Register — where it appears
Named by 46 essays across 9 fields — each of them below, with the objects they name alongside it.
A tube that skips every other partial
Stop one end of a cylinder and half its modes vanish. That single fact about where the pressure has to be decides that a clarinet sounds hollow, that it plays an octave below its length suggests, and that it must cover nineteen semitones with fingers before it can overblow — while every other woodwind covers twelve.
A cone is not a cylinder
A saxophone has a reed at a closed end, exactly as a clarinet does, and it overblows at the octave rather than the twelfth. If the previous essay's argument were about reeds that would refute it. It is about geometry, and a cone closed at its apex has the complete harmonic series for a reason that takes one line of algebra and is genuinely surprising.
The tube ends after it ends
A wave does not turn round at the opening. It carries on into the room for about six-tenths of the bore radius and reflects there, so every tube is acoustically longer than it is. The correction is a fixed number of millimetres against a wavelength that halves every octave — a rounding error at the bottom of an instrument's range and most of a semitone at the top.
One hole doing a dozen jobs
A register key works by forcing a pressure node where the second mode already has one, which kills the fundamental and leaves the mode above. The node sits a fixed fraction along the sounding length — and the sounding length changes with every fingering, while the hole stays where it was drilled. The leftover error is computable, and it is why the throat notes are the ones players complain about.
Roughness cannot choose a scale
Score all four hundred and sixty-two seven-note selections from the twelve for roughness and the answer at middle C is a mode of the diatonic set, first out of four hundred and sixty-two. Ask the same question an octave lower and the same selection ranks a hundred and forty-first. The model is not wrong; it is answering a question about frequencies, and a scale is not one.
Where to put the third
Take three pitch classes, four octaves to put them in, and score all twenty-seven arrangements. The smoothest is root, fifth an octave up, third two octaves up — which is partials one, three and five of the harmonic series — and the roughest, at every register tried, is the chord in close root position at the bottom of the range. Every orchestration manual states that rule and none of them derives it.
Two mechanisms, and the seam between them
Every singer has a place in the range where the voice changes character, and eight semitones of it can be produced either way. The measurement that settles what kind of a place it is takes ten seconds: the change upward happens two hundred cents higher than the change downward, and a threshold cannot do that.
One voice over ninety players
A soloist heard over a full orchestra is not louder than it and could not be. What the trained voice does instead is put a peak of energy at three kilohertz, which is where the orchestra's spectrum has already fallen away and where the ear's own threshold happens to be lowest. Nineteen decibels of advantage, in a place nobody is competing for.
A chord is a register
The same three pitch classes are five times rougher at the bottom of a piano than in the middle, and the arrangement that minimises the roughness over a low bass turns out to be the bass's own fifth and sixth partials. The orchestration rule about low thirds is not a convention. It falls out of the width of a critical band, exactly.
The note that moved by a minor third
A has been anywhere between 392 and 465 hertz in the surviving record, which is 296 cents — a minor third short of six. The usual conclusion is that absolute pitch level is a convention and nothing musical depends on it. That is true of everything written on paper and false of everything that happens in a throat or a body: a singer's register break sits at a fixed frequency, so across the historical range it lands three semitones further down the written page. Transposing a piece is not a uniform operation, because the performer does not transpose.
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.
The hole that spoils a note
A tone hole shortens the tube. A register hole does the opposite job: it is small enough to shorten nothing and is placed where it will wreck the fundamental's resonance and leave the third harmonic's alone, so the note jumps a twelfth instead of retuning. The place that does both is a pressure node of the harmonic being kept — a third of the way along whatever length is sounding — and the length changes with every fingering while the key does not. One key is at the right place for exactly one note, and the note it is worst for is in the throat of the instrument, which is where players say the instrument is worst.
Why the exercise is in four parts
Eight earlier essays move four voices, and nothing here ever chose four. Cut one choir's compass into three parts instead and the two most famous prohibitions in music cost exactly nothing — the cheapest realisation already obeys them. Cut it into six and they cost more than half a semitone per voice per chord change, because a parallel octave needs a doubled note and six voices sharing three notes can hardly avoid one. Four is the smallest number of parts at which the rules have a price at all, and it is the largest at which the price is small.
An instrument is not one timbre
Every roughness verdict so far uses one partial list per instrument, and a violin does not have one. Its body's resonances stay where they are while the fundamental moves, so the radiated spectrum is different at every pitch: the power-weighted centroid runs from 1.02 to 1.64 across the compass, and it is not monotonic. Which means the result that a spectrum chooses its own scale gives a different scale at every note on the same instrument — three minima in the dissonance curve at the bottom of a violin's range, two in the middle and four at the top.
Two dials the player turns together
Schelleng's window is a ratio of two bow forces, and an earlier essay found that the string's own impedance is in it twice. What it held still was the bowing point — as though a player kept β constant while moving up the fingerboard, which is the opposite of what a bow does. Let the bow stay where a bow stays and the window widens up every string, the spread between two strings at one pitch goes from 1.4 to 1.5 the other way round, and the string that is easiest changes.
A low note cannot start on time
Three earlier essays have held the pitch at one value. A note cannot establish an amplitude in less than a few of its own cycles, so the attack has a floor that rises as the pitch falls — 146 milliseconds at the bottom of a piano and three at the top. On an instrument whose action takes eight milliseconds everywhere, that is a forty-three millisecond spread across the keyboard from the period alone, and no player can do anything about it.
The hardest place on the fingerboard
Two things narrow a bow's window and each has been drawn alone. The bridge's admittance is a function of frequency; the bowing fraction is a function of where the left hand is. They meet on a real fingerboard, and multiplying the two curves gives a map with a worst place on it — C♯ on the G string, sixth position, where the body's air resonance crosses the heaviest string played short. The window there is twelve, against three hundred and eighty at the easiest.
Four terms, and only one of them binds
Six earlier essays each computed one term of a piano's excitation spectrum and handed it to the next, and nobody had multiplied them. Multiplied, three of the four have a corner — a partial above which they are the term doing the removing — and putting the three corners on one axis says which is in charge at each pitch. Below E3 the strike point decides; above it the contact time does; and the dispersion, which is the newest and most laborious term, is nowhere the binding one.
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.
The higher note speaks sooner and takes longer
Up a brass instrument the settling time in milliseconds falls by a factor of seven and the settling time in periods rises by a factor of three. Both curves are read off the same impedance sweep, both are monotone over most of the compass, and they point in opposite directions — so the slowest note of the instrument depends entirely on which clock is used to time it.
The vent a cone cannot place
A clarinet's register key has to spoil a fundamental and leave a twelfth. A saxophone's has to spoil a fundamental and leave an octave, whose pressure node sits at half the sounding length from the virtual apex — and the apex is a fixed point while the bell end is not. Over one register the ideal position moves by a factor of two, and one hole is right for one note.
A hole is a short tube
Four earlier essays have treated an open tone hole as a point where the pressure is released. It is not: the air in a hole has mass, and a hole with mass does not end the bore, it loads it. Seven holes drilled at seven stations all sound the same G — and their twelfths are spread over a fourth. Cross-fingering falls out of the same arithmetic, and it is not made of what everybody says it is.
The cutoff that is a list
Five earlier essays have quoted one number for a woodwind's cutoff — 1,824 hertz for a clarinet — from a formula written for an infinite lattice of identical holes. Solve a whole twelve-hole chart instead and the number is eleven different numbers, running from 2,193 hertz down to 1,574, which is 574 cents. The lowest fingering has no cutoff at all, and which way the list runs turns out to be a design decision rather than a fact about woodwinds.
What the second register is for
Nine earlier essays take the plucking fraction as given — an eighth, a sixth, a seventh — and a harpsichord's jacks stand in a rail, so what is given is a distance and the fraction is a consequence: 50 millimetres is one thirty-sixth of the string in the bass and one three-and-a-halfth in the treble. Engage two registers on one string and the amplitudes add exactly, the near one fills the far one's missing partials, the pair digs holes of its own that neither has, and the combination comes out louder and rounder than either — including the bright one.
A low chord stops being rough by stopping being a chord
Every count of audible partials until now is of a chord at middle C, and the three registers it did compare span C3 to C5 — a third of the range a chord is written in. Move the same triad down and the count collapses: 79 per cent of its partials arrive at E3 and 4 per cent at C1. So the roughest chord on the page is the lowest one and the roughest chord a listener receives is at G2, and where that maximum sits moves nearly two octaves with the dynamic.
The blend table has a row for every note
Eight earlier essays sound their instruments at one note, and one of them says why that cannot be innocent: every filter here is fixed in frequency and the fundamental is not. Swept over four octaves, the number of pairs that blend doubles from six to twelve, the ranking turns over rather than shuffles — seventy of a hundred and five comparisons swap — and a clarinet with an oboe goes from the best pair in the collection to the eleventh.
The collapse belongs to the bass
Every envelope drawn until now has no pitch in it: the decay model counts partials rather than measuring them in hertz. Put a fundamental in and the collapse it describes shrinks monotonically up the keyboard, from 25.2 semitones of colour drain at A0 to 6.6 at C8, because a partial has to fit under twenty kilohertz to exist and the top note has four of them. Above C6 a struck note has fewer partials than the ear could have resolved, and there is nothing left for a collapse to take away.
A standard moves the page, and not the seam
Every earlier essay has priced a pitch standard against something with a fixed length in it. A voice has none, so nothing about it changes at all — what changes is where the written note falls against a break in the larynx that is a frequency and stays put. At A415 that break is written F4, at A440 it is E4 and at Chorton it is E♭4: a minor third of movement across four centuries, on a part nobody rewrote.
The interval between two quills
Two jacks on one key are voiced separately and do not let go at the same instant. That interval turns each partial of the later pluck through an angle proportional to its number — so it leaves the fundamental alone and inverts the twentieth partial, and the holes the pair digs for itself vanish at a hundredth of a period. What a regulator can tolerate turns out to be one fixed fraction of a period at every pitch, which on a five-octave instrument is a factor of sixteen in milliseconds.
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 clarinet keeps what a string loses
Every masker, probe, chord, line and texture until now is eight partials falling as 1/n, and it was not even an option a placement could pass. Sweeping the six spectra to hand says the clarinet is the worst of them — 54 per cent of itself at best against a string's 79 — and that answer is an artefact of the score. Counted against what each note keeps on its own, the clarinet keeps 100 per cent where the string keeps 79, because its components stand a twelfth apart rather than an octave. The missing parameter was the spectrum; the second missing parameter was the denominator.
Eighty-one chords, one number
A dominant seventh has eighty-one arrangements inside three octaves and their roughness spans a factor of five and a half. The tonal-expectation model gives every one of them the same 3.51 bits, because its states are scale degrees and there is no register anywhere in them. Conditioning the surprise on the voicing costs no corpus — and the arithmetic says the conditioning belongs beside the probability rather than inside it, for three reasons that can each be computed.
The chord that has room for an entrance
Three essays have made the ensemble something a score can change and none of them has asked when. The ensemble already sounding puts a masked threshold over whatever register an entering part takes, and that threshold is set by the voicing rather than by the dynamic — so the five chords of one passage differ by 8.7 decibels in how much of an entering oboe survives them, and the quietest chord of the five is the worst place in the passage to bring somebody in. Swept over the entrant's own pitch, the choice of moment is worth as much as the choice of register.
Room is used up by whoever enters first
The chord with the most room for a part entering alone is a fact about that chord. It stops being a fact the moment two parts want it, because each part that comes in raises the mask over everybody after it. Given six parts waiting to enter a five-chord passage, choosing each part's moment the way one part's moment is chosen puts three of them into the same chord and lands in the bottom fifth of all 15,625 schedules. Placing them one at a time does no better. The schedule under which the least audible entrance is heard best is unique, and it brings the low and middle parts in while the texture is thin and holds the three highest back for the last three chords — because a high part keeps its room over a full texture and a middle part does not.
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.
The room is the slower of the two
A reverberant field is the source convolved with the room, so a partial's tail falls at the slower of the two rates rather than at their sum — and the room is slower for exactly the partials the string is losing fastest. Half a note's colour is gone in 0.163 seconds in no room at all, 0.313 in a concert hall and 1.441 in a stone church. The destination is identical in all three, because a room cannot hold a partial up above the fundamental it is also holding. What a hall takes away is the rate, and the rate was the whole of the identity cue.
A damper changes the clock, not the colour
A damper is an extra loss on the string rather than a second decay, so it adds the same number of nepers a second to every partial — and adding a constant to every rate leaves every difference between rates exactly where it was. The damped spectrum at any instant is the ringing spectrum at that instant shifted bodily down, to machine precision. The colour goes on draining at its own rate; the note simply runs out of seconds, and how many it gets is written on the page as a note value and a tempo.
One note in the compass loses its pizzicato
Dry, how long a pluck keeps the composite spectrum barely depends on which note it plays: three-hundredths of a second at the worst pitch and seven at the best, a spread of three. In a concert hall the same eight notes spread by a factor of forty-three, and in a stone church one of them never gets the note at all. The room does not scale the dry answer by a constant — it multiplies it by between four and nine times depending on the pitch, and at the one note where the two instruments' spectra nearly coincide it makes the pluck's position worse instead of better.
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.
Given the bar in octaves, the degree comes back
A bass note is a bare pitch class in the usual figure, and a register in any realisation anybody plays. Voice each bar in octaves and a listener knows which three pitch classes are sounding and which is at the bottom, which names the chord outright — and the rule that uses it reads the right scale degree in 92 per cent of bars on a real bass line, against 68 for the published cue on the same line and 89 for that cue on a line made entirely of roots. The question was whether the register recovers the 89. It recovers it and passes it.
A sharper cue is worth nothing to a reading that moves
The rule that names the chord outright reads 92 per cent of scale degrees right where the published bass cue reads 68 — at the key cost these readings have always been run at. Sweep that cost and the advantage is not a property of the cue. Where a change of key is cheap the sharp rule reads 46 per cent and the vaguest rule 47, because a reading that will move key on one bar's evidence follows a sharp cue wherever it points. The cue's whole value is borrowed from the model's reluctance to be moved.
The two parameters turn out to have a ceiling between them
The essay before this one asked whether the bass cue's weight and the cost of changing key are one quantity with two names, and said the test was a contour: if they multiply, the curves of equal degree share are hyperbolae. They are not. Along the ninety per cent contour the product of the two runs from 2.7 to 15.2, because past a bass weight of about one and a half the reading saturates and more cue buys nothing. And the sweep finds something no single-parameter sweep here could: the key cost has a best value, and a reading that will never change key is worse than one that will.
An exit is worth nothing until the tutti is given up
Six parts entering a five-chord passage have a best schedule when each enters once and stays, and letting parts leave and come back was supposed to improve it. Searched over every set of sounding parts at every chord, it improves it by exactly nothing, with or without the chord before still masking — as long as all six must be playing at the end. Let one part be missing from the final chord and the weakest entrance gains 1.4 decibels; let two be missing and it gains 1.9, by a relay in which the parts with least room come in, are heard for one chord, and give way.
The bass errs fast where the content errs slow
Asked how often the chords change, a reading built on pitch-class content names a slower multiple and never a faster rate. Give the passage a bass that states each new root and moves between chord tones inside a chord, and a reading built on the bass's moves errs the other way: it names a faster grid and never a slower one. At two chords a bar the bass is right every time; at a chord every two bars it is never right. Six ways of combining the two readings each trade one end of the range for the other.
The arch belongs to hearing, not to the series
A chord delivers most of its partials in the middle of the compass and loses them in the bass and the treble, and every spectrum that showed that arch was built on whole multiples of a fundamental. Give the same amplitudes to a bell's eight modes and to a stiff string's stretched partials and the arch is still there, peaking within a major third of where the harmonic series peaks. What the spacing changes is the detail: a bell crowds its tierce and quint into a quarter of a critical band in the bass and loses them, and a stiff string's stretch buys the bass back.
A bass chord low enough to balance has already hidden its tenor
Played as loud as the written register, a progression two octaves down is 343 times rougher than the same progression an octave up — if every partial on the page is counted. Count only the partials that stand above what the rest of the chord masks and that register is the smoothest of the four, with nothing left that beats. The balance is not what does it: the extra thirteen decibels move no voice by more than two partials. The register had already buried the tenor at the written dynamic.
Named alongside it
The objects these essays reach for when they reach for this one.
Critical bandwidthSpectrumPartialRoughnessBoreMaskingOrchestrationResonanceBoundary conditionBrightnessOverblowingTimbre