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.
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A page has twelve phons, and its entries always said so
An ending built up one part at a time was found to move its loudness by under two decibels, and five essays have leaned on that number since. It came from a way of grouping partials into critical bands that sorts an eight-part chord's sixty-four partials into two bands. Counted along the ear instead, the same ending gains twelve phons at every step, which is what the collection's own price for a single entry always implied.
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The page can write a diminuendo and not a climax
Counted on the excitation pattern rather than in grouped bands, the four ending textures the closure essays compare come out the right way round at last: a thinning ending is a ten-phon diminuendo written into the score, and an ending that adds parts arrives louder than what came before rather than quieter. But the gain is tiny. Three more parts on a six-part final chord buy under a phon and arrive a twentieth of a phon above the listener's running impression; only a full chord straight after a thinning stands out, and only at a quick tempo. A page can take loudness away. It cannot make a climax.
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A hall leaves a thinning ending most of its diminuendo
A written diminuendo made by dropping parts arrives about four and a half phons under the listener's impression in a dry room. A hall's tail sounds under every bar and holds the level up as parts leave, and the obvious worry is that it fills the gaps a thinning leaves, as it fills a rest. It barely does. A concert hall leaves the thinning 86 to 100 per cent of its contrast and a stone church about three quarters, where the same rooms leave a two-second general pause three quarters and a half. A thinning steps down a decibel or two a bar, and a hall's tail falls nine decibels in the time a listener takes to register the arrival; only a cathedral is slow enough to blunt the last step, and it takes half.
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A hall forgets almost everything but the last part to leave
A hall's bass outlasts its treble, so a thinning ending ought to care which parts it drops first: top down should leave the tail's darkness to fill the gap, and bass up should remove what the tail holds longest. Searched over all 720 orders, it barely does. Give the tail a spectrum and the drop moves by under half a phon, in the direction that helps the order expected to suffer. What sets the ending is two notes: the one left sounding, and the one that went just before it. Everything earlier has gone.