Staff — where it appears
Named by 6 essays across one field — each of them below, with the objects they name alongside it.
The clef is an integer
The first essay on notation found that the staff's vertical axis counts letters rather than pitch, and named the clef as a question it was leaving open. Paid, it is arithmetic: a staff holds eleven letters, no voice or instrument is that narrow, and the eight clefs of European practice step through the axis in thirds — a spacing that buys everything a set of fifteen would buy on a wide range, for eight.
The notations invented for the overflow
Every proposal to replace the staff since the seventeenth century is a response to a specific overflow, and the commonest one — a chromatic staff with twelve positions per octave instead of seven — makes a trade computable from the same two integers the clef essay counted. It buys the accidentals outright and pays 40 per cent of the range, three ledger positions for one, and twenty-three enharmonic distinctions that are not merely absent from the page but unrecoverable.
The axis that is not a time axis
Eight earlier essays have measured the staff's vertical axis to a position. Its horizontal one has never been asked about, and the answer is that it is proportional to nothing: measured off the typesetter used here, a note gets 58 points before its duration is considered at all and 15 points a crotchet after — so the constant is 93 per cent of what the shortest note gets, and a note four times as long is not four times as wide.
How much music a page holds
Nine earlier essays have measured notations, and every one of them is a page — a two-dimensional object read in a fixed order by a reader who has to turn it. One measured the vertical axis and another the horizontal, and multiplying them gives the one design constraint on notation that is not about legibility at all: a chromatic staff turns pages a third more often than an ordinary one, and a proportional spacing rule turns them nearly twice as often as a columnar one.
The page is read by an eye
A sight-reader's eye sits a fixed number of notes ahead of the sounding one and a fixation takes in a fixed number of millimetres, and the spacing rule converts between them. Two bounds follow, from the reader rather than from the music — and the one everybody would expect to bind does not. The saccade rate has enormous headroom at any playable tempo, and what decides is acuity.
A reader does not read notes
Eleven earlier essays count notes, and the page cannot tell one line of eight quavers from another. A reader can: a scale of eight is one object where eight leaps are eight. Measured against the melodic interval distribution, the same eight notes are four times as much to read — and the eye–hand span, the best-measured quantity in the reading literature, is four notes of a tune and one of a leaping line.
Named alongside it
The objects these essays reach for when they reach for this one.
NotationEngravingClefLedger lineLegibilityMicrotonalityReadingSight-readingTempoTranspositionAcuityChain of fifths