Cage lasting for 639 years

It actually happened by chance, but I'm very happy to start this blog about John Cage.
In the small church of St. Burchardi, in Halberstadt, Germany, Cage's Organ²/ASLSP is currently being performed. It began in 2001 and is expected to last 639 years (it will end in 2639).
In short 🙂 this is the story:

The Composition

The original ASLSP is a 1985 piece for solo piano: four handwritten pages, in the sparse and delicate style of Cage's later works. The title is both a performance indication and a reference to the ever-present Finnegan's Wake:

The title is an abbreviation of "as slow as possible." It also refers to "Soft morning, city! Lsp!" The first exclamations in the last paragraph of Finnegans Wake (James Joyce).
(Cage, notes linked to the score)

This is a work in eight sections, one of which, at the time of performance, must be omitted and replaced with any other, which, therefore, is played twice.
The notation is typical of many of Cage's works, with parts unrelated between the two hands, but to be played simultaneously. The pitches are written precisely, while the durations must be calculated, with a certain approximation, based on the distance between the notes. The tempo and dynamics are free (although the latter should be soft). In different performances, the duration varies between 6 and 25 minutes.

In 1987, at the suggestion of organist Gerd Zacher, the instrumental indication was extended to the organ and the title became Organ²/ASLSP. Clearly, the organ version is radically different from the piano version. On the one hand, in fact, the delicate interplay of resonances generated by some typical Cage mannerisms, such as staccato chords, disappears, except for one note that can be held even beyond extinction and vibrates sympathetically like a sostenuto pedal. On the other hand, however, the change substantially affects the interpretation of the indication "as slow as possible," which can be extended practically indefinitely, thanks to the held notes. If, with the piano, holding a chord for 10 minutes makes no sense, or at most, a Cagian sense (the irruption of external sounds into the space created in the composition), with the organ we are at the potentially infinite drone à la La Monte Young.

In fact, in 1997, in Trossingen, organists and musicologists gathered at a conference to debate, among other things, the interpretation of that "as slow as possible," also contemplating the extreme thesis of a composition that transcends the limits not only of the time of a traditionally understood concert, but of time itself (the desire for eternity is innate to the human species). Hence the project.

The Project

The project is for a performance, located in Halberstadt, lasting 639 years. Why Halberstadt and why 639 years?

Simply because Halberstadt Cathedral houses the first known liturgical organ, Nikolaus Faber's Blockwerk organ. This instrument is also the oldest existing organ with a 12-note keyboard arranged according to the layout of current ones, which, however, does not require equal tuning. The aforementioned keyboard dates back to 1361, 639 years before 2000, the year of the second millennium and the presentation of the project.

There is, therefore, a symbolic connection, a passing of the baton between one of the oldest organs and the most popular contemporary composer (today (please note: on march 2006), on Google, John Cage has 26,800,000 references, Stockhausen 3,170,000, Boulez 2,520,000, Schoenberg 5,130,000, Webern 1,520,000, and I have less than a thousand. For comparison, the entire Bach family has 78,300,000). The performance location is the deconsecrated chapel of St. Burchardi, one of the oldest in Europe (ca. 1050), repeatedly Half-destroyed and rebuilt, it is currently left in a state of disrepair. Restoration was therefore necessary. A new organ was also installed, which is currently being expanded (new pipes are installed as more notes are needed).

Performance began in 2001, on September 5th, Cage's birthday. His ironic spirit was evident at the opening ceremony when the organist simply turned on the instrument and left, as the score begins with a pause that, after careful calculations, lasted a year and a half. Only in February 2003 were the first notes heard: a triad of G sharp, B, G sharp, to which, in 2004, two E flats in 8th note were added, destined to conclude on May 5th of this year. 2006 was an eventful year, however, because on January 5th, what remained of the first chord was replaced by the second: A, C, F# (obviously, the keys were blocked with weights). By convention, all changes are made on the 5th of each month at 5 pm, both to commemorate our birthday and to make life easier for tourists.

Finally, for the modest sum of €1,000, you can name a year and sponsor part of the project (even a shared one): a metal plaque will be placed on site with your name and a phrase of your choice. The years up to 2010, and even others throughout a human lifetime, have already been sold. There's still plenty of room further down the line, although some optimists have already purchased the 2639.

Some Reflections

IMNHO (in my never humble opinion), I believe that the suspicions of exploitation that inevitably arise when faced with operations of this kind can be put aside. While it's true that the connection with Cage may seem forced and gratuitous (there are several contemporary composers more significant for the organ than him, e.g., Messiaen, and the very idea of compositions that last for years is La Monte Young's), it's also true that no one has proposed challenges as visionary as ours, and that this project achieves some appreciable results:

a church from 1050 is restored
a tranquil atmosphere is created with a drone playing in the background
it is reminiscent of John Cage
it stimulates some discussion

This last point especially interests me. Because, while to some limited minds, a 639-year-old composition might seem like a mere whimsical idea, to someone who lets their imagination run wild, it's a wonderful source of reflection.

First, the musical meaning. Even with durations far less than 639 years, the sense of the composition vanishes. As psychoacoustics teaches, when an event lasts long enough to "pierce" the capacity of short-term memory (less than a minute), its connection to the whole is lost. In practice, if you play a banal harmonic progression, holding each chord for longer than a minute, you no longer get the sensation of a progression, but each chord tends to become a world unto itself.
Thus, entering the church of St. Burchardi, you are not listening to a part of a composition, at least not in the sense we commonly give to these words. Rather, you enter an environment that is in that state at that moment. Maybe the drone is a calm 8th note, while returning six months later there's a horrifying dissonance, and the idea of a sound environment evolving like a biological environment is beautiful.
So, from a sonic point of view, it's an experience that, for most people, is new, and this is one of the functions of art.

Now let's look at duration. 639 years is a long time. In the past, such expanses of time were considered only by religions ("forever and ever") or empires (the 10,000-year emperor) as a metaphor for eternity and therefore power. Their only true purpose, however, was to stem the great darkness, to push humanity to plan despite death, to think beyond not only the contingent, but beyond its own life—which, as far as we know, is the truly unique characteristic of homo sapiens sapiens.

Now, in our rapidly evolving civilization, we are no longer accustomed to thinking and planning in these terms. Which of the things built in the post-war period was designed to last 639 years? Certainly not the apartment building I live in, but not even major projects like the new Tokyo airport or Potsdamer Platz in Berlin.
Actually, I wonder if we've ever done that. Most likely, the Romans, when they built arenas and aqueducts, never imagined they'd still be here more than 2,000 years later. And the builders of the greatest masonry work in history, the Great Wall, certainly weren't building for millennia, but simply to keep out barbarians, with scant success. I also wonder if the pyramid designers looked back over the millennia, closing their eyes and imagining the Giza plateau, or if they were only thinking of an imposing tomb for the pharaoh/god.

Paradoxically, the only modern works designed to last not centuries, but tens of millennia, are not intended to glorify the human species, but to bear witness to its idiocy: they are the radioactive waste repositories that decay in 10 or 20,000 years, or the Chernobyl sarcophagus, which contains 190 tons of uranium and one of plutonium, deadly to anyone who approaches.

The Cage-OrgelProjekt, on the other hand, is a cultural construction that doesn't require extensive resources, but is specifically designed for longevity.
One of the most intriguing things about this project, assuming it succeeds, is precisely this. I repeat, 639 years is a long time. How will the world and the human race itself change in all this time? Who, if anyone, will be there to see the last key pressed? Will they still be human?

And then, what significance will this place, where an eternal drone resonates, have in 3 or 400 years? And what will be around it? These seem like trivial questions, but thinking about the challenges that await us—global warming, economic conflicts, natural resources, but also technology, space, genetic engineering, etc.—it makes me a little... It's so angry not to know.
I also think the chapel of St. Burchardi and its eternal drone are a good theme for a science fiction story (I suggested the organizers create a contest).

Some say that a life too long is meaningless, but I'd love to be in the audience at the end, believe me. I'd sign right away. I have my reasons.

Here is the Cage-OrgelProjekt website

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