Dynamics — where it appears
Named by 30 essays across 7 fields — each of them below, with the objects they name alongside it.
The hammer that is heavier than its string
Three earlier essays varied where the hammer lands, how long it stays and how wide it is, and the third named the fourth variable: the exciter's own mass. It inverts across one instrument — the hammer is lighter than the wire it hits at the bottom of a piano and thirteen times heavier at the top — and it turns the contact time into a quantity the string decides rather than the felt.
Playing louder is playing earlier
An accent has two effects on when its note is heard and neither is a timing decision. A harder-driven instrument has a shorter attack, and a criterion set by the surrounding music is crossed sooner by a bigger rise — so a twelve-decibel accent on a bowed note is heard twenty-four milliseconds early with no change whatever in when the bow was put down. It is also the measurement that tells the two competing models apart.
Loud is relative, and it comes down slowly
The account of loudness had a model of a moment and the account of closure asked it for a model of a form. The published one exists and its content is a pair of numbers that are not the same: a listener's running impression of how loud the music is rises to meet a step in a fifth of a second and takes seven seconds to come back down. A twenty-decibel crescendo spread over eight seconds therefore buys almost no contrast at all, and the same twenty decibels taken as a step buys a factor of two.
The dynamics are in the score already
Count the parts in each bar, realise them in their ranges, put every partial in its critical band, sum the loudnesses and run the result through the two smoothers built earlier. What comes out is a dynamic curve for a piece with no performance in it anywhere — and it says that doubling the number of parts inside a fixed register adds three decibels of power and about one of loudness, because the extra parts land in bands that were already occupied. Let the register widen with the parts and the same arithmetic gives eight phon, which is what a tutti actually is.
A final chord is not made loud by adding to it
An earlier essay on closure said the loudest cue an ending has needs a corpus rather than an arithmetic. The arithmetic was built one essay ago, so it does not. Run four ending textures through it and two things come out backwards: a final chord three parts thicker than the rest arrives *quieter* against the running impression than the passage it ends, and a texture that drops a part a bar does not get quieter at all until the bar where there is one part left.
A dynamic mark changes what a note is
Every spectrum until now is a shape with a level in front of it, so that playing ten decibels louder raises every partial by ten. That is true of exactly one instrument in an orchestra. Everybody else steepens their own spectrum as they lean on it, and a trumpet's centre of gravity moves from the second partial to the sixth across a dynamic range while an organ flue pipe's does not move at all.
The parameter that did not decide the answer
An earlier essay on closure ended by naming the tempo as the thing every number in it was resting on, and said it was the kind of parameter that had caused trouble before by turning out to decide the answer. Turned across a tenfold range at a closing gesture of fixed length it moves the reading by four per cent, against a twenty-three per cent gap between the gestures it is distinguishing. The parameter beside it in the same figure — how many bars the gesture occupies — moves it by twenty, and nobody had named that one at all.
Which notes have to be played early
There are three separate contributions to one quantity — the instrument's attack family, the dynamic it is played at, and the note's own period — and every figure so far varies one and holds the others. Added together for a real scoring they do not add: a sforzando low piano note is pitch-limited to a hundred-millisecond attack and the sforzando shortens it back to sixty-five, so flattening the dynamics makes the ensemble's spread larger rather than smaller.
A loud chord is a smaller chord
Two earlier essays hold the level fixed, and the level decides how much of a chord a listener is given. At thirty decibels twenty of a triad's twenty-four partials stand above what the rest of it masks; at a hundred, nine do. Every roughness figure until now counts partials that are in the score, and a partial the chord masks is not a partial the listener has.
The reading was a step response
Sweeping the tempo found it did not decide the answer. This one sweeps the deceleration across a factor of three and finds a null to five figures, and then sweeps the length of the closing gesture across a factor of forty-eight and finds it moves the reading by eight per cent — but not as a function of seconds. Sorted by seconds the twelve runs scatter; sorted by how many bars the instruction covers they fall into three tight groups. One sentence explains the null and the not-null together.
A subito piano is a rate, not a level
All three earlier essays score one chord held still. An orchestration is a succession, and the running impression carries a chord into the one after it — so a written dynamic is an instruction to the listener's impression rather than to the instantaneous sound, and there are markings that cannot be produced at all. The correction runs to silence and the impression still sits above the target.
The dissonance arrives and the dynamic does not
A scoring decides two things at once and both of them have to be integrated by a listener before they exist. The loudness smoother's release is two seconds and the roughness window is thirty-seven milliseconds, and that ratio of fifty decides which of the two survives at the pace music is actually played. Nothing anybody performs is fast enough to blur a dissonance, and a great deal of it is fast enough to average a dynamic.
An equal note cannot be masked
Three earlier essays are about one instant, and forward masking lasts two hundred milliseconds — longer than a note at any brisk tempo. So a fast line should be a sequence of events hiding each other, and it is not: a note masks itself ten decibels harder than its predecessor can, at any speed. What does hide a line is dynamic contrast, and the boundary is fifteen decibels.
A page has two decibels
The account of closure called its dynamic component a corpus debt: it had no model of dynamics in a form. Loudness supplies one, and applying it answers the debt by refusing it. Adding parts to a final chord one at a time, each at the same level, moves the loudness by under two decibels and not monotonically — while a player has sixty. A texture that thins is not a diminuendo.
A rest is a diminuendo
Three parameters swept over factors of ten, three and forty-eight returned the same reading to four significant figures. The one manipulation left unswept moves it by twenty-four decibels: a silence. A listener's running impression decays at the loudness smoother's two-second release, so a general pause is a diminuendo nobody wrote, and at the length that makes a gap an ending it is worth more than any marking a composer has.
The partials the tube makes itself
Eleven earlier essays compute a passive linear resonator, and none of them ever says so. At a real fortissimo the air in a brass instrument is not linear: a compression outruns a rarefaction, the wave leans forward as it travels, and the fourth partial of a loud trumpet note is seventy decibels louder than a scaled-up quiet one — generated in the tube rather than at the lips. How much of it happens is an integral over the bore, and it is why a flugelhorn cannot be blown into being a trumpet.
A part entering is not a change of level
Five earlier essays measure a sonority that is already sounding. The one thing an orchestrator actually controls is the entry, and priced at every semitone it comes to 0.89 phons — under the difference limen — with only 29 of 61 available entries clearing it and none below A♭4. What an entry is instead is an object arriving, and the reason is that its own rise time is faster than the listener's.
A staccato is a dynamic mark
Every loudness figure in this collection is of a sound that has been going on long enough, and no note in music has. Run the running-loudness model on notes with lengths in them and an articulation turns out to command 1.5 phons at a slow tempo and 8.1 at a fast one — more than the 1.8 decibels a whole texture commands, on the same page, written down in the same ink, and counted by nobody.
A soft chord has to fade in
Forward masking sits between the two integration times already in play — two hundred milliseconds against a thirty-seven millisecond roughness window and a two-second loudness release — and it was owed as the term that might eat the dissonance contrast. It does not. It widens it, by three per cent at a chorale's pace and fifty-nine at four chords a second, because it can only ever remove partials and it can only reach the chord a dynamic has already made quiet. What it does instead is stranger: one chord in the passage is entirely inaudible for its first twelve milliseconds and takes a quarter of a second to arrive whole.
The fourth player is a spectrum, not a decision
Six earlier essays put exactly one instrument on each note, which makes an arrangement a permutation — and the commonest operation in orchestration is a doubling, which does not. Four players on three notes give thirty-six arrangements instead of six, and the extra choice turns out to be the smallest thing on the page: which note carries the pair explains three per cent of the spread and which players sit on the bass explains eighty-nine. A doubled note can be priced as one player, and which one is not the one a spectral account would have named.
A rest needs a dry room
The twenty-four decibels a general pause is worth assume the sound stops when the players do. Put a hall under it and a bar of silence keeps 60 per cent of its value in a shoebox concert hall and 22 per cent in a cathedral, while a three-and-a-half-second one keeps 86 and 45 — because a hall's tail has a length and a rest either outlives it or does not. A written bar of silence is worth half its dry value at 2.76 seconds of reverberation, which falls between the concert hall and the stone church.
A subito piano is four seconds longer in the bass
Every loudness figure with time in it converts level to loudness at one kilohertz, and the equal-loudness contours say that no other frequency works that way. Joining the two sorts the published numbers into those that were about the treble and those that were not. Three move a great deal — a twenty-decibel crescendo is worth 27 phons on a bass note and 20 on a high one, and the seven seconds a subito piano takes becomes eleven and a third. Three do not move at all, and the reason they do not is the same reason in every case.
A general pause is spent by the note after it
Whether a composer should write the pause before the diminuendo or after it looks like a question about how big the ensemble is. It is not. Forty decibels of ensemble are worth one decibel of silence, and the order is worth seven — because a running impression rises twenty times faster than it falls, so half a general pause is spent by ninety-seven milliseconds of sound.
A final chord stands out for a twentieth of a second
A general pause drives a listener's running impression down, and the final chord that follows is supposed to cash the fall in. It cashes in at most two thirds of it. The note's own loudness rises with a 22-millisecond constant and the impression with a 99-millisecond one, so after a bar of silence the chord stands furthest above the impression 54 milliseconds in, by 5.1 of the 8.1 decibels the silence bought, and after 206 milliseconds the two are within a phon of each other. A short stamp spends most of its life standing out; a chord held a second and a half spends a seventh of it.
A rough arrival is rough because of its spacing
The pair the expectation essays report for every chord — how surprising it was, how rough its voicing is — has no level in it. Putting level back in answers the question it left open, and not the way it was framed. At one written dynamic the arrivals keep their order from 40 to 90 dB at three registers of four, and the bass stays 8.6 times rougher than the treble. Made equally loud, the bass has to be played 12.8 dB harder, and it is 343 times rougher: level does not explain the register's roughness away, it multiplies it.
A combination-tone bass needs a forte
A scale in just thirds draws a diatonic bass line through its difference tones, and in sixths the cubic product draws one. Given the two published level laws, with their constants swept, the thirds' bass is not heard at all below primaries of about 66 dB and is heard whole only from 71 to 81. The cubic products are a different kind of object: the primaries mask them decibel for decibel as they rise, so no dynamic changes whether they are heard. Most of the thirds' inner line never is, and the sixths' bass needs a forte and a gentle law.
The ghost bass drops a twelfth at a forte
Both crowds arrive at once and every member of both is a multiple of the same absent fundamental, so a listener is never given a choice between them — only a different subset of one harmonic series at every dynamic. Softly, the subset is an exact gapless series on three times the fundamental. Loudly, the difference tones fill in the low harmonics and no template on the higher note survives them. Between 62 and 72 decibels, depending on the interval, the note the crowd names falls by an octave or a twelfth, and the two qualities of third cross at different levels.
The ceiling everybody names is the loose one
Ask why phrases are the length they are and the answer given is the breath. It is arithmetic — usable lung volume over the air a note costs per second — and it comes out between fifteen and twenty-three seconds at a comfortable dynamic and between seven and twelve at a loud one. The ceiling the present moment imposes, the two-to-eight seconds inside which a stretch is heard as one thing rather than as a series, is two to three times tighter at almost every note and dynamic. A singer in an adagio is not running out of breath at the phrase end. They are running out of present.
A louder final chord is a deeper silence and a brighter sound
A final chord marked a step louder than the passage was supposed to stand above a listener's running impression for as long as it sounded, since the impression can climb no higher than the chord. It climbs exactly that high, and the stand closes in half a second as it always did. What a louder mark actually buys is depth — about seven phons, the same depth a second of silence buys — and a spectrum whose balance point sits most of a whole tone higher, which, unlike the stand, lasts for the whole chord.
The played notes already name the ghost bass
The products of a just third's partials, fitted on their own, name a note a twelfth above the bass when the interval is soft and drop to the bass when it is loud. Put the two played notes back beside them and the drop disappears: the notes and their products name the bass at every dynamic, because the notes' own partials are harmonics of it already. What the dynamic changes is not which note is implied but how complete its harmonic series is — nine holes from the notes alone, four when soft, none when loud.
Named alongside it
The objects these essays reach for when they reach for this one.
LoudnessOrchestrationClosureIntegration windowCritical bandwidthTextureRoughnessTemporal integrationCadenceMaskingNotationSilence