Roughness across an octave
Drawn above with its standard settings, which is almost never how an essay draws it: an essay states the numbers it is arguing about, so the figure a reader meets there is about that argument rather than about the drawing in general. Every option a placement passes is checked against the ones this function actually reads, because an option it does not read is silently ignored and the figure quietly draws what is above instead.
It makes a noise. 108 of its 110 placements carry sound, built from the same numbers as the drawing, offering these buttons: A 1-semitone interval, held, A harmonic tone, major third, A low C with all eight partials, A minor third at C4, quietly, A minor third at E1, quietly, A semitone in the bass, briefly, A semitone two octaves up, equally briefly, A stretched tone, at its own minimum and 75 more.
Called by 25 essays
the blast radius of changing it
Roughness can be computed, and the answer looks like a scale
Feed two spectra into a model of how nearby frequencies interfere, sweep one past the other, and the curve that comes out has dips exactly where the consonant intervals are. Nobody put them there.
A third is rougher in the bass
Consonance is usually presented as a property an interval has. It is not. The same major third is muddy two octaves below middle C and clean two octaves above it, the ratio never changed, and the frequency where it stops being muddy can be solved for.
Three notes at once, and why these three
A triad is two thirds stacked, and the four ways of stacking them behave completely differently. The difference is entirely in whether the resulting ratios are simple.
The ear sorts into boxes, and the boxes are the theory
Slide one note slowly upward against another and the interval between them changes continuously. What a listener reports does not. It stays a minor third, stays a minor third, and then in the space of about twenty cents becomes a major third — and nothing in the sound corresponds to the moment of the change.
A scale without an octave, and the spectrum that asks for it
Every scale so far repeats at the 2:1. That looks like a law and it is a consequence — the octave fuses because every partial of the upper note lands on one of the lower. Take a spectrum with no even partials and the 2:1 stops doing that, while the 3:1 starts.
A melody that can accompany itself
Whether a tune works as a round is decidable before anyone sings it. Score every simultaneity it makes against a delayed copy of itself, at every delay, with the roughness model already in use, and two nursery tunes separate completely — every delay of one is smoother than every delay of the other. What the scan does not do is pick out the entry the tradition uses, and that refusal is the most informative thing in it.
A spectrum chooses its own scale
The roughness curve's dips are always described as landing on the small whole numbers. They do not land on numbers. They land where partials coincide, and stretching a spectrum by seven per cent moves every one of them by exactly seven per cent — so the scale a set of intervals belongs to is a property of the instrument's spectrum rather than of arithmetic.
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.
A dissonance has to last
Roughness is a fluctuation, and a fluctuation needs cycles. A minor second at the bottom of a cello fluctuates thirty-three times a second, so a semiquaver holds four of them and a demisemiquaver holds two — which turns the counterpoint rule that a dissonance may pass if it is short into a number, and puts that number at about seventy milliseconds through most of the range, once the pairs beating too slowly to be roughness at all are taken out of the average.
The same chord is harsher when it is louder
Every roughness number so far was computed at a level nobody stated. Roughness is the product of two partial amplitudes, so it is quadratic in pressure, while loudness is compressive — which makes a minor third at middle C thirty-two thousand times rougher at fortissimo than at pianissimo and only twenty-five times louder. A chord has no single consonance to report.
The third the model has no opinion about
A neutral third — halfway between major and minor, and a scale degree in most of the music between Morocco and Iran — is nothing at all on an ordinary roughness curve. It becomes a well at 347 cents, which is exactly 11:9, only for a spectrum whose ninth and eleventh partials are at least three times their natural strength. No instrument has that spectrum.
The spectrum that was supposed to explain the gamelan
Run the model that designed the Bohlen–Pierce scale on a bar's partials and it asks for a compressed pseudo-octave at 1166 cents and wells at 694 and 870. A measured slendro's degrees are at 231, 474, 717 and 955, and only one of the four is near anything the model wants. Sweep the partials and a spectrum wanting a 240-cent step can be found — sitting sixty per cent of the way up its own roughness curve, which is what a scale-level test says about the whole comparison.
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.
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.
Which instrument is underneath
Every roughness curve so far compares two tones of the same timbre, which is a duet nobody plays. Give the two notes different instruments and the sum stops being symmetric: the same written interval, on the same two players, is up to five times rougher depending on which of them takes the lower note. From G3 upward the fifth is a well in all twenty-five pairings and no other interval is; below it, three pairings lose even that, and all three have a clarinet on top.
Every partial beats at its own rate
Five earlier essays have drawn one beat rate per figure, and every one of them is the rate between two fundamentals. Two real notes beat between all of their partials at once, the k-th pair beats k times as fast, and somewhere up the spectrum the rate passes the point at which a beat stops being a beat — so a chorused note is a beat at the bottom of itself and a roughness at the top, simultaneously, with a crossover partial that is arithmetic.
A roughness with a rate of its own
Every roughness figure so far computes one number for a steady spectrum. Evaluate the same sum at every instant of a vibrato and there are three numbers instead — a mean, a depth and a rate — and the mean is not the roughness of the mean frequency. On an octave it is nineteen times it, because an octave sits in a deep narrow minimum and a vibrato smears it out of one.
The beat a tuner can actually use
There is a modulation index for every interval on every timbre, and the published threshold for detecting a fluctuation is a function of exactly that and its rate. Running one against the other turns a table of decibels into a window in cents — and reverses the ordering, because the interval with the shallowest dip has the widest window.
The scale least committed to its own instrument
The essays on scales beyond twelve draw scales without spectra and spectra without scales, and none of them had put a tradition's own degrees through the roughness model. Doing it for six scales and five spectra says the account survives — every tradition lands between the eighth and the twenty-sixth percentile of random scales of its size, and under a pure tone not one of them does. But the scale whose standing moves least when the instrument changes is the gamelan's, at 2.9 percentile points, and the one that moves most is the five-limit diatonic at 17.4. The scale the argument is usually made about is the one it explains least.
A fifth on a piano is not a fifth a second later
Nine essays draw one note in silence, and a listener is given a texture. Put two struck notes an interval apart and consonance comes apart into two quantities that had agreed while nothing moved: the partial coincidence that names the interval outlives the strike in exactly the order common-practice theory ranks its intervals, and the roughness that scores it reorders itself inside a third of a second, with the fifth overtaken by four intervals every treatise calls harsher.
The smoothness is in the skips
Traditional scales come out smoother than random scales of their size because every pair of their degrees is counted once. Count only the pairs a melody on the scale actually sounds next to each other, and every seven-note scale here is rougher than ninety per cent of random ones, under every spectrum, and under a pure tone as well. The smoothness is carried by the pairs a melody reaches by skipping — its thirds and above all its fifths, which are smoother than all but two random scales in two thousand. Counted by their own ascents and descents, the two ragas that share one set of notes stand in different places at last: Deshkar's skipped Re buys a smoother ascent and costs it the fifths.
A scale is committed to how long its instrument rings
A traditional scale's standing on the roughness model moves when the instrument changes, and that movement was read as a commitment to the instrument's spectrum. Weight every pair of notes a melody sounds by how much of the earlier note is still ringing when the later one begins, and the movement grows — the tempered diatonic's by 37 percentile points at a note every 0.6 seconds — but almost none of it is the spectrum. Put four instruments' rings on one spectrum and the scale moves 38.6 points; put four spectra under one ring and it moves 9.4. And the partials that make a fifth smooth are the first to stop sounding.
The tempo moves a scale further than the touch
A gamelan is played two ways on the same bars: a saron's are damped as the next is struck and a gendèr's ring over their resonators. That decision moves a slendro's standing among random scales of its size by up to seventeen percentile points, which is real. Over the tempo levels a piece actually moves through it moves by fifty-four — from the twenty-ninth percentile at a fast elaboration to the eighty-third at a slow one. The same five pitches on the same bars are a smoother-than-average scale and a rougher-than-average one, and which depends on how fast they are played.
The scale belongs to the ringing instrument
A gamelan plays two instruments on one scale at once — a saron damped at every stroke and a gendèr several times faster with its bars left to ring — and a quarter of the roughness a listener receives falls on pairs that cross between them, which no figure had computed. The cross pairs turn out to be no worse than either stream's own. What decides the scale's standing is the fast part: the ensemble sits at the sixth percentile among random five-note scales and so does the ringing instrument alone, while the damped one alone sits at the ninety-sixth.
A wrong bar beats the same on either instrument
The ringing instrument carries a gamelan scale's standing, so a tuning error on it was predicted to cost more than the same error on the damped instrument. Put in the beating the model lacked, and the prediction fails: moved ten cents, a degree costs the same 0.85 summed over the scale on either instrument, because almost all of the cost is the wrong bar beating against the right one on the other instrument, and a beat belongs to both of the bars that make it. Moving a whole instrument costs exactly what its five degrees cost separately, and it takes nothing from the scale's standing.