Indeterminacy 149

Patsy Davenport heard my Folkways record. She said, “When the
story came about my asking you how you felt about Bach, I could
remember everything perfectly clearly, sharply, as though I were
living through it again. Tell me, what did you answer? How do
you feel about Bach?” I said I didn’t remember what I’d said —
that I’d been nonplused. Then, as usual, when the next day came,
I got to thinking. Giving up Beethoven, the emotional climaxes
and all, is fairly simple for an American. But giving up Bach
is more difficult. Bach’s music suggests order and glorifies for
those who hear it their regard for order, which in their lives
is expressed by daily jobs nine to five and the appliances with
which they surround themselves and which, when plugged in, God
willing, work. Some people say that art should be an
instance of order so that it will save them momentarily from
the chaos that they know is just around the corner. Jazz
is equivalent to Bach (steady beat, dependable motor), and
the love of Bach is generally coupled with the love of jazz.
Jazz is more seductive, less moralistic than Bach.
It popularizes the pleasures and pains of the physical life,
whereas Bach is close to church and all that. Knowing as
we do that so many jazz musicians stay up to all hours and even
take dope, we permit ourselves to become,
sympathetically at least, junkies and night owls ourselves:
by participation mystique. Giving up Bach, jazz,
and order is difficult. Patsy Davenport is right.
It’s a very serious question. For what if we do it
— give them up, that is — what do we have left?

- John Cage