Partial 3, mistuned by 3%
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. 48 of its 48 placements carry sound, built from the same numbers as the drawing, offering these buttons: A bell: the 7 of 8 partials that fuse at this threshold, A note with all 10 of its partials where they belong, A note with all 12 of its partials where they belong, A piano string: the 4 of 16 partials that fuse at this threshold, A piano string: the 9 of 10 partials that fuse at this threshold, All 16 partials starting together, All partials harmonic, An ideal string: the 10 of 10 partials that fuse at this threshold and 20 more.
Called by 9 essays
the blast radius of changing it
What makes two partials one note
A note is a stack of ten or twenty simultaneous tones and is heard as one thing. The obvious explanation is that they are whole-number multiples of a fundamental — and the obvious explanation is not sufficient. Mistune one partial by three per cent and it leaves the note; give a perfectly harmonic partial a thirty-millisecond head start and it leaves too. Shared behaviour beats arithmetic.
The chord that is not played at once
Every chord until now starts its notes at the same instant, and no figure ever set the asynchrony to anything else. A spread chord is not a defective simultaneity: at forty milliseconds a triad of half-second notes is still eighty-seven per cent simultaneous, so it carries almost all its roughness, and it stops being a chord at all only when the last note arrives after the first has finished. What none of this can explain is the one thing every keyboard player knows — that a chord is rolled upward. The masking asymmetry that ought to explain it is 2.4 decibels at a close voicing, which is not enough.
The spectrum that will not fuse
A partial about one per cent off its harmonic is heard as a sound of its own rather than as part of a note. Apply that criterion to a whole spectrum instead of to one mistuned component and it becomes a count: a piano string keeps nine of its ten partials, a bell keeps seven of eight, a bar keeps two of six. The physics of inharmonicity has had an essay here for a long time. This is what it sounds like.
The partials that do not die together
The fusion census is a still photograph: it asks whether a set of partials fits one harmonic series and has no term for time. Put time in and the ranking reverses. An ideal string is perfect on harmonicity and holds a fifth of its partials together by decay; a kettledrum — the worst spectrum in this collection for fitting a series — is the only one whose modes all die at one rate.
The exchange rate nobody has
There are now two cues that disagree about how a spectrum divides, and every figure so far reports them separately because there is no principled way here to weigh one against the other. The published apparatus is a competition between grouping hypotheses with a cost per cue — and the useful thing it produces is not the winner but how much of the exchange rate the winner survives.
The cue that settles it
Arbitrating between two grouping cues meant sweeping an exchange rate nobody could supply. The cue it had no term for at all is the one every account calls strongest, and its strength is computable: a struck string's partials start together to within a tenth of a millisecond against a threshold of twenty. Put that into the competition and three of five verdicts change, all the same way — and a bell becomes one sound.
A blown note does not start late, it starts slowly
Computing the onset cue removed a free parameter and turned out to be unanimous, and it predicted that a wind instrument would put it back, because a blown note's partials arrive over tens of milliseconds. They do — 121 on a clarinet — and it is not an asynchrony: every partial begins the instant the reed does and they differ in rate, not in time. Read at a tenth of the steady amplitude the spread is 5.5 milliseconds against a threshold of twenty, so the cue is still unanimous, and the missing number is no longer the exchange rate but the criterion.
Eleven partials is one too many
Six earlier essays census exactly ten partials and no figure has ever passed another number. At eleven, the harmonicity census stops finding a perfect harmonic series' own fundamental, takes the octave above it, calls every odd partial inharmonic, and the competition cuts an ideal string in two. It is not the arbitration — the cost of a second stream was swept over a factor of fifty and every verdict came back identical — it is a cap that exists for a good reason and turns out to be the same number as the count.
A part entering is not a change of level
Five earlier essays measure a sonority that is already sounding. The one thing an orchestrator actually controls is the entry, and priced at every semitone it comes to 0.89 phons — under the difference limen — with only 29 of 61 available entries clearing it and none below A♭4. What an entry is instead is an object arriving, and the reason is that its own rise time is faster than the listener's.