Field

Instruments and their design

Where the sound came from before any of the above. A stopped tube has only odd partials, a hammer at one seventh silences the seventh, and a bass string is wound because a plain one would be longer than the room.

What a 60 cm tube supports, by how its ends are closed. The first 6 modes of an open cylinder and a stopped cylinder, all of the same acoustic length. An open tube supports every whole multiple of the fundamental and reaches the second mode an octave up. A cylinder stopped at one end supports only the odd multiples and reaches its second mode 1902 cents up, which is a twelfth. Its fundamental is also an octave below the others, because it fits a quarter of a wavelength where they fit a half.

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.

What a 60 cm tube supports, by how its ends are closed. The first 6 modes of a stopped cylinder and a cone, all of the same acoustic length. A cone supports every whole multiple of the fundamental and reaches the second mode an octave up. A cylinder stopped at one end supports only the odd multiples and reaches its second mode 1902 cents up, which is a twelfth. Its fundamental is also an octave below the others, because it fits a quarter of a wavelength where they fit a half.

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 end correction, for a bore of radius 7.5 mm. How flat a tube sounds against what its physical length alone would predict, because the wave carries on past the opening before it turns round. The correction is 4.6 mm at every note — Levine and Schwinger's 0.6133 times the radius for an unflanged end — and the error it causes is 13 cents on a 60 cm sounding length and 52 cents on 15 cm. It is the same millimetres in both cases.

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.

Where each family's tone-hole lattice stops reflecting. The cutoff frequency of an open tone-hole lattice, from Benade's formula, for four woodwind geometries: clarinet 1824 Hz, oboe 2990 Hz, flute 1690 Hz, bassoon 506 Hz. Below its cutoff a note's wave turns round at the first open hole and the instrument is a tube of that length; above it the wave passes through the whole lattice and radiates from the far end, so the upper part of every note's spectrum leaves the instrument from the same place whichever note is fingered. That is what gives a family one recognisable voice across its range.

Above a certain note the holes stop working

A row of open tone holes reflects the wave and makes the tube shorter — up to a frequency. Above it the wave runs straight past the whole lattice and leaves from the bell, so the top of every note's spectrum radiates from the same place whichever note is fingered. That cutoff is computable, it differs by family, and it is most of what makes an oboe sound like an oboe.

One register vent, 12 fingerings. Where the second mode's pressure node sits for each fingering of a stopped tube, against a single register hole drilled 12 cm from the mouthpiece. The node is a third of the way along the sounding length, so it moves every time a hole is opened, and the vent's error runs from -38 to -1 cents across the range. A perfect register system would need one hole per fingering. The number of holes actually fitted is one, and the leftover is a design decision rather than a fault.

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.

A string struck at one 7th of its length. The amplitude of each partial of an ideal string excited at 0.1429 of its length. The mode shape is a sine, so a partial with a node at the excitation point cannot be set moving at all: partials 7, 14 are silent here. The envelope over the rest is one over n, a struck string's.

Where the hammer lands

Strike a string at exactly one over n and the nth partial is silent, because the hammer has landed on that mode's node and cannot move it. A piano's hammers strike between a seventh and a ninth of the way along, which puts the seventh partial — the most dissonant member of the series — at or near a null. That is a design decision made in wood, and it takes one line of trigonometry.

The same note, hit at a middling dynamic. The spectrum of a struck string with the hammer's own contact time applied as a low-pass. Contact lasts 1.60 ms at this force, against 2.26 ms at the softest and 0.95 ms at the loudest drawn — felt is a nonlinear spring, so a harder blow is a shorter contact and a brighter note. The spectral centroid moves from partial 1.5 to partial 2.2, which is a change of timbre and not of loudness.

A hammer is not an impulse

Contact lasts a couple of milliseconds, which low-passes the note — any partial whose half-period is shorter than the contact is barely excited. Piano felt is a spring that stiffens as it compresses, so a harder blow makes the contact shorter, the corner higher and the note brighter. A loud note is not a scaled-up quiet one, and no linear model gives that.

Helmholtz motion, bowed at 9% of the way from the bridge. Above: the string at 5 instants of one period. It is two straight lines meeting at a corner, and the corner travels round the string rather than the string swinging. Below: the resulting force on the bridge, a sawtooth whose two segments are in the ratio 0.09 to 0.91 — the bow's own position. A sawtooth contains every harmonic at exactly one over n, so the spectrum barely changes with bow position even though the waveform plainly does.

The bow makes a corner

A bowed string is not a string swinging. It is two straight lines meeting at a single sharp corner that travels round the string once per period, triggering the slip that keeps it going. The force on the bridge is therefore a sawtooth, and a sawtooth is every harmonic at exactly one over n — which is why a bowed string is the most nearly perfect harmonic series in the orchestra.

How much bow force is allowed, and where. Schelleng's diagram. The lower bound is the least force that will trigger a slip on every pass of the corner and goes as one over beta squared; the upper bound is the most the string will take before it sticks for more than a period and goes as one over beta. At beta = 0.09 the usable range spans a factor of 9.0; at 0.03, near the bridge, it is 3.0, and at 0.2, over the fingerboard, 20.0. The window closes in proportion to beta, so the difficulty of playing near the bridge is a slope on this picture rather than a matter of opinion.

How much bow is allowed

Too little force and the corner fails to trigger a slip on every pass; too much and the string sticks for more than a period. Both bounds depend on where the bow is, and they depend on it differently — one as the square of the distance from the bridge and one linearly — so the window between them closes in proportion as the bow approaches the bridge. Sul ponticello is difficult by a power law.

A bell tuned to 294 Hz, and the note it is heard at. The partials of a well-tuned church bell, as ratios to the prime, with the three that imply the strike note marked. The nominal, twelfth and double octave sit at 2, 3 and 4, which is a harmonic series on 1 — so they imply a fundamental at 294 Hz, an octave below the loudest partial the bell has. The tierce at 1.2 is a MINOR third above the prime, which is why a bell has a minor quality by construction rather than by choice.

A bell has no fundamental

The note a listener names when a church bell is struck is not any partial the bell has. Its nominal, twelfth and double octave sit at 2, 3 and 4 times the prime, which is a harmonic series on a pitch an octave below the loudest thing in the sound — and that pitch is supplied by the listener. Founders have been tuning it by ear since the fifteenth century.

What is struck, and where its partials land. Partial ratios for an ideal string, an ideal membrane, a kettledrum, drawn on a logarithmic axis so that a whole-number ratio is a fixed distance from the last. An ideal string: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6. An ideal membrane: 1, 1.59, 2.14, 2.29, 2.65, 2.92. A kettledrum: 1, 1.50, 1.99, 2.44, 2.89. The membrane's are Bessel zeros — a derivation, and they land nowhere near the whole numbers. The kettledrum's have been pulled toward 2 : 3 : 4 : 5 by the enclosed air, on a fundamental an octave below the lowest partial present.

What a drum is doing instead

An ideal membrane's modes are zeros of Bessel functions — 1, 1.59, 2.14, 2.30 — which support no common fundamental, so a drum rings without a note. A timpani is that problem solved — the kettle's air and the radiation load drag four modes onto 1, 1.5, 2, 2.5, and the pitch a timpanist tunes is the fundamental those four imply and none of them is.

What 2 partials imply, and how many answers there are. The partials are at 32.7, 49.0 Hz. Each row is a harmonic series they are consistent with to within 30 cents: the filled dots are the partials in their assigned slots and the open dots are slots the series predicts that nothing occupies. There are 5 such series with harmonic numbers up to 16, the best fitting them to 1.4 cents with a fundamental of 16.34 Hz and no unoccupied slot. The rest sit at one half, one third, one quarter, one fifth of it and their arithmetic is exactly as exact; what separates them is the count of empty slots, which is why a residue pitch built from few partials is reported an octave out by a minority of listeners and not by the rest.

Two pipes for a note neither makes

The resultant stop sounds a sixteen-foot pipe and a ten-and-two-thirds-foot pipe and asks the listener for a thirty-two-foot note. It is the missing fundamental built on purpose from the fewest partials that can imply anything — and counting how many fundamentals two partials actually imply is the arithmetic behind three centuries of builders disagreeing about whether it works.

The most a 6 cm cone can make of a low note. The maximum sound pressure level at one metre from a circular radiator of effective radius 3.2 cm, moving 1.5 mm at its limit, in a system resonating at 250 Hz. Below resonance the cone is already at that limit and the pressure a piston makes goes as the square of frequency, so the curve falls at twelve decibels an octave: 66 dB at 40 Hz, 78 dB at 80 Hz, 94 dB at 200 Hz. The 40 Hz figure is 28 decibels below the 200 Hz one, and that gap is arithmetic about a radius and a displacement rather than a property of any particular loudspeaker. The dots are the harmonics of a 41.2 Hz note with a one-over-n source spectrum; the loudest of them is the 6th.

The bass a small loudspeaker does not make

A three-inch cone at its excursion limit produces sixty-six decibels at forty hertz, which the ear converts to seventeen phons — barely above nothing. The note is heard anyway, because its harmonics are radiated and its fundamental is supplied by the listener. Computing what arrives turns the residue from a curiosity into a design decision, and finds that the fundamental of a low note is not the loudest part of it on any system a listener is likely to own.

Two players and no clock

Two people cannot share a timekeeper, and two independent ones drift a hundred and twenty milliseconds apart inside a minute. Ensembles do not, so something is correcting — and the measurement everybody reaches for recovers the pair's total responsiveness exactly and cannot tell which of the two is doing it. Four tenths from one player and two tenths each give the identical number.

The same hall, empty and full. A hall of 18700 cubic metres with 900 square metres of audience, designed to 1.9 seconds occupied, with three kinds of seat under the audience. It is 2.76 s empty and 1.90 s full with hard wooden seats, a change of 31 per cent; 2.29 s empty and 1.90 s full with lightly padded, a change of 17 per cent; 1.96 s empty and 1.90 s full with heavily upholstered, a change of 3 per cent. The audience is 45 per cent of the total absorption when the hall is full, which is the largest single term in the equation — and how much the hall changes is decided entirely by what the seats were doing before anybody sat on them.

The model has nobody in it

Sabine's room is an empty box. The audience is 45 per cent of a full hall's absorption, a hall with hard seats goes from 2.76 seconds empty to 1.90 full, and because an audience absorbs far more treble than bass it does not shorten the decay so much as tilt it. And the players are inside the loop the model has no term for at all.

The flow through the larynx, over two periods of a 110 Hz note. Volume flow against time, in Rosenberg's two-half-cosine model of the glottal pulse — a slow opening, a faster closing, and a closed phase during which no air passes at all. M1 — chest is open for 50 per cent of each period and opens 2.4 times as slowly as it closes. Nothing here is a displacement: the folds are a valve on a steady stream of air, and the flat stretches are the moments they are shut. At 110 Hz each period lasts 9.1 milliseconds, of which 4.5 is silence.

The other instrument with a reed

The folds do not vibrate the way a string does. They open and shut across a steady stream of air, once per period, and what leaves the larynx is a train of flow pulses with a closed phase in it. Everything said about the voice's tone is a statement about the shape of that pulse — and the shape has two numbers in it.

Two mechanisms, the notes both of them make, and the seam. The frequency range of each laryngeal mechanism for an adult male voice, on a logarithmic axis, with the band both can produce shaded. M1 — chest runs 82–349 Hz and M2 — falsetto runs 220–698 Hz, so 799 cents of the range — 8.0 semitones — can be sung either way. The two dots inside that band are the measured signature that this is a bifurcation rather than a threshold: the change upward happens at 330 Hz and the change downward at 294 Hz, 200 cents lower. A threshold is crossed at the same place in both directions and this is not.

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.

A reed that shuts at 5000 pascals, and the air it lets through. Volume flow through the reed channel against the pressure across it, in the quasi-static model: Bernoulli flow through an opening that closes linearly with pressure. The flow peaks at 1667 pascals — exactly a third of the closing pressure, for any reed, because that is where the two effects balance — and it is 0.18 litres a second there. Everything to the right of that peak is the argument: the flow falls as the player blows harder, from 0.18 to 0.05 litres a second by 4500 pascals, and a resistance that behaves that way supplies energy instead of taking it. There is no reed inertia in this model, so it cannot squeak.

The reed is a valve, not a vibrator

Three essays here have said that a clarinet's reed does not choose the note, and none of them said what it does instead. It chops a steady stream of air, and past a third of the pressure that closes it the flow falls as the player blows harder — a resistance with the wrong sign, which is the only thing in the instrument capable of putting energy into an oscillation that is otherwise losing it.

Where the series stops being a chord and becomes a scale. The interval between each partial and the next, in semitones, against partial number. It is an octave, then a fifth, then a fourth, a major third, a minor third — and it crosses 2 semitones between partials 9 and 10. Each shaded band is one octave of pitch and holds twice as many partials as the band below it: 2 between 1 and 2, 3 between 2 and 4, 5 between 4 and 8, 9 between 8 and 16. Nothing about the series changes with height; what changes is the density, and a set of notes becomes usable as a melody when its neighbours are a step apart.

The register where the series becomes a scale

A melody needs steps, and a natural trumpet has only the harmonic series. The gap between one partial and the next falls as the series rises — an octave, a fifth, a fourth, a third — and does not reach a whole tone until the eighth. That single arithmetic fact decides what two centuries of brass writing could be: fanfares below, and melody only in a band one octave wide with nine notes in it, three of them badly out of tune and every one of them lipped into place by a player who had no valve to press.

A constant bow force cannot start a note. Schelleng's minimum and maximum bow force, evaluated at the speed the bow has after one period rather than at the speed the note will be sustained at. Both bounds are proportional to bow speed and the speed after one period is the acceleration divided by the frequency, so both are proportional to acceleration and the region is a wedge through the origin. Its width as a ratio is 9.0 to 1 at every acceleration — the attack is not a narrower window than the sustain, it is the same window somewhere else. A fixed force, drawn here at 0.02, is inside it at one acceleration, about 0.18, which is why the force has to rise with the speed and why beginning a note is a trajectory through this plane rather than a point in it.

The note has to start somewhere

Schelleng's diagram says how hard a bow may press at a given distance from the bridge for a steady tone to be possible. It is a map of a note that is already sounding, and it contains no information whatever about how to begin one. Read the same inequality at the speed the bow has after a single period rather than at the speed it will settle to and the admissible region turns out to be a wedge through the origin — same width as a ratio, a hundred and ninety-six times lower in force. A constant bow pressure is inside it for one instant of the attack and outside it for the rest.

C4, in every place it can be played. A guitar neck with the 4 places C4 can be stopped, drawn at the fret spacing a 64.8-centimetre scale actually has. The stave writes one note and the tablature writes one of these; each notation says exactly what the other leaves out. The speaking lengths run from 61.2 down to 27.2 centimetres, so a hand plucking 12 centimetres from the bridge meets between 20 and 44 per cent of the string.

What a tablature keeps

Middle C can be stopped in four places on a guitar. The speaking lengths run from 61 to 27 centimetres, so a hand plucking twelve centimetres from the bridge meets between a fifth and nearly a half of the string, and the comb of missing partials is different at every one: the second partial is thirteen decibels stronger in the best position than in the worst. A stave writes one note for all four. A tablature writes four different things and cannot say which note any of them is.

One key, nineteen notes, one right answer. A register hole disturbs a mode in proportion to the square of that mode's pressure at the hole, so the place that spoils the fundamental and leaves the third harmonic alone is the third harmonic's own pressure node — a third of the way down whatever length is sounding. The length changes with every fingering and the key does not move, so the two curves cross at one note. At A3 the key sits almost exactly on the node and the twelfth speaks cleanly; at A♭4 it is at 62 per cent of the tube and disturbs the third harmonic by 96 per cent of what an antinode would, which is the throat of the instrument and is exactly where players say the notes are worst.

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.

A perfectly tuned unison is the shortest note on the piano. How long a struck unison takes to fall forty decibels, against how far apart its two strings are tuned, for a note whose single string would ring for 20 seconds and whose bridge takes the in-phase mode down in 1.5. At a perfect unison the hammer excites only the mode that drives the bridge, so the note dies in 1.00 seconds. The longest note is at 2.30 cents, at 3.05 seconds — three times as long. Past 4.48 cents the two modes stop sharing a frequency and start sharing a decay, the note beats instead of ringing, and the sustain collapses.

Three strings, and the note that comes back

The usual account of a beat adds two independent sources together. A piano's strings are joined at the bridge and are not independent: the pair has normal modes, one of which drives the bridge and dies in a second and a half while the other cancels at the bridge and rings for twenty. A hammer striking a perfect unison excites only the first — so a perfectly tuned unison is the shortest note on the instrument, dying in one second, and the longest is at a deliberate detuning of about two and a half cents, at three. Past four and a half cents the two modes swap what they share and the sustain collapses.

How near the node a hammer has to land. The level of partial 7, relative to the loudest partial of the same note, against how far the hammer is from that partial's node — for a contact 2.6 per cent of the speaking length wide, which is 16 mm on a 620 mm string. At the node exactly the partial is absent whatever the width, because a mode shape is odd about its own node and integrating an odd function symmetrically gives zero. Twenty decibels of suppression needs the hammer within 2.82 mm, and thirty needs 0.89 mm. The width itself barely matters in the musical range: its sinc reaches its first zero only at partial 77.

The hammer is not a point either

The comb of missing partials is computed throughout for a contact of no width, and a piano hammer is sixteen millimetres of felt on a string of six hundred. Integrating the mode shape across the felt turns out not to fill the null in: a mode is odd about its own node, so a symmetric contact centred on it gives an exact zero however wide it is. What destroys the null is being in the wrong place, and the tolerance is 2.8 millimetres for twenty decibels of suppression and 0.89 for thirty. The design decision found at the outset is a manufacturing tolerance.

Two clocks on one contact, and which of them runs out first. Two times that could end a hammer's contact with a string, across the compass. The flat line is the felt's own recoil, which this site models as a fixed 1.6 milliseconds at a stated force and which does not know what note is being played. The falling line is the string's: a mass m driving a string of impedance Z loses its momentum in m/2Z, which is 11.9 milliseconds at the bottom of the keyboard and 0.76 at the top. They cross at G3. Below the crossing the felt lets go first and above it the string gets there first, and over six octaves the two are within a factor of two of each other — so the contact time is a coupled quantity and not a property of the felt.

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.

The bow's window across a compass, with the bridge in it. Schelleng's window — the ratio of the largest usable bow force to the smallest — at a bow position of 0.09 of the length, across 196 to 1568 hertz, with the minimum scaled by the body's own admittance at each note. The window is widest between resonances and narrowest on them: it falls from 25 to 1.7 at B♭4. The notes a player finds hard to start are the local minima, and they sit on the body's resonances by construction — C♯4, B♭4, C♯5 for this body. At this bow position it never closes; move the bow toward the bridge and it does.

The note the body will not let start

Every figure until now treats the string as though it ended at a rigid point, and an earlier essay admitted it: the body feeds back on the string hard enough to make some notes difficult on one instrument and easy on another. Put the body's own admittance into Schelleng's minimum bow force and the window narrows by fifteen to one at the corpus resonances — and near the bridge it closes.

Which ensembles have this problem and which do not. The width of the heard-moment spread built into 7 standard instrumentations, before any player does anything. An ensemble drawn from one attack family has a spread of zero — every note is heard the same distance after it is started, so a common onset is a common heard moment, and this is true of a string quartet and of a gamelan for the same reason and in the same amount. A mixed ensemble carries between 11 and 33 milliseconds of it.

The players who have to be early

Ensembles have been measured for fifty years and found to be about forty milliseconds out of alignment, which has always been reported as the limit of human precision. Part of it is not: an ensemble that mixes attack families carries a heard-moment spread of ten to thirty-three milliseconds before anybody plays a note, and an ensemble drawn from one family carries none at all — which is true of a string quartet and of a gamelan for the same reason.

The window is a different width on each string. The width of Schelleng's bow-force window across each string's own playable range, with both terms in it: the body's admittance, which was added earlier, and the string's own characteristic impedance, which every figure had held at one value. The four curves are the same shape displaced vertically, because the impedance is a constant per string — the G string's is 1.81 times the E string's, and the window is one over that. Where the ranges overlap, the same pitch sits on two or three curves at once.

The same note is a different width

Schelleng's two bounds both carry the string's characteristic impedance and they carry it to different powers — the maximum force as Zc and the minimum as Zc squared — so the window a player has to stay inside goes as one over Zc. A violin has four strings whose impedances differ by a factor of 1.81, the same written pitch is available on two or three of them, and the tolerance is nearly twice as wide on one as on another. The two lightest strings turn out to have almost identical impedance, which nobody chose by accident.

4 bores of one length, and the series each supports. cylinder, cone, exponential horn, Bessel horn — every one of them 148 cm long, 5.5 mm at the throat and 62 mm at the mouth, so the only thing that differs is the shape between the two. Beside each is the series of resonances Webster's equation gives it, and the number is how far that series is from evenly spaced, in cents. cylinder: 0.0 cents, with each mode sitting at minus 0.50 of a spacing off a whole multiple; cone: 9.6 cents, with each mode sitting at minus 0.12 of a spacing off a whole multiple; exponential horn: 22.8 cents, with each mode sitting at minus 0.16 of a spacing off a whole multiple; Bessel horn: 3.7 cents, with each mode sitting at minus 0.11 of a spacing off a whole multiple.

Only two shapes make a series

A tube's length sets where its modes are and its shape sets whether they are a series at all — and of every shape a maker could choose, exactly two give evenly spaced modes. Neither of them is the shape of a trumpet. Webster's equation says how far the others miss by, and the answer is a quarter of a semitone for the obvious ones and four cents for the family brass bells actually belong to.

The bow's window along each string, with the bow held still. Schelleng's window — the ratio of the greatest bow force a note tolerates to the least — for every written pitch on every string that can play it, with the bow 35 mm from the bridge and staying there. The window widens up each string because β is the bow's distance over the SOUNDING length and the sounding length is shortening, and it steps down at each new string because a heavier string carries a narrower one. The dashed lines are what was drawn earlier, which held β at 0.09 for every note on every string. The widest disagreement between two strings at one pitch is 1.48 to one, at A♭5.

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.

The cutoff computed from the shape, and the cutoff read off the measurement. Two numbers for the same boundary. The hollow point is Webster's local cutoff — the largest value of (c/2π)√Γ along the bore, which is geometry alone. The filled point is where the impedance peaks stop, which is what a maker measures with a loudspeaker and a microphone. cone: no geometric cutoff at all, and peaks stopping at 4731; exponential horn: 89 hertz from the geometry, and peaks stopping at 2614, a factor of 29.26; catenoidal horn: 115 hertz from the geometry, and peaks stopping at 2499, a factor of 21.76; Bessel horn: 1154 hertz from the geometry, and peaks stopping at 1593, a factor of 1.38; cylinder and Bessel flare: 2945 hertz from the geometry, and peaks stopping at 4417, a factor of 1.50. The published figure for a trumpet is about 1500 hertz, marked. The two agree within about half for a bore whose flare is concentrated at the end and disagree by more than an order of magnitude for one whose flare is spread along it, which says what the local formula is and is not a measurement of.

The cutoff a maker can actually measure

A trumpet's bell cutoff computed from the geometry alone comes to 1,150 hertz against a published 1,500, and the calibration was the first thing that left owing. Measuring the model the way a maker measures the instrument — sweep a loudspeaker in, find where the impedance peaks stop — gives 1,593. The discrepancy was almost entirely in the formula, and on a bore whose flare is spread rather than concentrated the same formula is out by a factor of twenty-nine.

$The fingerboard, with the hardest place on it. Every written pitch from G3 to G6 on every string that can reach it, shaded by the width of Schelleng's bow-force window there — dark is narrow, which is a note that is hard to start. Two effects are multiplied and neither earlier figure could show the other: the body's admittance, which depends on the frequency, and the bowing fraction and string impedance, which depend on where the hand is. The worst place is C♯4 on the G3 string, 6 semitones up it, at a window of 12.2 against 471 at the easiest — a factor of 39 across the instrument. It sits where the body's A0 resonance crosses the heaviest string played high, which is the compounding this figure was drawn to find: neither variable alone puts a minimum there.$

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.

Three ways a note starts, on one pair of axes. Every instrument in this collection, with how long its note takes to speak measured twice: across, in periods of the note itself; up, in milliseconds. The three clusters are three different pieces of physics. A wind instrument accumulates energy in a resonance, so its wait is the resonance's Q — 27, 26, 26, 19, 37 periods here. A bowed string is at full amplitude the moment Helmholtz motion begins and what takes time is the bow reaching a force inside Schelleng's window, which is 3.0, 3.8, 5.1, 7.6 periods. A plucked or struck string is at full amplitude at once and the only duration in it is the exciter's own contact, under a tenth of a period. The two axes do not agree: the slowest instrument in milliseconds is an alto saxophone at 159, and in periods it is an alto saxophone at 37.

A note takes a number of periods to speak

Two separate accounts stopped at the same object and said so. A wind instrument's note takes as long to arrive as its resonance takes to build, and that time is the resonance's Q divided by its frequency — so the number of periods is the Q and has no pitch in it, while the number of milliseconds does. The two readings order the instruments differently, and both orderings are wanted.

A family resemblance in the heights

Trumpet, horn and trombone differ in length by a factor of two and a half, so their frequency series cannot be laid over one another. Their impedance peaks agree to three decibels in height and to thirty per cent in Q, peak for peak, and the agreement improves with peak number. An earlier essay inferred that a family has one voice because it has one filter; the solver can now be asked directly.

One vent on a cone, over the notes it has to serve. A cone's modes are a full harmonic series, so the mode a register vent has to keep is the octave rather than the twelfth, and its pressure node sits at half the sounding length measured from the virtual apex. The apex is a fixed point of the instrument and the bell end is not, so every fingering moves the ideal position and there is one hole. The upper line is how much the vent spoils the fundamental, which is what it is for; the lower is how much it damages the octave, which is the cost. Their ratio runs from 451.2 at F♯4 down to 1.9 at B♭3 — a factor of 235 across a single register. The vent is placed at 37 per cent of the longest sounding length, which is where the worst fingering is least badly served.

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.

trumpet: what the cup does to every peak. Each impedance peak of a trumpet drawn twice: as the bare bore, and with its own catalogue mouthpiece in front of the throat. The bare heights fall monotonically, from 19.2 at the pedal to 1.96 at the top of the series, which is what a tube does. The fitted heights do not: they fall to 5.4 at E♭6 and rise again to 30.1 at E♭5, giving the instrument a maximum of support in the middle of its compass that the tube alone has nowhere. The dashed line is the mouthpiece's popping frequency, 642 hertz — the note the cup sounds when it is slapped on the palm — and the maximum sits beside it.

What a cup does to the support

The mouthpiece's job was settled four essays ago and settled in cents: it decides which harmonic each mode is. Measured instead in the currency a player buys one in — how hard the note pushes back, and how narrowly it holds its pitch — the cup does something else entirely. It multiplies the support in the written register by about five, and it puts a ceiling on the instrument that the bell had not put there.

Seven holes that all sound 196 hertz, and none of them agrees about the twelfth. Each dot is a hole radius, placed at the station that makes the first resonance 196 hertz. The stations run from 411 millimetres for a 7.5-millimetre hole to 307 for a 1.4-millimetre one, which is a fifth of the tube. Up the axis is what the second resonance does: a cylinder's should be three times the first, and it is -2 cents from it for the widest hole and -453 for the narrowest. The hole's inertance rises with frequency, so a narrow hole lengthens the tube more for the twelfth than for the fundamental — and two holes that are interchangeable in the first register are a fourth apart in the second.

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.

Three instruments, three wires, and an order of magnitude between them. The inharmonicity coefficient of each instrument's own string design, across its own compass. At middle-of-the-keyboard C a piano's wire is 315 millimetres long and 1.02 thick and gives B = 1.5e-3; a harpsichord's at the same pitch is 355 millimetres and 0.30, and gives 8.1e-5 — a factor of 19. The harpsichord's line is nearly flat across four octaves because its scaling is Pythagorean: the length doubles for every octave down, exactly, until the case runs out. The piano's is a V, because its case runs out two octaves earlier and everything below the break is a compromise. Every column before now used the top line for all three instruments.

Three exciters and three wires

Every column drawn so far has run a plectrum and a beater on a piano's string, because a piano's was the only scaling to hand. A harpsichord's wire is an order of magnitude less stiff, for a reason that turns out to be the tensile strength of iron — and with all nine combinations computed, the crossing found before stays exactly where it was, on every wire.

The violin is the one where the bow's width catches up. Three separate limits on how near the bridge a bow can go, for the four bowed instruments. The ribbon's near edge reaches the bridge at 5, 6, 6, 8 millimetres; the ribbon covers half the corner's bridge-side excursion at 10, 11, 12, 15; and Schelleng's force window narrows to a factor of 3 at 10, 12, 21, 32. On the viola, cello and double bass the force window binds first, by a margin that widens to a factor of two on the bass. On the violin the ribbon binds first, at 10 millimetres against 9.8. A bow's hair is as wide as a hand can control and a string is as long as its pitch requires, so the ratio between them is a fact about the violin rather than about bowing.

The bow is not a point either

Seven earlier essays set the bowing point to a number between 0.02 and 0.3 and drew it as a point. A violin bow's hair is ten millimetres wide on a string of three hundred and twenty-five, so near the bridge the ribbon is wider than its own distance from it. In the spectrum that turns out to be worth nothing. In the geometry it is the reason sul ponticello has a floor, and the violin is the one instrument of the four where it arrives before the force does.

The period is still there, and it is wider. The autocorrelation of a 12-partial complex on 220 hertz, drawn twice: steady, and averaged over one cycle of a 71-cent vibrato. A vibrato moves every partial by the same number of cents, so the complex is exactly harmonic at every instant and nothing is mistuned — what moves is the period the extractor is looking for. The peak survives. It loses 6 per cent of its height above the surrounding lags and gains 11 per cent in width, because the vibrato swings the period by 0.37 milliseconds against a peak 0.90 wide. Its maximum also moves, to 2.4 cents sharp of the still tone's, which is a prediction with a sign in it.

The pitch that does not wobble

Three earlier essays have treated a vibrato as a modulation of roughness. The reason singers use one is what it does to the note, and there is an extractor here that turns a set of partials into a pitch and has never been asked what it does with partials that will not hold still. The period survives, at a cost that rises with the extent — and the practice stops within a hair of where the cost becomes total.

A straight mute where its corks put it, and the annulus left over. The last 220 millimetres of a trumpet's bell, drawn to scale in radius and in length, with a straight mute in it. The mute is a cone 150 mm long running from 35 mm across at the tip to 105 at the base, and it is pushed in until its clearance is the cork's 3.0 mm — which stops it 63 mm inside the rim. The sound goes past it through the annulus between cone and wall, and the narrowest place in that annulus is 393 square millimetres, 59 mm in, which is 27 per cent of the bell's own section there. The lower curve is that annulus turned into the only thing a transmission line cares about: the radius of a round tube of the same area, which falls to 11.2 mm at the throat and recovers to 53 at the rim.

The resonator at the far end

A cup at the throat owns the top of a brass instrument and puts a ceiling on it. A straight mute is a second closure at the other end of the same air column, and the prediction written down before it was computed was that it would push that ceiling further down. It does the opposite: the ceiling goes from C6 to E♭6, and it goes there by reviving exactly the resonances the cup had killed.

Four bells on one tube, and the series each of them supports. The same 1.48-metre trumpet bore, drawn to scale, with its mouth opened from 32 millimetres across to 280 — a factor of 8.8 in radius and everything else held. Beside each is the frequency past which its flare stops reflecting, computed from the geometry: 403 Hz, 1212 Hz, 2945 Hz, 7303 Hz. That boundary moves by a factor of 18. The resonances underneath it barely move at all — the fourth peak sits at 409, 421, 428, 432 hertz across all four.

The mouth that decides nothing

Twelve figures across six earlier essays draw a trumpet with a 124-millimetre bell, and not one of them draws any other. Opened from 32 millimetres across to 280, the bell's own boundary moves by a factor of eighteen and almost nothing else moves at all: the instrument's registration, the sharpness of its notes in the written register, and where it runs out are all within a semitone of themselves. The reason is that the resonances are held by the walls, and a bell cannot reach them.

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.

How much of each instrument is narrow enough to steepen a wave. For each bore, the quantity that decides how nonlinear it is: the narrowest radius divided by the radius at each station, integrated along the tube. The shading is that integrand, so a bar that stays dark is a tube still doing damage to the wave and a bar that fades is a flare that has thinned it out. Divided by the instrument's own length the integral is a pure number: a plain cylinder 1.00, a tenor trombone 0.88, a trumpet 0.86, an F horn 0.59, a cone of a trumpet's length 0.24. A plain cylinder is 1 by construction, a cone of the same length and mouth is 0.24, and the ordering across the brass family is the one players give when asked which of them can be made to blare.

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.

Three impedances meet at the bowing point and only one is in the way. Every impedance at the contact between a violin bow and a violin's strings, on one logarithmic axis in kilograms per second. The four strings run from 0.19 on the E to 0.34 on the G. The hair ribbon's TRANSVERSE impedance, across its own length, is 0.59 — 1.7 to 3.2 times the strings', which is comparable and is the number expected earlier to matter. It lies perpendicular to the string's own motion, because the bow is drawn ACROSS the string and the hair therefore runs along the direction the string vibrates in; what it is in the path of is the bow force. The impedance that does lie along the string's motion is the ribbon's LONGITUDINAL one, 11.4, which is 19 times the transverse and 34 to 61 times the strings'. A point load of that size against the 2Zc a string offers reflects 94.4 per cent of an arriving corner, so the fixed bowing point every earlier figure has assumed is right to within 5.6 per cent on the G string.

The hair runs the wrong way

Eight earlier essays treat the bow as a contact and the string as the object, and the last of them asked what the bow's own impedance does at the point of contact. It has three, and the one that is comparable to the string's — 0.59 kilograms per second against 0.19 to 0.34 — lies at right angles to the direction the string moves in. The one that lies along it is thirty-four times the string's, which is why a fixed bowing point has been the right assumption all along; and it stops being right at one partial in the middle of the instrument's range.

Schelleng's window at five states of the rosin. The ratio of the largest usable bow force to the smallest, against distance from the bridge on a violin, drawn at friction contrasts of 0.5, 0.75, 1, 1.5, 2 times the normally-rosined bow every other figure assumes. The window is a hundred times the friction contrast times beta, so each curve is the next one shifted bodily: the position at which it narrows to a factor of 3 moves from 19.5 millimetres at 0.5 to 4.9 at 2. The two vertical marks are the geometric limits found earlier and neither of them moves with the rosin: the ribbon covers half the corner's bridge-side excursion at 10.0 millimetres and its near edge reaches the bridge at 5.0. The friction contrast at which the force limit retreats behind the first of those is 0.98, and behind the second 1.95 — so a violin at ordinary rosin is sitting within a few per cent of the exchange, and at twice it the force window has no say at any playable bow position.

What the rosin is worth

Schelleng's window has three parameters and it has been drawn thirty-nine times with two of them held at one. The bow speed turns out to cancel exactly — it multiplies both bounds and leaves the ratio alone — and the friction contrast does not: the window is proportional to it, so every limit priced in millimetres moves as one over it and none of the geometric ones move at all. A violin at ordinary rosin is sitting 2.5 per cent from the point where the two exchange places, and at twice it the force window has no say at any playable bow position.

$A plucking point 50 millimetres from the nut, across a harpsichord's compass. The jacks stand in a rail and the rail is one object, so a register plucks at a fixed distance from the nut while the strings shorten by a factor of ten from the bass to the treble. At 50 millimetres that is one 36th of the string at C2 and one 3.5th at C6 — a plucking fraction that changes by a factor of 10.1 without the maker moving anything. The comb corner is one over that fraction and falls with it, from 36 to 3.5; the dispersion corner has the fraction under a cube root and falls only from 106 to 21. They never meet. Setting one over p equal to the cube root of two over three times the inharmonicity and the fraction gives a plucking point at p = √(1.5B), which on this instrument's iron wire is between 3.4 and 9.9 millimetres from the nut — nearer to it than any register a harpsichord has ever carried, the lute stop included. So the maker's one free choice is the binding term at every pitch and every register position, which is exactly what the piano's is not: on a piano the contact time takes the decision away above E3.$

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.

Four players on three notes, every arrangement. The 36 ways of putting 4 players on a 3-note chord so that every note is covered, ranked by roughness, all at one total loudness of 26.9 sones. Each row is shaded by which note carries the pair. The best is flue | clarinet+violin | oboe and the worst is clarinet | oboe+flue | violin, a factor of 2.21. Every earlier essay puts exactly one player on each note, which is a permutation; a doubling makes the arrangement a surjection instead, and the doubled note sounds neither of its two players but the composite they make. Which note gets the pair explains 7 per cent of the spread here and which players sit on the lowest note explains 89: the fourth player is a much smaller decision than the three that were already there.

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.

Second order and fourth order, from the same sequence of wavenumbers. Frequency against wavenumber for a string and for a bar, with each object's own wavenumbers marked on the axis. A string's equation is second order in space, so frequency goes as wavenumber and the straight line carries its modes at 1, 2, 3, 4. A bar's is fourth order, so frequency goes as the SQUARE of wavenumber and the parabola carries the same kind of sequence to 1, 2.757, 5.404, 8.933. Both sequences of wavenumbers are arithmetic — a string's are the even multiples of π/2L and a bar's the odd ones, except that the first is 3.011 rather than 3 — and squaring an arithmetic sequence is the whole of why one object has a fundamental and the other has none. Every number is derived from the boundary condition; none is measured.

A bar's partials are the odd numbers, squared

A string's wave equation is second order in space and a bar's is fourth, so a string's frequencies go as its wavenumbers and a bar's go as their squares. Both objects fit a nearly arithmetic sequence of wavenumbers between their ends; squaring one is the whole of why a marimba key has no note in it. The ratios are 1 : 2.756 : 5.404 : 8.933, which are the odd squares over nine, uniformly 12.9 cents flat, and the 12.9 cents is one root that refused to be 3π/2.

Where one arch can put a bar's second and third partials. The plane of the second and third partials, with the path a single arch traces through it as it is cut deeper, for 4 arch lengths from 50 to 100 per cent of the bar. Every path starts at the plain bar's 2.756 and 5.404 and runs up and to the right. The xylophone's target of 3 and 6 lies on them: reach the second partial and the third is there. The marimba's target of 4 and 10 lies above every one of them — the best any of these arches manages while holding the second partial at 4 is 9.176, which is 149 cents short. A marimba's third partial is not something one cut can place, and that is a statement about the shape of the cut rather than about the maker.

One cut cannot place two partials

An arch cut into a bar's underside is one knob, and a maker aims it at two targets. Swept across every arch length, the path it traces through the plane of the second and third partials passes through the xylophone's 3 and 6 — dead through it, within a tenth of a cent at the natural arch length — and under the marimba's 4 and 10 by between 149 and 326 cents. Hitting one target means missing the other, and that is why a marimba bar's underside is not a simple arch.

What a stopped tube tuned to the fundamental does to a marimba bar's partials. Power radiated from the mouth of a 311 millimetre stopped tube of 56 millimetre bore, tuned so that its first resonance is the bar's fundamental at 262 hertz, plotted against multiples of that fundamental and referred to what it does at the fundamental itself. Its quality factor there is 80. A stopped tube resonates at the odd multiples and presents an infinite input impedance — a rigid lid — at the even ones, so a partial's fate is decided by the parity of the ratio the arch put it on. The bar's own partials are marked: 1 at 0.0 decibels, 4.00 at -38.5 decibels, 9.03 at -13.1 decibels.

The tube shuts on the partial the arch placed

A stopped tube tuned to a bar's fundamental resonates at every odd multiple of it and presents a rigid lid — an infinite input impedance — at every even one. A xylophone's arch puts its second partial on 3, which is a resonance, and the tube passes it within five decibels. A marimba's puts it on 4, which is an antiresonance, and the tube takes it thirty-eight decibels down. Same tube, opposite answers, and the difference is parity.

$What each strike point on a marimba bar excites. The amplitude each of the first 4 partials receives from a strike at each point along the bar, each partial drawn to its own maximum. On a string this comb is |sin nπx| and is periodic, so one strike point silences a whole family; on a bar it is the mode shape itself, whose zeroes are not at rational fractions, so no strike point silences a family. The exception is the middle: every antisymmetric mode is zero there by symmetry, so a centre strike drives partial 1 at 100 per cent of its maximum and partial 2 at nothing at all. The cord's hole at 0.2031 is the mirror case — the fundamental is the partial a strike there cannot reach.$

The four ways a marimba loses what its arch placed

The centre of a bar is a node of every even mode by symmetry, so a stroke there gives the second partial exactly nothing and a mallet's width cannot recover it; five millimetres off centre returns 14 per cent. Add the yarn mallet's 3-millisecond contact, the tube's rigid lid and a decay four times faster than the fundamental's, and four independent mechanisms take the tuned partial 80 decibels below it. On a xylophone the same four come to 24.

Partials 3, 4, 12 of "hod", over one vibrato cycle. The level of three partials of a 220 hertz note on the vowel in "hod", each about its own mean, over one cycle of a vibrato of ±71 cents at 6.0 hertz. The pale curve is the frequency deviation itself, for phase reference. Partial 3 at 660 hertz swings 4.22 decibels and peaks with the frequency; Partial 4 at 880 hertz swings 0.41 decibels and peaks twice a cycle; Partial 12 at 2640 hertz swings 8.62 decibels and peaks against it. The formants of this vowel are at 730, 1090, 2440 hertz and do not move; a partial below one rises as the frequency rises and one above it falls, so the modulations of a single note run in opposite directions at the same instant.

The partial that gets louder as it goes sharp

Eleven earlier essays sweep a set of partials and hold their amplitudes still, and a real tract does not move with the fundamental. Put the formant account and the sweeping account together and every partial acquires an amplitude modulation at the vibrato rate: 0.07 decibels on the fundamental and 8.6 on the twelfth partial of the same note. They are in phase below a formant and anti-phase above one — not ninety degrees apart — and the whole note swings 0.82 decibels, because they cancel.

Where a section's fluctuation stops being a beat, on 220 hertz. Two rates up the spectrum of a 220 hertz note sung by a section whose voices are spread by 15 cents. The rising line is the beat rate between a typical pair of them, which grows with the partial because a mistuning in cents is a difference in hertz that scales with frequency; it reaches the 15 hertz at which a beat stops being a beat by partial 5.5, at 1217 hertz. The flat line is the amplitude modulation the vibrato imposes through the formants, which is 6.0 hertz at every partial because the vibrato modulates every partial by the same number of cents at the same rate. The two are equal at 487 hertz. Above 1217 hertz the beating has become roughness and the only fluctuation left is the vibrato's — and that frequency is the same one an octave up, where it is partial 2.8 instead.

The rate that does not rise with the partial

Twelve earlier essays give every vibrato the same six hertz, and the measured spread is 5.5 to 7.5. Putting the two fluctuations a choir contains on one axis shows why the rate matters: the beating between mistuned voices rises with the partial and leaves the range a listener follows as fluctuation at 1,217 hertz, while the vibrato's own modulation is six hertz at every partial. Above that frequency a section fluctuates by vibrato alone — and if every singer had the same rate, it would barely fluctuate at all.

The partials the air makes, on the series the bore actually has. The input impedance of a trumpet, with the partials wave steepening manufactures from its A4 at 428 hertz drawn on it as vertical marks. The steepening is a distortion of one periodic waveform, so it makes its partials at exact integer multiples — 856, 1285, 1713, 2141, 2569 hertz. The bore's own resonances are not at integer multiples of anything: the peaks the manufactured partials aim at sit at 886, 1346, 1812, 2278, 2741. So every manufactured partial lands flat of the peak it might have used, by 59, 81, 98, 108, 112 cents — 2.6, 2.7, 3.0, 4.0, 4.9 half-widths of the peaks in question, which is outside the half-power point of every one of them. The dashed line is where the bell stops reflecting, at 2945 hertz; above it there is no peak to land on or miss.

Which notes go brassy first

Wave steepening manufactures partials at exact integer multiples of the note being played. A brass instrument's resonances are not at integer multiples of anything, and twelve earlier essays have measured how far off they are without ever putting the two on one axis. Put them there and a manufactured partial never lands on a peak — never once, at any note, by a miss that is the same number of hertz every time. So the alignment cannot be what decides which notes blare, and the thing that does turns out to be the bell.

Four throats on one instrument, drawn to scale. 4 bores 148 centimetres long, drawn to scale in radius and length, differing only in the radius of the tube itself — 6.0, 9.6, 14.0, 22.0 millimetres across at the throat. The mouth is held at 124 millimetres, which is what a maker changing a leadpipe actually does. A consequence is that the flare ratio falls from 20.7 to 5.6 and the bell's own boundary with it, from 5906 hertz to 1158. Beside each is the fourth resonance and how sharp it is: 427 Hz at Q 23, 428 Hz at Q 34, 427 Hz at Q 44, 421 Hz at Q 51. The notes move by 27 cents across the whole sweep and the sharpness rises by a factor of 2.2.

The throat that decides both

Eight earlier essays draw a tube eleven millimetres across and none of them draws another. Opened from six millimetres to twenty-two, it does exactly what was predicted to the loss in the walls — and it moves the radiation loss three times further, in the opposite direction, and monotonically, which the bell does not. So the two ends of a brass instrument do not divide the two losses between them. One end owns one loss and both ends own the other.

Two registers 50 microseconds apart on one string. The partials of a 355-millimetre string plucked at 32 and 50 millimetres from the nut, drawn twice: once with the two quills releasing together, once with the far one releasing 0.05 milliseconds later, which is 0.026 of this string's period. A delayed release turns partial n through 2·pi·f_n·dt, so the rotation is proportional to the partial number: the fundamental is turned 9 degrees and partial 24 is turned 226. Simultaneous, the pair is missing partials 17 and 20 — holes it digs for itself where the two combs are equal and opposite. Staggered, it is missing none of them: a rotation of anything at all takes two amplitudes out of opposition. The partials neither comb can excite at all — 7, 11, 22 — are filled either way, because where one comb is zero the sum is the other one whatever its phase. The fundamental's gain over the far register alone falls from 4.36 decibels to 4.34.

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.

Where a bar and its pipe stop being two things. The two normal modes of a bar and a resonator tuned to it, against how strongly they are coupled, at 262 hertz. Below a threshold the pair has one frequency and two different decay rates — the pale curves, which are the damping splitting rather than the pitch — and above it the frequencies separate. The threshold is exact and it is not a matter of degree: it is where the coupling rate equals half the difference between the two damping rates, which for a bar of Q 197 against a tube of Q 80 is a coupling of 0.37 per cent. A marimba's own coupling is 0.62 per cent — 1.67 times the threshold, and not free: it is fixed by how much louder the tube makes the note, since the coupling that splits the pair is the coupling that carries the energy out. So the resonator model's assumption that the tube is a filter downstream of the bar is wrong at middle C, and it is wrong by less than a factor of two.

A bar and its pipe are one object

Three earlier essays treat a marimba's resonator as a filter the bar's output passes through, and both of them said in their own caveats that the coupling was not modelled. It is here, and the debt was right: the coupling is 1.67 times the threshold at which the pair acquires two frequencies instead of two decay rates, so the tube is not downstream of anything. Every consequence of that is smaller than the peaks it would have to be seen between.

Where a woodwind actually sounds from

Every number so far is read at the mouthpiece, and the corner's whole musical meaning is at the other end. Run the same solver forwards and it gives the flow leaving every hole — from which a clarinet's radiating aperture turns out to be a function of fingering and of frequency, but not the way it was predicted to: the fingering sets how far the aperture opens, almost exactly to the number of open holes, and barely moves the frequency at which it does.

One doubling, held down a phrase. Where a single held arrangement of 4 players on 3 notes stands among the 36 at each chord of a 5-chord passage, best at the top, with what each chord would rather have named along the bottom. The held answer is flue pipe · trumpet · clarinet+violin, and it is the chord's own first choice at 4 of 5 of them. Holding it costs 16.2 per cent of the passage's roughness against re-scoring every chord — which is 2.4 per cent of the range the choice actually spans, since the arrangements at one chord differ by a factor of 7.8 on average. The cost is not spread over the passage: 1 chord carries nearly all of it.

An orchestrator doubles a line, not a chord

Three earlier essays made the objective a functional over a passage and a later one went back to holding one chord still. Put the doubling back into time and the retreat turns out to have been cheap: one arrangement held down a five-chord phrase is that phrase's own best answer at four of its five chords and costs 2.4 per cent of the range the choice spans — while the forward mask named earlier as the third temporal constant reaches for twenty milliseconds rather than two hundred, and cannot change the answer at any pace at all.

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