Spectrum — the series
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The ear hears the list, not the shape
Two sounds with the same partials and different phases have completely different waveforms and sound identical. What the ear extracts is a list of frequencies and strengths, and everything else is discarded.
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A vowel is two resonances
The vowel in "heed" is the same vowel sung high or low, and nothing about it is a property of the note. It is two peaks in the response of the mouth, sitting at fixed frequencies while the partials of the voice slide underneath them.
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The body is the filter
A violin string radiates almost nothing. What reaches a room is the string's sawtooth multiplied by the body's response, and that response is a comb of measured resonances that stays put while the note moves. It is the same arithmetic that identifies a vowel, on wood instead of a mouth — which is why an instrument has a voice rather than a tone.
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An instrument is not one timbre
Every roughness verdict so far uses one partial list per instrument, and a violin does not have one. Its body's resonances stay where they are while the fundamental moves, so the radiated spectrum is different at every pitch: the power-weighted centroid runs from 1.02 to 1.64 across the compass, and it is not monotonic. Which means the result that a spectrum chooses its own scale gives a different scale at every note on the same instrument — three minima in the dissonance curve at the bottom of a violin's range, two in the middle and four at the top.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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.