The same intervals, a clarinet under and over
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. 116 of its 116 placements carry sound, built from the same numbers as the drawing, offering these buttons: 12 m back, a hard wall 2 m behind, 2 cents out at the same pitch, 20 m back with no beam, 25 m back on the far side of the hall, 30 m back, the same wall, 45° off the axis, 60° off the axis, 8 m back, a hard wall behind the seconds and 136 more.
Called by 20 essays
the blast radius of changing it
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.
Which player on which note
An interval's roughness depends on which instrument is underneath, so the pair does not commute. Three players over three notes is the smallest thing that asymmetry has anywhere to go: six assignments, all of them the same chord, and across 450 of them the roughest averages half again the smoothest and reaches six times it. It is orchestration in the only form that can be computed here — not which chord, and not which voicing, but who is on which note.
Who plays what and how loud is one question
Two lines of argument, one about spectrum and one about loudness, each stopped at the same wall and each said so. One of them can choose who plays which note and has every player at the same level; the other can choose how loud each part is and has nobody assigned to anything. Put together they are a single problem with two kinds of variable, and solving it in stages picks a different answer from solving it at once — nine per cent rougher, at the same loudness, on an ordinary triad.
A dynamic mark changes what a note is
Every spectrum until now is a shape with a level in front of it, so that playing ten decibels louder raises every partial by ten. That is true of exactly one instrument in an orchestra. Everybody else steepens their own spectrum as they lean on it, and a trumpet's centre of gravity moves from the second partial to the sixth across a dynamic range while an organ flue pipe's does not move at all.
Two players on one note
Six essays have put one instrument on each note of a chord, and the commonest thing an orchestrator actually does is put two on the same note. Two independent sources add in power, so the composite is neither of them — except that it nearly always is one of them, because the level at which ownership changes hands is rarely at zero. And a unison ten cents out is rougher than a major third dead in tune.
A section has a loudest member, not a colour
Two players on one note have a balance at which the composite belongs to neither, and that is what blending means. Three should have three such balances and no reason for them to agree — a trio with a rock-paper-scissors ownership would have no strongest member at all. Twenty trios, sixty pairwise comparisons, and not one disagreement: the possibility is real, arbitrary spectra do it once in twenty, and instruments never do.
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 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.
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.
The blend arrives before the note does
Nine essays on spectrum draw a steady state, and the strongest cue that two instruments are two instruments is that they do not start together. Two envelopes rising at different rates turn out to be a balance — the same dial an earlier essay swept — so the attack is that dial moved by the clock, and its whole travel is fixed at twenty times the log of the two attack times. It is six decibels for a clarinet with a violin against a crossing twelve to twenty-two decibels out, so one pair in ten changes hands during its own attack, and which one depends on a convention rather than on the instruments.
A doubled pizzicato gives its note away early
The attack turns the balance between two players on one note by a few decibels and stops. A pluck does not stop — every partial of it decays, so a pizzicato doubled by a held instrument walks the balance for the whole note, and the expectation was a handover as slow as the decay. It is fast. A one-second pizzicato over a flute loses its note in 70 milliseconds, while it is still five decibels the louder, because what hands the note over is its upper partials going first. A uniform fade would have kept it eight times as long.
A room keeps a pizzicato from giving its note away
Doubled by a flute, a one-second pizzicato loses its note in 70 milliseconds dry, because its upper partials go first. The question left open was whether a room, whose reverberation keeps those partials alive, gives the note back afterwards. It does not give it back. It stops the note going: ten metres into a concert hall the pluck keeps it for 506 milliseconds, in a stone church for 814, and the room's own uneven decay takes back between a quarter and two fifths of that. In a room the loss law that decided everything dry matters a tenth as much, because the room's decay has become the clock.
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.
A doubling's worst note belongs to one instrument, not to the pair
The essay before this one found one pitch at which a violin and a flue pipe nearly share a spectrum and asked which pitch that is for every pair. Run over six radiators, thirty ordered pairs and forty-nine semitones, the answer is that seventeen pairs choose a worst note and thirteen simply run out of compass — and that the seventeen do not choose thirty different notes. They cluster in fours and threes, and each cluster is one instrument's own filter: the violin's worst note is B flat 4, its strongest body resonance; the clarinet's is F sharp 6, its cutoff; the voice's is C sharp 6, where its second partial meets its second formant. A doubling fails at a note that belongs to one of its players.
Half the worst notes of a doubling are notes nobody can play
A map of where two instruments' spectra come closest found seventeen pairs with a worst note of their own, gathered into four clusters, each belonging to one instrument's filter. It drew every instrument over the same five octaves. Read inside the compass each pair can actually play, eight of the seventeen worst notes are out of reach — the voice's C♯6 lies a semitone above a soprano's top C, and its E3 below her lowest note — and two pairs that seemed only to run downhill turn out to have a worst note after all. Of the four clusters, only the violin's B♭4 is advice every pair in it can use.
A violin's worst doubling note is wherever its own body resonates
A pizzicato violin doubled by a held clarinet, oboe or trumpet has one note in the shared compass at which its pluck comes nearest to never owning the note, and for the modelled violin all three partners choose B♭4. That is where the violin's lower corpus mode sits, and real violins place that mode a semitone or two either way. Move it and the worst note moves with it, a semitone for a semitone, at 36 of 39 settings — so every violin has its own worst doubling note, and it can be found by knowing where the instrument resonates. Held rather than plucked, the violin's body decides nothing.
A section of violins fills in the note one violin gives away
A pizzicato violin doubled by a held clarinet has one note — the note whose fundamental sits on its own lower corpus resonance — at which the pluck never owns the sound, and real violins put that resonance a semitone or two either way. A section plucks with a dozen different bodies at once. Summed, their resonances smear into a broad shelf, and the section's worst note over the clarinet rises from 2.2 decibels below zero to about zero: the note one violin gives away, twelve nearly keep. Over an oboe the section owns every note. And if every member shares the same air resonance, that shared resonance becomes the section's worst note instead — a section is weakest where its instruments agree, not where any one of them is extreme.
In a hall a section of violins loses the notes it saved
Dry, twelve violins with different bodies fill in the note one violin's pizzicato gives away to a held clarinet, leaving a shallow shelf a few tenths of a decibel above zero. In a hall that shelf goes under all at once. The room takes the same few decibels from each note whether it comes from one violin or twelve, so a section's smoothing survives only to the front of the hall — about two metres over a clarinet, six over an oboe — and from ten metres back a section loses exactly as many notes as one violin does.
A section keeps its pizzicato only inside a cone
In a hall a section's pizzicato loses its corpus notes to a held clarinet within two metres, on the assumption that a violin radiates equally in every direction. It does not, and twelve players sharing a beam cannot average it away. Directly on the players' axis, the same section keeps every note for twenty-five metres. Thirty degrees off, with the beam's upper partials thrown elsewhere, it is worse than if it had never pointed. A question about how far back a pizzicato carries turns out to be a question about which way the listener's seat faces.
A wall puts antiphonal seconds back beside the firsts
Second violins seated opposite the firsts have their plates turned away from the audience, and in a hall a section's pizzicato depends on its beam. With nothing behind them they keep their worst note in about one seat in a hundred. A perfectly hard wall two metres behind gives them back a cone as large as the firsts' own, but a wall that loses three decibels takes most of it away again. And the seats that cone serves turn out to be, within a seat or two, the seats the same section would serve sitting beside the firsts.