Generator

A phrase is a number of seconds, and the bars follow the tempo

Phrase durations for 1, 2, 4, 8, 16-bar phrases at seven tempos, on a logarithmic seconds axis, with the 2 to 8 second window shaded. The window is a property of the listener and does not move; which bar count falls inside it is decided entirely by the tempo.

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. 20 of its 20 placements carry sound, built from the same numbers as the drawing, offering these buttons: A 4-bar phrase in a slow movement: 18.5 seconds, A 8-bar phrase in a slow movement: 36.9 seconds, A note at the bottom of the compass, held, At crotchet 40, 70 dB: the cheapest plan's breaths, Four bars at 180, Four bars at 52, Frère Jacques at the same setting: one, Ode to Joy at crotchet 50 and 90 dB, trained and 10 more.

Called by 5 essays

the blast radius of changing it

A phrase is a number of seconds

Musical phrases are described in bars, and four is the number everybody names. But the constraint that fixes a phrase is a property of the listener and is measured in seconds, so the bar count is whatever the tempo makes it. Across seven ordinary tempos the bar count that lands inside the window moves by a factor of eight, while the window itself does not move at all.

form · Phrase

Three ways to arrive at the same final tempo. Tempo against position in the closing passage, ending at 35 per cent of the opening tempo, for curvature exponents 1, 2, 3. All three begin and end at the same tempo, so what separates them is the middle: at the halfway point they read 68 per cent for linear in score position, 75 per cent for constant deceleration, 80 per cent for q = 3. The straight line is the one nobody plays. Measured ritardandos fit the decelerating curves, which is the whole of Kronman and Sundberg's argument: a closing gesture has the shape of a body stopping rather than of a dial being turned, and the parameter that varies between performances is the final tempo rather than the shape.

An ending is a deceleration

Every performance slows down at the end and the slowing has a shape. Tempo read against score position is the velocity of a body stopping — a square root rather than a straight line — and the three candidate curves agree at both ends by construction, so the whole audible difference is in the middle, where they part by fifteen per cent of the passage's length.

form · Closure

The boundaries that survive each amount of smoothing. The local boundary strengths of Twinkle, twinkle read at every scale: the curve is smoothed with a Gaussian of the width on the horizontal axis and the peaks that survive are counted. Small scales give 11 boundaries and large ones give one, and the notation marks 5. The level with that many falls at a width of 2, where the model finds 100 per cent of the notated boundaries and 100 per cent of what it finds is notated — a comparison with no threshold in it, which is what the scale parameter buys.

A boundary at a stated level

A boundary detector run over three tunes agreed with the notation on one and barely at all on another, and left two things owing: a version with a scale parameter, and a version run on performance timings. Both are paid here, and they pay differently — the scale removes a free parameter from the comparison and does not rescue the hard case, while two per cent of rubato does.

form · Phrase

The breath is the looser ceiling nearly everywhere. How long a trained singer can hold a phrase on one breath, across a compass and at four dynamics, against the 8-second ceiling the psychological present puts on the same phrase. The flow through the folds rises with pitch and with loudness, so the breath ceiling falls both ways: at 60 decibels it runs 32.6 seconds at the bottom of the compass to 21.2 at the top; at 70 decibels it runs 23.1 seconds at the bottom of the compass to 15.0 at the top; at 80 decibels it runs 16.4 seconds at the bottom of the compass to 10.6 at the top; at 90 decibels it runs 11.6 seconds at the bottom of the compass to 7.5 at the top. The shaded line is the listener's ceiling and it does not move. The breath binds only where the two lines cross — 1 of the 40 cells drawn, all of them loud and high. So the constraint everybody names when asked why a phrase is the length it is, is almost never the constraint that decides it.

The ceiling everybody names is the loose one

Ask why phrases are the length they are and the answer given is the breath. It is arithmetic — usable lung volume over the air a note costs per second — and it comes out between fifteen and twenty-three seconds at a comfortable dynamic and between seven and twelve at a loud one. The ceiling the present moment imposes, the two-to-eight seconds inside which a stretch is heard as one thing rather than as a series, is two to three times tighter at almost every note and dynamic. A singer in an adagio is not running out of breath at the phrase end. They are running out of present.

form · Phrase

A loud, slow tune spends a singer's whole breath before each phrase ends, and the extra breaths have to go inside the phrases. Ode to Joy from D4 at crotchet 40 and 90 dB, sung by a trained singer with 2.8 litres of usable air and a flow set by each note's pitch and level. The line is the air left. The plan is the cheapest that reaches the end, with breaths at notated phrase ends costing nothing: 6 breaths, 4 of them inside a phrase. The tune lasts 48 s.

A singer needs a quarter of the breaths the page offers

A breath in a sung phrase looks like evidence of a boundary, and also like a physical necessity, and it cannot be both at once. Solved exactly over three tunes, a trained singer is forced to breathe inside a phrase on 8 settings of 147, all of them slow and loud; at a comfortable level the air asks for about a quarter of the phrase ends a tune offers. So nearly every breath is a choice, which is what makes it a cue. Where the air does force one, it lands on a listener's boundary no more often than chance.

form · Phrase

All figures · What can be heard