The violence of silence and 4'33"

What does John Cage’s musical work 4’33” do when it gives voice to silence? Does silence rise above, even drown out, the noise of ego-driven stardom that has so systematically set about dominating, perhaps even destroying, music? What happened to the ‘Cage’ that eliminated himself from the work? Did the myriad versions of this musician, artist and philosopher disappear into a silence with no voice? Can silence be read as violence? Or is it only read as violence by those without a voice? If so, did Cage really suffer the violence of silence? Or was the multiplicity of this figure resurrected as a superstar? What did silence do to the marginalised in the history of music? Did they suffer the violence of silence? What happens when the ‘I’ who listens keeps re-turning (deliberately hyphenated) to silence, as Karen Barad would put it, of re-turning as in turning it over, and over again, to gain a ‘thicker’ understanding of what it is doing (Meeting)? How do the past, present, and future enfold through one another, and through me, the ‘I’ who listens, as I re-turn to the silence of violence? What does sound as a multiplicity do when it emerges out of ‘silence’? Or, to put it another way, what happens when the multiplicity, in which I am infinitely entangled, connects with the ongoing-ness of Cage’s ‘no such thing as silence’?