Loudness — the series
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The quietest thing audible, and why the volume knob is a tone control
A decibel is a fact about air. A phon is a fact about a listener, and the two do not line up — the map between them bends with frequency, and it bends differently at every level. One consequence is that turning a piece of music down does not turn all of it down equally, and the amount by which it does not is a number.
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A chord is not as loud as its notes
The first essay on loudness said what a tone's loudness is and recorded that it had said nothing about a chord's. Here is the missing rule, and it has a musical consequence nobody would predict from it: the same three notes, at the same power, are twice as loud in the treble as in the bass — because the critical band that makes a low triad five times rougher also makes it one sound instead of three.
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Loud is relative, and it comes down slowly
The account of loudness had a model of a moment and the account of closure asked it for a model of a form. The published one exists and its content is a pair of numbers that are not the same: a listener's running impression of how loud the music is rises to meet a step in a fifth of a second and takes seven seconds to come back down. A twenty-decibel crescendo spread over eight seconds therefore buys almost no contrast at all, and the same twenty decibels taken as a step buys a factor of two.
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The dynamics are in the score already
Count the parts in each bar, realise them in their ranges, put every partial in its critical band, sum the loudnesses and run the result through the two smoothers built earlier. What comes out is a dynamic curve for a piece with no performance in it anywhere — and it says that doubling the number of parts inside a fixed register adds three decibels of power and about one of loudness, because the extra parts land in bands that were already occupied. Let the register widen with the parts and the same arithmetic gives eight phon, which is what a tutti actually is.
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A page has two decibels
The account of closure called its dynamic component a corpus debt: it had no model of dynamics in a form. Loudness supplies one, and applying it answers the debt by refusing it. Adding parts to a final chord one at a time, each at the same level, moves the loudness by under two decibels and not monotonically — while a player has sixty. A texture that thins is not a diminuendo.
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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.
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A staccato is a dynamic mark
Every loudness figure in this collection is of a sound that has been going on long enough, and no note in music has. Run the running-loudness model on notes with lengths in them and an articulation turns out to command 1.5 phons at a slow tempo and 8.1 at a fast one — more than the 1.8 decibels a whole texture commands, on the same page, written down in the same ink, and counted by nobody.
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A subito piano is four seconds longer in the bass
Every loudness figure with time in it converts level to loudness at one kilohertz, and the equal-loudness contours say that no other frequency works that way. Joining the two sorts the published numbers into those that were about the treble and those that were not. Three move a great deal — a twenty-decibel crescendo is worth 27 phons on a bass note and 20 on a high one, and the seven seconds a subito piano takes becomes eleven and a third. Three do not move at all, and the reason they do not is the same reason in every case.