Phrase — where it appears
Named by 22 essays across 3 fields — each of them below, with the objects they name alongside it.
A phrase is a number of seconds
Musical phrases are described in bars, and four is the number everybody names. But the constraint that fixes a phrase is a property of the listener and is measured in seconds, so the bar count is whatever the tempo makes it. Across seven ordinary tempos the bar count that lands inside the window moves by a factor of eight, while the window itself does not move at all.
One of these eight-bar phrases accelerates
The sentence and the period both occupy eight bars, both end with a cadence, and both are recognised by ear rather than counted. What separates them is arithmetic. One halves its unit halfway through and the other does not, and the difference comes out as a single ratio — 0.67 against 1.00 — computed from nothing but the lengths of the parts.
An ending that exists so a bigger one can
Half of the cadences in tonal music are built to fail. A phrase that stopped convincingly at bar four would be a piece four bars long, so the ending at bar four is engineered to arrive and not to settle — and the components it withholds are exactly the ones its partner at bar eight supplies. Closure is nested, and the nesting is what turns two phrases into one thing.
The bar above the bar
A four-bar group is a bar whose beats are bars. That is not an analogy — it is the same computation, and the same metre-induction model produces one when it is handed bars instead of beats, unchanged. What decides where the hierarchy of levels stops is not in the arithmetic at all, and it is a number the phrase essay already measured.
How often the chord changes
Two pieces can use the same chords in the same order and be nothing alike, because a progression says which chords and not how fast. Harmonic rhythm is the second variable, it runs over a factor of thirty between the styles that use it, and both of its limits are set by things that are not harmony — a listener's memory at the slow end and a building at the fast one.
The leap that pays itself back
Every melody textbook teaches that a leap should be followed by a step in the opposite direction, and every corpus that has been counted agrees — around seven leaps in ten are answered that way. A random walk with two walls, no memory of the leap and no rule of any kind reverses after 61 per cent of them, and the residue is not a rule either. What is left when the walls are accounted for is a prediction the rule does not make, and it is the prediction that decides between them.
The twelfth, and where it comes from
Melodies occupy about an octave and a fifth, and an earlier essay set out to explain that by the singer's register break and found that it does not: the chest mechanism alone spans two octaves and a semitone. The answer is in a parameter the essay on leaps fitted and then put down. A walk with no walls whose central tendency reproduces the post-skip reversal rate has a range that grows logarithmically — six semitones at eight notes, twelve at thirty, eighteen at a hundred and twenty — so across every length a tune plausibly has, the span is between an octave and a fifteenth.
Where a phrase ends
Run a boundary detector over the three tunes used throughout and it agrees with the notated phrasing on one of them perfectly and on another almost not at all. The reason is which cue each tune uses: Twinkle's phrases all end on a long note, so a duration-weighted detector finds five of five with no false alarms; Ode to Joy's run on in crotchets and its phrasing is in the intervals, where a duration detector finds one of three and a pitch detector finds all three and eight others. No fixed weighting serves both, and the published one is worse on each tune than the single cue that tune uses.
A boundary at a stated level
A boundary detector run over three tunes agreed with the notation on one and barely at all on another, and left two things owing: a version with a scale parameter, and a version run on performance timings. Both are paid here, and they pay differently — the scale removes a free parameter from the comparison and does not rescue the hard case, while two per cent of rubato does.
The level the tempo chooses
The boundary detector has a scale parameter and an earlier essay left it free, ending with the sentence that names this one: the scale is in notes and the psychological present is in seconds. The psychological present is two to eight seconds, a tempo converts one to the other, and the level a listener reads then stops being a parameter at all — which is a prediction with teeth, because the same tune at two tempos should be phrased differently at levels the arithmetic names in advance.
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.
A detector whose resolution the performance sets
The boundary detector lost its free parameter when the psychological present became a number of notes at a stated tempo, and what that held still was named at the time: a performance slows into a phrase end, so the number of notes inside the present is not the same everywhere in a tune — it falls exactly where a boundary is. Making the width follow the performance recovers half of what removing the parameter cost, and honestly leaves the other half.
A family of readings
Removing the detector's free parameter, and then its constant tempo, cost persistence both times — the property that made its boundaries ordered rather than merely found. Recovering it means a family of adaptive readings rather than one, indexed by the width of the psychological present, which is the one parameter that cannot be removed, because it is a fact about listeners.
A proportion is only as fine as its two durations
Analyses of form measure proportions in bars and report them to three figures — a climax at 0.618, a section in the ratio 3 : 2. A listener has each part only as an estimate of how long it lasted, and a ratio of two estimates is blurred by both. Timed as well as anyone times a single second, eleven proportions fit between 1 : 1 and 3 : 1; timed from memory over minutes, two do. The golden section is told from 3 : 2 only below a Weber fraction of 5.4 per cent.
A count is not an estimate
Both established routes to a proportion are estimates — a duration timed, blurred by a Weber fraction, and a duration stored, biased by what was new. A listener who has induced a hypermetre has a third, and it is exact until it fails. It fails two ways that pull opposite: a slip miscounts one unit and its relative cost falls as the section lengthens, while a lapse loses the count entirely and its chance compounds. The mixture has a floor at about four units, where counting is 3.7 times finer than timing, and it is worth almost nothing past a hundred.
A form is sharp at the bottom and vague at the top
A movement is divided into sections, each into phrases, each into bars, and every level is a ratio of two estimates. Timed, the hierarchy is almost uniformly blunt — 2.1 distinguishable proportions at the top and 5.2 at the bottom, because a Weber fraction is a step function of duration and six of a piece's seven levels fall in one step of it. Counted, the same hierarchy runs from 2.2 to 12.2 and sharpens monotonically downward. At no level of either does timing separate 3 : 2 from the golden section.
A golden section is a coin toss with six coins
An analysis that reports a climax at 0.618 of a piece has not tested one prediction; it has looked at a piece with several defensible boundaries and reported whichever landed nearest. The rate at which that happens under no hypothesis is one line of arithmetic, and the tolerance it needs is not a number chosen on the page — it is the blur a listener's own timing puts on the judgement. Over a stretch of minutes that blur covers everything from 0.492 to 0.730 of the piece, which contains the halfway point, and six candidate boundaries produce a hit eighty per cent of the time.
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 melody marks the barline by where it lingers
At two chords a bar over a walking bass, every harmonic witness stands at the metre's coin toss about where the bar begins. Give the passage a melody with a habit — long notes that prefer the downbeat — and the barline comes back: with a long note in half the bars and four in five of them on the downbeat, in 91 per cent of passages. The count of long notes barely matters; the preference is everything, and at even odds no number of long notes helps. A phrase end held through its bar is the strongest single cue. And a listener who adds the bass's readings to the melody's does worse than one who ignores the bass.
A syncopated melody needs its phrases to land
Put a melody whose long notes all fall on the half-bar over a harmony that changes once a bar and a walking bass, and a listener adding up the evidence hears the bar begin in the wrong place three times in four. The harmony knows where the bar is, but only through one witness: the bass's root votes for the barline in every passage, and the bass's motion never does — a walking bass lands on each new root by step, so it moves less at the barline than inside the bar. One syncopated voice ties the root, and the motion breaks the tie its way. What rescues the barline is not the harmony but the melody's own phrase ends: hold half of them from the downbeat and the reading finds the bar in 86 per cent of passages.
Two bars of drum hold the barline; a dozen bars of bass do not
A listener who settles where the bar begins and then holds it hears a syncopated tune against the bar only if the ground before it built enough confidence to spend. Read bar by bar, a walking bass under one chord a bar is worth less than half a vote a bar for the barline, and a syncopated bar takes an eighth of a vote back, so a tune needs about twelve bars of that ground to be heard against the bar nine times in ten. A drum on the downbeat makes each bar of ground worth a vote and a half, and two bars are then enough — but only for a listener who can bank more than four votes of confidence.
A singer needs a quarter of the breaths the page offers
A breath in a sung phrase looks like evidence of a boundary, and also like a physical necessity, and it cannot be both at once. Solved exactly over three tunes, a trained singer is forced to breathe inside a phrase on 8 settings of 147, all of them slow and loud; at a comfortable level the air asks for about a quarter of the phrase ends a tune offers. So nearly every breath is a choice, which is what makes it a cue. Where the air does force one, it lands on a listener's boundary no more often than chance.
Named alongside it
The objects these essays reach for when they reach for this one.
Perceptual presentDurationSegmentationTempoGroupingHypermetreMusical formDownbeatHarmonic rhythmMetreNotationProportion