in his home at the time of his death, his art collection and his library had to be drawn up as well. (3) These categories, however, will not be considered here.

On 19 September 1992 Margarete Roeder in her art gallery in Cologne introduced me to Laura Kuhn and Bennet Grutman. Later, when plans were made for the posthumous inventory of Cage's music manuscripts, I suggested to Kuhn to involve two colleagues: freelance musicologist Dr. Martin Erdmann (b. 1960), working in Bonn at the time, who, like me, at that moment was working on a dissertation based on Cage's complete musical oeuvre; and Dr. Andras Wilheim (b. 1949), musicologist and professor at the Liszt Ferenc Academy of Music in Budapest, who had compiled an unpublished draft catalog of Cage's musical oeuvre as early as the 1980s, and with whom, as mentioned before, I had visited Cage in January 1992. Laura Kuhn, who as a representative of the Cage estate was to organize our work and was also employed at Arizona State University West in Phoenix at the time, accepted my proposal. Thus the team was formed which, as it turned out when comparing one another's diaries, had as few as thirty working days, from 16 December 1992 up to and including 16 January 1993, at its disposal to do the job. In principle, all team members drew a remuneration for their work from the Cage estate as well as a per diem. I was able to forgo the remuneration because I was generously granted paid leave by my employer at the time, the University of Amsterdam.

Andras Wilheim was unable to join our team until 2 January 1993, and by the end of December it became clear that, with the capacity available, the job could never be finished by the original deadline. This was why, with all speed, an appeal was made to an eminent expert on Cage's work, Dr. James Pritchett (b. 1959) from Princeton, New Jersey, whom I had come to know in November 1988 during the John Cage Project at the Royal Conservatoire The Hague, and who, fortunately, was able and willing to assist us from 31 December. So, eventually, a total of five musicologists deeply familiar with Cage's music were working on this inventory project. Within this team, Erdmann and I, taking care of the lion's share of the work, were present for the full thirty days, as well as, with interruptions, Kuhn. It so happened that Cage's neighbor, actress Peggy Cosgrave, was on tour during the period agreed on for our project. She was happy to rent out her apartment to the Cage estate during her absence. Not only did this enable Erdmann and me to live in this apartment during our work on the project, but this situation also helped the logistics of our working process. The drawers from Cage's apartment could easily be cleared out inch by inch and the manuscripts had just to be carried between the apartments for a mere few meters to Cosgrave's apartment, where they were subsequently described, only to be returned to the apartment of Cage.

Because the manuscripts were going to be sold, we had to draw up a complete list of descriptions that might give potential buyers an impression of the material and its condition. But the musicologists engaged in this inventory project were bound to approach the manuscripts in more than a purely pragmatic demeanor. They were offered an opportunity to form an impression of a substantial part of Cage's musical body of work in its written state, and to examine and describe it, however cursorily, in philological and codicological ways, essentially in considerably more detail than it might have mattered only in view of sale.

PROCESS

Given that all five members of our team were deeply familiar with Cage's oeuvre, we were quite aware of how difficult actually was the proposition we were faced with, chiefly because a substantial part of his oeuvre defies any notion of what a musical score or even a musical composition is conventionally assumed to be. Variations VIII is a case in point. Cage described the essence of the first version of this composition as "machines themselves without anything given to them (e.g. tape machines without tapes)." (4) As the second version shows, these machines (photocopiers or washing machines, for example) have to be traced in the building where the performance takes place, and if available, their manipulation does not need to go beyond switching them on and off. Both versions of the composition use verbal notation, but the first version (1967-76) (5) is a description of a unique performance that was notated afterward, whereas the second version (1978) (6) is a poster on which remarks written in three different colors refer to the genesis, preparation, and to the actual performance of the composition. Not only does the exact relation between both versions demand further research, but, what is more, they have both been notated as rough drafts, with strikethroughs, arrows and all. Such factors lend an intentional aura of enigma or mystery to these scores. With compositions such as these, the act of determining the nature of the composition and the recorded stage of the composition process in itself present a complicated puzzle.

Of the five musicologists engaged in the project, James Pritchett had, in an appendix to his dissertation, incorporated a catalog of the manuscripts he had studied of compositions from the 1950s in Cage's home, in the private collection of pianist David Tudor now transferred to The Getty Research Institute in Los Angeles, and in the Performing Arts Research Center of New York Public Library at Lincoln Center. He had assigned each manuscript to a stage or category of the composition process, and described each according to philological conventions. (7) Pritchett's method became the starting point for our inventory.

Following Pritchett's example, Erdmann and I had designed a timesaving form, on which various possibilities could just be entered or checked for each philologically relevant category. This form included headings for the title of the work; year of origin; format (in the sense of score or parts, piano score, performance directions, preparation charts for compositions for prepared piano); stage or category of the composition process; hand (autograph or another hand); signature (signed or not); condition; completeness (in comparison to the final version of the composition); number of folios; type of paper (including size and possibly existing watermarks); writing tools (including colors of ink); as well as a heading for additional remarks (such as in the case of manuscripts that also contain notations or notes concerning other compositions). So as to save space, Pritchett's catalog was preceded by a list of abbreviations of types of paper Cage often used; we adopted this method from him, too.

Because bringing together all manuscripts of each individual composition was an essential element of the inventory project, mapping the various stages of the composition process as they were documented in the manuscripts was crucial to our job. After the example of Pritchett, we distinguished the following categories. We understood "sketch" to mean the category--in Cage relatively rare--of the notation of a fragment of music, giving little explanation of the structure of the full composition. Into the category of "worksheet" we grouped all forms of notation that were not to be found as such in the final musical text, such as lists of structural proportions, sound categories and random numbers, of verbalized composition methods, tempo and density calculations, or tables used to list musical data. Into the category of "draft" we counted a draft in which the musical course of the composition has been fixed more or less completely. In conclusion, the categories of "fair copy," usually a calligraphic version of the final composition; "directions for copyist," often referring to the reproduction of Cage's compositions published as facsimiles; "galley proof," whether or not with corrections or annotations by the composer or the copyist; and "composer's copy," printed copies of a composition with corrections or annotations in Cage's hand belonged to the final stage of a composition. In the case of a few pieces for which Cage used music from other composers, the copies used, that also had, as a rule, annotations in Cage's hand, were incorporated in the collection as "model" or "rejected model." These models might quantitatively assume impressive proportions. In the case of Europeras 3 & 4 (1990), for example, the rejected models alone included as many as 285 folios. (8)

All of these categories distinguished after the example of Pritchett are directly rooted in the traditional methods of source-criticism as applied in music philology. Whereas "music philology" has had various meanings in the course of time, it is primarily understood here to mean two things: first, the physical description of musical sources as exactly as possible; and, second, the identification of music compositions and of the various stages of the composition process, from first notations to final edits. (9) These methods were found to be workable surprisingly well for describing Cage's manuscripts. For Cage would, as a rule, note in precise detail what he had in mind, even in compositions in which indeterminacy played a part, and the sounding result of which varied from performance to performance.

Owing to the fact that the number of newly surfacing manuscripts rose steadily over the first two weeks of the inventory project, the list of types of paper Cage used on the one hand continued to expand on our form, but a few categories, on the other, were simplified, leaving the details to future research. The options to be ticked under the category of "hand" (initially consisting of autograph, copyist, additional notations in Cage's hand, additional notations in another hand, identified if possible), for instance, were reduced to either "autograph" or "allograph," the term we used for all notes in another hand than Cage's. The list of the writing tools Cage used and their colors (including the corrections he and his copyist made in proofs), sometimes ran to more than ten in complex manuscripts; therefore, this category was simplified to, for example, "black India ink and colored pencil," without specifying the colors of the pencils. In retrospect, our work, then, became a compromise between the highest attainable level of scholarly accuracy on the one hand, and pragmatic considerations due to the limited time we had at our disposal on the other. (I myself would use the early hours to make notes of observations in the manuscripts relevant to my study, and from January also, at James Pritchett's request, for reading and commenting on the final draft of his monograph on Cage due to be published later that year. (10))

By far the greater part of the early compositions with which we started our work had been filed separately into envelopes that Cage himself or Wilheim, Pritchett, or I had provided with titles before. The first stage of the job, then, often amounted to examining and checking the contents of these envelopes so as to determine whether the contents corresponded to the titles, which obviously was not always the case. Cage's last compositions, by contrast, had to be transformed from an initially seemingly impenetrable pile of thousands of printouts, some of them with annotations, into a well-ordered set of folders.

In addition to the manuscripts in Cage's apartment, the largest collection of Cage's music manuscripts we knew was the above-mentioned private collection of David Tudor, which was moved to The Getty Research Institute after his death in 1996. Until that moment, the still unpublished inventory John Holzaepfel had made of Tudor's collection was definitely relevant to ours, and we hoped to compare certain parts of both collections on the basis of Holzaepfel's list. During our inventory project, Holzaepfel was so kind as to dictate by phone a brief version of his list to me, so that we at least knew which material bearing on which compositions was in Tudor's possession and in which philological categories it belonged. When I was able, after Holzaepfel's dissertation was published in 1993, to compare the dictated notes with the list in his thesis (included in the bibliography), both lists were found to be fully identical. (11)

Aside from the sources present in Cage's home, all manuscripts belonging to the estate but housed elsewhere in New York had to be included in the inventory. These locations included Cage's publisher Henmar Press, an imprint of C. F. Peters Corporation (now a member of Edition Peters Group), at the time having its offices at 373 Park Avenue South, and at the Margarete Roeder Gallery, 545 Broadway. The smaller collection of the two was Margarete Roeder's. She had preserved, inventoried and described the manuscripts in her care in so professional a manner that our work in her gallery could be conducted quickly and simply. It turned out, however, that the work in the C. F. Peters Corporation stockroom was considerably more complicated and more laborintensive. During Cage's life, it had been the custom that, for each individual order, the publishing house would make a copy of his compositions published as facsimiles directly from Cage's calligraphic manuscript. It was our job, then, to examine all compositions published by C. F. Peters to determine whether or not autograph manuscripts existed. If this was the case, they were then transferred to the Cage estate. It must have been a nerve-wracking ordeal for the people involved at the offices of Peters under the supervision of its vice president, Dr. Don Gillespie, to speedily copy for their own use the numerous manuscripts they had had in their care for years or sometimes even decades on end, only to part with the master copies now.

Apart from the manuscripts used as facsimile models, Gillespie took care of a small collection of part autograph manuscripts, part photocopies of a few unpublished compositions, which was known internally at Peters as "The Cage Box." These manuscripts, too, were transferred and integrated into the collection yet to be inventoried.

To minimize the number of errors in the identification, the description and the counting of the number of folios, we had decided from the start to consider the description of a source incomplete until it had been seen by at least two people. Whereas Erdmann took care of the initial identification of all the sources and sorting them by the presumed stage of the compositional process, I engaged myself in the physical description of the sources Erdmann had seen, and completed our forms, later with the assistance of Pritchett and Wilheim. Next, Erdmann, together with Pritchett, would check the completed forms.

When the news spread that a group of musicologists was working on an inventory of the musical inheritance of John Cage, we had more and more visits from interested colleagues, who, just like we ourselves, wanted to seize the opportunity to take a look at the material. Among those who visited were Sebastian and Julia Claren, Andrew Culver, David Fetterman, David Patterson, Joan Retallack, and Marc Thorman. One working day in January, composer Frances White, Pritchett's wife, came and collected him. After surveying our working process, which had overtaken Peggy Cosgrave's apartment, she declared the place "a musicological sweatshop."

RESULTS

When, around noon on Saturday, 16 January 1993, I was quickly making photocopies of the very last completed forms while the limo Laura Kuhn had ordered to take the two of us and Martin Erdmann to John F. Kennedy International Airport was already waiting, I could not have expected that we turned out to have inventoried and described well over 26,000 folios in thirty days. About fifty of these folios we had not been able to identify, or not exactly so. In the following months Kuhn and I turned the 824 forms our team had completed into a chronologically ordered list. (12) This list, from which, compared with the forms, detailed information on types of paper, watermarks, and writing tools was omitted, was finished in May 1993, and the last corrections were made on 30 July 1993. In the pre-e-mail and pre-Internet era, our correspondence concerning the realisation of the chronological list was still done by express courier (for the concept list) and telefax (for the corrections). In conclusion, all manuscripts themselves were, in the summer of 1993, color-photocopied for the benefit of the Cage estate; thereafter, the originals were prepared for a future buyer.

Thanks to our inventory project, a few dozen of unpublished or even unknown compositions have come to light, about two thirds of which date back to before 1950. A few of these compositions have been preserved incomplete or have remained unfinished. The unpublished compositions also included a few supposedly lost works; for example, the withdrawn original version of Imaginary Landscape no. 2 from 1940 was among these. (13) Part of the unpublished compositions have survived in the form of photocopies of manuscripts of which the original locality where they were found is unknown. One such example was Three Easy Pieces for piano (1933). (14) In such cases it is possible that the preserved correspondence of Cage may reveal their origin. A few of the discovered or rediscovered compositions have since been published, such as Haiku for piano (1950-51). (15)

Due to our inventory, the sources of a great number of compositions have, for the first time, been brought together and classified according to the stages of the composition process. This is of relevance not only to the discovery of variant readings of a text, but also, and particularly so, to the analytical research on Cage's compositions based on chance operations. The worksheets of these compositions in particular have often documented the heart of the composition process. In many cases they enable us to reconstruct, step-by-step, Cage's working method by means of the protocols, diagrams, and matrices included in these. A striking case is to be found in the matrices Cage used for composing Twenty-three for string orchestra (1988) (16) and its compositional derivatives Twenty-eight for wind instruments, Twenty-six for violins, and Twenty-nine for timpani, percussion, piano, and lower strings (1992), (17) three compositions that can be performed separately, by the two of them (in three possible combinations), or by the three of them, in the last case forming a full symphony orchestra. The matrices show that by chance operations on the basis of the numbers that form the titles of the compositions (which refer to the number of performers) Cage determined how often and when an instrument should play a single note or up to five notes. Cage would continue this technique until there was something for every instrument to play. The manner in which this stage was reached is so complicated, however, that without consulting the worksheets it would be impossible to reconstruct. These sources, then, form significant evidence of Cage's method as a composer, especially when external evidence is lacking.

After our job had been completed, it remained unclear for a long time what exactly would become of the collection. Cage's intention had been for his music manuscripts to be sold for the benefit of the Merce Cunningham Dance Company. (18) Among the members of our team, there was great consensus as to the desirability of housing the collection, given its significance as an American cultural inheritance, in the United States. Even so, a major interested party among the potential buyers was the Basel-based Paul Sacher Stiftung. This foundation now holds a significant collection of about a hundred musical legacies of twentieth- and twenty-first-century composers. During his visit to Basel on 13 September 1990, Cage had admired the premises of the foundation, and toyed with the idea of housing his musical legacy at the Sacher Stiftung; taking concrete steps, let alone signing a contract, however, never came about during his lifetime. With the Cage estate, the members of the team made no secret of their preferences and their fears. It was David Patterson, however, who, in the most explicit manner, expressed either in his "obituary-review" on Cage: "Offers to house the Cage materials are likely to come from other parts of the world, and may well succeed, barring comparable bids from American sources.... We in the American sector must come up with other reasonable and competitive offers for the estate to consider, or else resign ourselves to the potentially prohibitive realities of the thousands of miles of travel that Cage research may someday entail." (19)

On 13 January 1995, the collection of music manuscripts was eventually sold, thanks to a donation from an anonymous donor, for an undisclosed amount to the New York Public Library for the Performing Arts, where the John Cage Music Manuscript Collection has since been housed, as any observant reader of the footnotes in this article may already have suspected. (20) Various studies in whole or in part based on source studies of the music manuscripts that have been published since our inventory project have, in relatively short time, already created a considerably more detailed and more precise picture than previously of Cage's composition techniques. (21) This applies in particular to compositions involving chance factors in the composition process. In fact, this research confirms what James Pritchett, as early as 1988, wrote about the methods of source study when analyzing Cage's chance music: "Some may find the notion of applying such traditional methods to chance music a peculiar one. In my work, I have found otherwise: the methods of source study are not only appropriate, but are, in fact, uniquely suited for this task." (22)

The sale to the New York Public Library made Cage's wish come to fruition, which Merce Cunningham, at the press conference at which the transaction was announced, expressed as follows: "The several times John Cage spoke of his desire concerning his music manuscripts, it was always that they be kept together and made accessible to whomever might be interested; that they be left open, as he was, to people having the opportunity to see and experience them. They show his spirit, the continuous adventure of his life." (23)

Paul van Emmerik (Amsterdam 1957) studied musicology, library science and American studies at the University of Amsterdam, where he took his Ph.D. in 1996. Since 1989 he has been teaching at Utrecht University, since 1993 as assistant professor.

I would like to thank Dr. Deborah Campana for inviting me to commit my memories to writing; Jeannette van der Kruijff for translating my text; Frances White (Princeton, New Jersey) for her kind permission to quote the phrase described later in this account as its main title; all persons who, one way or another, were part of the project described here: Dr. Laura Kuhn, both in her capacity of coordinator of the inventory process and in her function as executive director of The John Cage Trust (which kindly granted permission to write this account); Dr. Don Gillespie (at the time vice president of C. F. Peters Corporation); Margarete Roeder (Margarete Roeder Gallery, New York); Dr. James Pritchett (Princeton, New Jersey); Dr. Andras Wilheim (Budapest, Hungary); and last but not least Dr. Martin Erdmann (Bochum, Germany) for the perusal of the manuscript of his account of our inventory job. Without the last mentioned I would never have been able to write this article. Obviously, any inaccuracies are my responsibility alone.

(1.) "Conversation with John Cage," in John Cage, ed. Richard Kostelanetz, Documentary Monographs in Modern Art (New York: Praeger, 1970), 6.

(2.) William Brooks, "Choice and Change in Cage's Recent Music," Triquarterly 54 (Spring 1982): 14866; reprinted in A John Cage Reader: In Celebration of His 70th Birthday, ed. Peter Gena and Jonathan Brent, with Don Gillespie (New York: C. F. Peters, 1982), 82-100; Janetta Petkus, "The Songs of John Cage (1932-1970)" (Ph.D. diss., University of Connecticut, 1986); James W. Pritchett, "The Development of Chance Techniques in the Music of John Cage, 1950-1956" (Ph.D. diss., New York University, 1988); Laura Diane Kuhn, "John Cage's 'Europeras 1 & 2': The Musical Means of Revolution" (Ph.D. diss., University of California, Los Angeles, 1992).

(3.) An inventory of Cage's personal library is available online at http://johncage.org/library.cfm (accessed 18 May 2018). It is based on the work of Dr. David Patterson in 1992-93.

(4.) John Cage, as quoted in Boudewijn Buckinx, "De Variations I-VI van John Cage: Een poging tot analyse" (Licentiate thesis, Katholieke Universiteit Leuven, 1972), 170.

(5.) New York Public Library, call number JPB 94-24 folder 542.

(6.) The location of the manuscript of the second version is unknown, yet it has been published in Cage Box: Originalbeitrage: John Cage Festival Tage Never Musik Bonn 6. bis 14. Juni 1979, ed. Hans Rudolf Zeller (Bonn: Kulturamt der Stadt Bonn, 1979), 22. The version published by Henmar Press is in black-andwhite, thus losing the information otherwise provided by the colors: John Cage, Variations VIII, Edition Peters 66766 (New York: Henmar Press, 1978).

(7.) Pritchett, "The Development of Chance Techniques," 311-18.

(8.) New York Public Library, call number JPB 94-24 folders 795-803.

(9.) For a recent discussion of the fundamentals, see Georg Feder, Music Philology: An Introduction to Musical Textual Criticism, Hermeneutics, and Editorial Technique, trans. Bruce C. MacIntyre, Monographs in Musicology, 14 (Hillsdale, NY: Pendragon Press, 2011); originally published under the title of Musikphilologie: Eine Einfuhrung in die musikalische Textkritik, Hermeneutik und Editionstechnik, Die Musikwissenschaft (Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1987).

(10.) James Pritchett, The Music of John Cage, Music in the Twentieth Century, [5] (Cambridge; New York: Cambridge University Press, 1993).

(11.) John Holzaepfel, "David Tudor and the Performance of American Experimental Music, 19501959" (Ph.D. diss., City University of New York, 1994), 367-81.

(12.) I owe the exact count of the forms to Martin Erdmann.

(13.) New York Public Library, call number JPB 94-24 folder 50.

(14.) New York Public Library, call number JPB 94-24 folder 9.

(15.) John Cage, Haiku: Piano Solo, ed. Don Gillespie, Edition Peters 68395 (New York: Henmar Press, 2012).

(16.) New York Public Library, call number JPB 94-24 folder 778.

(17.) New York Public Library, call number JPB 94-24 folder 875.

(18.) Deborah Campana, "Happy New Ears! In Celebration of 100 Years: The State of Research on John Cage," Notes 69, no. 1 (September 2012): 14.

(19.) David Patterson, "John Cage and the New Era: An Obituary-Review," Repercussions 2, no. 1 (Spring 1993): 27-28.

(20.) Alex Ross, "Library Buys the Bulk of Cage's Manuscripts," New York Times, HJanuary 1995.

(21.) In chronological order: Paul van Emmerik, "Thema's en variaties: Systematische tendensen in de compositietechnieken van John Cage" (Ph.D. diss., Universiteit van Amsterdam, 1996); Martin Erdmann, "Tre studi su Cage," in Itinerari delta musica americana, ed. Gianmario Borio and Gabrio Taglietti, Nuovi percorsi musicali, 1 (Lucca: Una cosa rara, 1996), 97-117; Benedict Jacob Weisser, "Notational Practice in Contemporary Music: A Critique of Three Compositional Models (Luciano Berio, John Cage, and Brian Femeyhough)," (Ph.D. diss., City University of New York, 1998), summarized in Benedict Weisser, "John Cage: '... The Whole Paper Would Potentially Be Sound': Time-Brackets and the Number Pieces (1981-92)," Perspectives of New Music 41, no. 2 (Summer 2003): 176-225; David W. Bernstein, "Cage and High Modernism," in The Cambridge Companion to John Cage, ed. David Nicholls, Cambridge Companions to Music (Cambridge; New York: Cambridge University Press, 2002), 186-213; Rob Haskins, " 'An Anarchic Society of Sounds': The Number Pieces of John Cage" (Ph.D. diss., University of Rochester, Eastman School of Music, 2004); Martin Iddon's research on the Concert for Piano and Orchestra is in progress.

(22.) Pritchett, "The Development of Chance Techniques," iv.

(23.) Ross, "Library Buys the Bulk of Cage's Manuscripts."
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