John Cage: 4’33†(1952), performed by Frank Zappa
As heard on my back porch in Rochester, Minnesota one cold Sunday November evening at around 5 o’clock.
I can hear the cars going by on Highway 52 to the West. But I can also hear cars to the South and I don’t know what road they’re on. My kitten’s ID tags are jingling as she walks around. They make a different sound when they hit the tiles. At first I thought I was hearing the wind, but I think it’s just the cars and the fact that it’s so cold out here that makes me think part of the cars’ sound is the wind. The phone’s ringing but I won’t answer it. Cat’s tags jingling as she runs to the phone. I hear my voice (on the message on the answering machine). I hear my sister’s voice (through the answering machine).
[I jumped up and got it. I thought it might be an emergency or something, but it wasn’t. So, I talked to her for a while and now I’m going to start 4’33†again.]
Anyway, like I was saying, it’s weird how you can think something like the sound of cars is the sound of the wind until you listen closer. (I guess the wind doesn’t really have a sound of its own, now that I think about it.) I think Zappa just closed and opened the piano lid or something. My neighbor called his dog in. I can hear my tinnitus. It sounds like you can distinguish between cars and trucks and even which way they’re going, but that might be an illusion because the highway is not that close. I hear my neighbor’s wind chimes. So now I am hearing the wind! No one’s honking. No, I take that back. Someone is uptight and just honked their horn—maybe they just want to get home, but still. I can hear a car right on my street now. I heard myself cough. Damn, it’s cold out. I heard Zappa close the piano lid again. I hear a garage door opening or closing. The piece just ended and a John Cale recording came on. One thing you can’t hear out here is the cold.