What the listener supplies
The ear builds objects, and sometimes offers a choice
What arrives at an ear is one pressure signal. What a listener gets is a set of separate things — a violin, a voice, a car outside. The assignment is a construction, and the clearest evidence is that it can be flipped by changing nothing but the speed: one sequence of tones is a single line when slow and two lines when fast, with a wide region in between where the listener may choose.
A memory for the note itself, and it is dated
Absolute pitch is usually described as a rare perceptual gift. It is better described as a memory for a convention — and conventions have dates. Possessors trained on A=440 mis-name Baroque pitch by a semitone, their own labels drift sharp with age, and meanwhile most listeners without it start familiar songs within a semitone of the record.
The chord is still major, and that is why temperament works
A major third can be seventeen cents wrong and still be a major third. That tolerance is not a failure of hearing — it is the reason the whole subject of tuning is a discussion rather than a catastrophe. Every temperament ever proposed moves intervals around inside their categories, and the one thing none of them may do is push one across a boundary.
Counting produced the hierarchy
Ask listeners how well each of the twelve notes fits after a passage in C major and the answers are not a smooth gradient. They fall into four groups with no overlap at all: the tonic, then the rest of the tonic triad, then the rest of the scale, then everything else — categories the subject had names for centuries before anybody ran the experiment.
Consonance is half learned, and this is the half
This site's founding claim is that consonance is small whole numbers. Two computable models say so and they disagree about which chords — which is already awkward. The cross-cultural evidence is worse: listeners with little exposure to Western music discriminate roughness exactly as anyone does, match octaves exactly as anyone does, and rate consonant and dissonant chords as equally pleasant.
The beat has a preferred rate, and it is not the notation's
Metre is a hierarchy of levels and only one of them is tapped. Which one is decided by the listener's own clock rather than by the time signature: the window in which a series of events can be a beat at all runs from about a tenth of a second to two seconds, with a marked preference near half a second — so at the extremes of tempo the notated beat and the felt one part company, predictably.
A bell has no fundamental
The note a listener names when a church bell is struck is not any partial the bell has. Its nominal, twelfth and double octave sit at 2, 3 and 4 times the prime, which is a harmonic series on a pitch an octave below the loudest thing in the sound — and that pitch is supplied by the listener. Founders have been tuning it by ear since the fifteenth century.
What a drum is doing instead
An ideal membrane's modes are zeros of Bessel functions — 1, 1.59, 2.14, 2.30 — which support no common fundamental, so a drum rings without a note. A timpani is that problem solved — the kettle's air and the radiation load drag four modes onto 1, 1.5, 2, 2.5, and the pitch a timpanist tunes is the fundamental those four imply and none of them is.
The boundary is where the neighbourhood changes
A section boundary can be found by an operator that never sees a section. It walks the diagonal of a similarity matrix asking one local question — do the bars behind me resemble each other, do the bars ahead resemble each other, and do the two groups resemble each other — and where the answer is yes, yes, no, there is an edge. What it cannot find turns out to say more than what it can.
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.
One of these eight-bar phrases accelerates
The sentence and the period both occupy eight bars, both end with a cadence, and both are recognised by ear rather than counted. What separates them is arithmetic. One halves its unit halfway through and the other does not, and the difference comes out as a single ratio — 0.67 against 1.00 — computed from nothing but the lengths of the parts.
What makes an ending an ending
Cadences are ranked. The authentic one is strong, the plagal weaker, the deceptive weaker still — and the solver here measured the quantity that ranking is usually explained by and found it says something else entirely. What survives is not a weaker version of the ranking but a different kind of object, with five components and no total.
An ending that exists so a bigger one can
Half of the cadences in tonal music are built to fail. A phrase that stopped convincingly at bar four would be a piece four bars long, so the ending at bar four is engineered to arrive and not to settle — and the components it withholds are exactly the ones its partner at bar eight supplies. Closure is nested, and the nesting is what turns two phrases into one thing.
The bar above the bar
A four-bar group is a bar whose beats are bars. That is not an analogy — it is the same computation, and the same metre-induction model produces one when it is handed bars instead of beats, unchanged. What decides where the hierarchy of levels stops is not in the arithmetic at all, and it is a number the phrase essay already measured.
The chord that did not come
A deceptive cadence is described as a surprise, and the explanation offered is that the wrong chord arrived. Measured against the tonal hierarchy already in use, the wrong chord is the second best-fitting triad in the key — and two of its three voices do exactly what they would have done in the right one. The surprise is not statistical. It is one voice, and it is the bass.
How often the chord changes
Two pieces can use the same chords in the same order and be nothing alike, because a progression says which chords and not how fast. Harmonic rhythm is the second variable, it runs over a factor of thirty between the styles that use it, and both of its limits are set by things that are not harmony — a listener's memory at the slow end and a building at the fast one.
A cycle cannot cadence
Every component of closure is defined by a first time and a last time. Music built on a repeating cycle has neither, so the whole apparatus returns zero on it — not a small value, zero, at every setting. What such music uses instead is how many things are playing, and that is a curve which can be computed from the onsets and nothing else.
Every interval a different number of times
Count the intervals inside a major scale and the six answers are 2, 5, 4, 3, 6 and 1 — six different numbers, no two alike. That is not decoration. It means the number of notes a key shares with a transposition of itself identifies the distance uniquely, so a listener who can only count common tones can still tell exactly how far a modulation went.
The form a first hearing cannot have
Every figure so far was computed with the whole piece in hand. Run the same methods over only the bars already heard and one of the two methods survives intact — the boundary operator turns out to be causal at a fixed delay of a few bars — while the other collapses. The period of a piece is not knowable until the piece is nearly over, and in two of the six schemes here not until its last bar.
A return has to be remembered
A stripe four bars off the diagonal and a stripe twenty-four bars off it are the same ink and are not the same experience. Convert the lag axis to seconds, discount every comparison by how long ago it was, and the ranking of these six schemes by how repetitive they are changes — and the decay constant and the tempo turn out to enter the arithmetic as one number rather than two.
Two pipes for a note neither makes
The resultant stop sounds a sixteen-foot pipe and a ten-and-two-thirds-foot pipe and asks the listener for a thirty-two-foot note. It is the missing fundamental built on purpose from the fewest partials that can imply anything — and counting how many fundamentals two partials actually imply is the arithmetic behind three centuries of builders disagreeing about whether it works.
The bass a small loudspeaker does not make
A three-inch cone at its excursion limit produces sixty-six decibels at forty hertz, which the ear converts to seventeen phons — barely above nothing. The note is heard anyway, because its harmonics are radiated and its fundamental is supplied by the listener. Computing what arrives turns the residue from a curiosity into a design decision, and finds that the fundamental of a low note is not the loudest part of it on any system a listener is likely to own.
A dissonance is what has to be resolved
The perfect fourth is a consonance between two upper voices and a dissonance against the bass, and the same three notes are involved either way. Score both arrangements with the roughness model and the one the rules call a dissonance comes out thirty per cent smoother. Whatever the rule is tracking, it is not the sound.
Which of the two is the beat
A polyrhythm is notated as a bar of two with three laid across it. Run the metre rules used here over the composite and they choose the three — at every ratio tried, without exception. Add the one other rule the rules have, and the answer changes hands at a bar of 1,013 milliseconds, which is 118 to the minute.
Syncopation is a number about the metre
Longuet-Higgins and Lee price a syncopation at the metrical weight a note skips over. That makes it computable, and it makes it a property of a pair rather than of a rhythm — the son clave scores 4 read from step one, 2 from step three and 8 from step four, and not one onset has moved. Worse, the induction rules pick very nearly the reading that scores lowest.
The beat that is never sounded
A listener who has heard four bars of a groove and then hears two bars with the downbeats taken out does not move the downbeat. This site's rule set does, every time, on every pattern tried — and the direction it moves in says exactly what kind of model would be needed instead.
Nothing in the census knows which note is home
All four properties six earlier essays are about are invariant under rotation and transposition — one property tuple over all eighty-four rotations and transpositions of the diatonic set. So the census that separates 349 shapes cannot separate a major scale from its own Aeolian mode, and everything that makes one note a tonic is outside it.
What a tonic costs in seconds
The standard key-finding algorithm cannot be run on a pitch-class set at all — a flat histogram has no variance and the correlation is undefined. Give it durations and it answers with the parent key for all seven modes identically, and it takes between 15.8 and 30.0 per cent of the total time spent on one note before it names that note instead.
How much evidence a modulation needs
Run a key-finder bar by bar over a progression that moves to the dominant at bar six. With four bars of history the answer becomes the new key at bar seven and holds. With three bars it never gets there at all, and reports E minor and B minor on the way. The window decides the lag as much as the music does.
One voice over ninety players
A soloist heard over a full orchestra is not louder than it and could not be. What the trained voice does instead is put a peak of energy at three kilohertz, which is where the orchestra's spectrum has already fallen away and where the ear's own threshold happens to be lowest. Nineteen decibels of advantage, in a place nobody is competing for.
The root an ear supplies
A major triad's notes fit 4:5:6 with nothing missing and a fundamental two octaves below the bass. A minor triad's fit two different series with two different answers a major sixth apart, and the model cannot choose between them. The ambiguity theorists argued about for two centuries is a computable quantity, and the spectrum invented to remove it is one no object produces.
The leap that pays itself back
Every melody textbook teaches that a leap should be followed by a step in the opposite direction, and every corpus that has been counted agrees — around seven leaps in ten are answered that way. A random walk with two walls, no memory of the leap and no rule of any kind reverses after 61 per cent of them, and the residue is not a rule either. What is left when the walls are accounted for is a prediction the rule does not make, and it is the prediction that decides between them.
The shape that survives everything else
Throw away a melody's key, its tuning, its instrument and the sizes of its intervals, and what is left is a string of pluses and minuses. That string is what a listener who cannot name a note still has, and it costs 37 per cent of the tune to keep. The arch that melodic shape is famous for is not in it as a preference: enumerate every six-note sequence that begins and ends on the lowest degree it uses and 99.6 per cent of them are arches, because a melody that comes home from below has nowhere to go first but up.
The sound a listener knows best
A voice is recognisable across every vowel it says, across two octaves of pitch, down a bad telephone line and in a whisper where there is no pitch at all. Nothing that survives all of that can be a frequency. What survives is a ratio: the resonances of a vocal tract are set by its length, so a shorter tract multiplies every formant by the same factor, and identity is a scale on the spectral envelope rather than a position within it. Between an adult man and a child the whole pattern moves by a fifth, and the vowel does not change at all.
Which notes are the chord
A progression is a list of chords, and before there is a list something has to decide which of the notes sounding are chord tones and which are passing. Take the eight notes of a scale as eight quavers and score every triad and seventh at every root: barred as written the best reading is C major seventh, with the barline moved by one quaver it is D minor seventh, and with no metre at all three readings tie exactly and the passage has no best analysis. Same eight notes in all three. Harmonic analysis is a function of a variable that is not harmony.
The time signature is a claim
A bar line is not a measurement. It is a claim about where the accents are, made before the sound exists, and there is a metre-induction model here that can be handed the same onsets and asked whether it agrees. On a hemiola it does not: the page says three and the model says six, by a margin of twelve against minus four. And on a bar of seven the signature is not even a candidate — what decides the reading is the beaming, which the signature does not contain.
The part of the tune that is kept
Contour survives transposition, retuning, a change of instrument and a doubling of every interval, and the usual explanation is that it is what a listener retains. That can be counted rather than assumed. A six-note melody over eight degrees carries eighteen bits; its contour carries 6.59 — not the 7.92 the number of distinct shapes suggests, because the shapes are wildly unequal — and the effective alphabet is ninety-six out of two hundred and forty-three. Each further note adds 1.28 bits of shape against three of melody, and at about nine notes a contour is specific enough to pick one tune out of a thousand.
The pitch that moves the wrong distance
Take three partials two hundred hertz apart and move every one of them up by forty. The spacing has not changed, so anything reading the pitch off how often the waveform repeats must give the same answer as before. The pitch moves to 204 — the shift divided by the harmonic number — which is what a harmonic template predicts and what listeners report. Push the shift to a hundred and a second reading overtakes the first, so there are two pitches and neither is the spacing. This is the measurement that closes the question, and it closes it by ruling out one mechanism rather than by choosing between the two that are left.
The one note that decides the mode
A key signature names the seven and not the rotation, so the mode has to be heard. Enumerate every set of degrees that lies inside at least one of the seven modes — 510 of them — and count how many modes each leaves standing. Fifteen minimal sets decide, every one has two members, and every one is the mode's own tritone. The only degree all seven share is the tonic; no degree belongs to a single mode; and averaged over the orders the degrees could arrive in, 5.67 of the seven have to have been heard first.
Where a phrase ends
Run a boundary detector over the three tunes used throughout and it agrees with the notated phrasing on one of them perfectly and on another almost not at all. The reason is which cue each tune uses: Twinkle's phrases all end on a long note, so a duration-weighted detector finds five of five with no false alarms; Ode to Joy's run on in crotchets and its phrasing is in the intervals, where a duration detector finds one of three and a pitch detector finds all three and eight others. No fixed weighting serves both, and the published one is worse on each tune than the single cue that tune uses.
What the onsets left out
Eight essays induce a metre from a list of ones and zeros, and every failure they recorded was argued about as a failure of the rules. Two of the three are not. Note length is already in that list and the scoring throws it away: put it back and the son clave's two-way tie resolves to the notated downbeat. But the groove with its beat removed cannot be repaired by any cue at any strength, and the reason is arithmetic rather than empirical — the true phase has no onset on any of its strong positions, so there is no credit for a cue to multiply and its line is exactly flat.
Two keys at once
Every key figure so far assumes one key is sounding, and the standard key-finder has no value it can return that means two. Play one progression in C and the same progression a major third away at the same time, and the model does not report uncertainty: it reports E minor, at a correlation of 0.886, against 0.959 for the same progression in one key. It is as confident as it ever is, and neither key it names is being played. Give it the missing hypothesis — pairs of key profiles rather than single ones — and it recovers both keys at every separation, all seven of seven.
The boundary that barely moves
Every identification figure here has fixed category centres, and the essay before this one ended by admitting that real boundaries are supposed to move with context. Three mechanisms could move one, and their predictions are an order of magnitude apart and in two different directions. Expectation on its own — a listener who thinks one interval twenty times more likely than the other — is worth three and a half cents.
The alternation a key-finder cannot follow
Two keys sounding together are not in the key-finder's vocabulary, and an earlier essay ended by pointing at the other case and saying what was missing: a passage whose alternation rate can be varied while everything else is held still. Built, it gives a rule with three numbers in it — the second key is never named below a block of three bars, the tracking clears ninety per cent above twice the window, and the reading is late by half the window throughout.
Three decisions that constrain each other
Every model here decides one thing at a time — the key from the pitch classes, the metre from the onsets, the chords from the metre — and an earlier essay ended by saying a listener does all three at once. Resolving them jointly costs a hundred and fifty-seven times the search and changes the reading of two passages in five. It never once changes the key, and the reason it cannot is the reason the whole account is built the way it is.
The note that sounds twice
A triad has three notes and a four-part texture has four voices, so one note is doubled — and the voicing model used here leaves the choice free because the rules have an opinion about it. Asked properly, the arithmetic agrees with the treatises for the first time in nine essays: root, then fifth, then third. For a minor triad it does not agree, and for a symmetric chord it correctly has nothing to say.
A note is heard after it starts
Every rhythm essay until now has treated a note's onset as the moment it happens. It is not: the instant a listener aligns a note with a beat is later than its physical start by an amount the note's own attack decides, and for a sung or bowed note that amount is about thirty milliseconds — the size of the whole quantity six essays on microtiming set out to measure.
How much an anchor would have to be worth
Two pitch errors added in quadrature assume an independence nobody measured — a listener inside a key hears a note as a scale degree, and a shared reference is exactly a correlated error. Turning the dial is not evidence. What is evidence is that the dial is not free: a shared error cancels out of a difference completely, so a listener's single-note limen and their interval limen give the two components with nothing left over, and halving the interval limen needs a correlation of exactly 0.75.
The listener the model was never run for
Five earlier essays rest on one number — how finely a listener resolves a pitch — and every one of them used a trained listener's eleven cents. The model's dependence on it is not gentle: the capacity goes as its reciprocal and the expectation shift as its square, so an untrained listener at thirty-five cents has two nameable categories per octave rather than six, and a foreign tuning system is not mis-transcribed by them but absorbed.
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 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.
A final chord is not made loud by adding to it
An earlier essay on closure said the loudest cue an ending has needs a corpus rather than an arithmetic. The arithmetic was built one essay ago, so it does not. Run four ending textures through it and two things come out backwards: a final chord three parts thicker than the rest arrives *quieter* against the running impression than the passage it ends, and a texture that drops a part a bar does not get quieter at all until the bar where there is one part left.
The notes in between
Every figure until now is about two notes with nothing between them, and a melody is notes with other notes between them. Two published accounts of what the intervening material does predict opposite signs — one says the key is restated and the shared reference is refreshed, the other says each note competes for the same memory and it decays. By eight notes they differ by four and a half cents, which is nearly half the limen the interval would have with no anchor at all.
A modulation and a borrowing are one number apart
The key-finder that keeps the order has one tuned parameter, and said so. Sweep it and the parameter turns out to be the whole verdict: below a threshold the model hears two keys alternating, above it one key with borrowed chords. The threshold rises with how slowly the keys alternate — and the value it chose sits above every threshold in range, so its finding about fast alternation was a consequence of the tuning.
A count and a correlation
Cadence evidence is a count of ordered pairs and profile evidence is a correlation with a template, and the cadence essay refused to total them because they are not in the same units. Score each against its own chance and they are — standard deviations above chance are the same unit whatever produced them. Then the trouble moves: the obvious null does nothing at all to one of the two, because shuffling the bars leaves a pitch-class histogram exactly as it was.
Surprise is a number
The chord that did not come was described rather than measured. Its measure is the information content of what did arrive, and a model of the probability has been to hand since the key-finding essays — eight root-motion weights, ordinal and stipulated. Reading them as a distribution prices a deceptive cadence at 2.71 bits against a perfect one's 1.85, and turns up the fact that the largest of the eight had never been read by anything.
The hardest place on the fingerboard
Two things narrow a bow's window and each has been drawn alone. The bridge's admittance is a function of frequency; the bowing fraction is a function of where the left hand is. They meet on a real fingerboard, and multiplying the two curves gives a map with a worst place on it — C♯ on the G string, sixth position, where the body's air resonance crosses the heaviest string played short. The window there is twelve, against three hundred and eighty at the easiest.
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 quantity a rival account says is not there
Two earlier essays measure how much two notes' errors are correlated through a shared anchor, and price what that correlation would be worth. There is a rival account in which a listener refers each note to a key and never forms the distance at all — under which the correlation is not small, it is a description of something that is not happening. The two accounts agree on almost everything and disagree on one manipulation, and the manipulation costs an afternoon.
A detector whose resolution the performance sets
The boundary detector lost its free parameter when the psychological present became a number of notes at a stated tempo, and what that held still was named at the time: a performance slows into a phrase end, so the number of notes inside the present is not the same everywhere in a tune — it falls exactly where a boundary is. Making the width follow the performance recovers half of what removing the parameter cost, and honestly leaves the other half.
A chord, given a key and a predecessor
A chord's improbability has been priced from its root motion alone, which left one multiplication unmade: a chord is also improbable because its notes do not fit the key, and that number has been available since the probe-tone profile. Multiplied and renormalised, the two give a conditional distribution — and a distribution has an entropy, which is the quantity a surprise has to be read against and which a list of preferences cannot supply.
A cycle that says where it is
Euclidean timelines were asked how quickly they tell a listener where in the cycle they are, and answered it with rotational asymmetry: a symmetric pattern never locates at all. A colotomic cycle answers the same question with nothing asymmetric in it. Several isochronous layers at nested periods — a gong every sixteen, a kempul every eight, a kenong every four — put the position in which instruments sound, and the position is legible from a single stroke.
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.
Expectation is a curve, not a list
Every quantity so far is attached to a chord change: a list of surprises, one per event. A listener's expectation is continuous, sharpening through a bar and collapsing when the change arrives — and the two ingredients for it were already here, in two other accounts. What comes out is a second surprise, for when a chord arrives rather than for which one it is.
A family of readings
Removing the detector's free parameter, and then its constant tempo, cost persistence both times — the property that made its boundaries ordered rather than merely found. Recovering it means a family of adaptive readings rather than one, indexed by the width of the psychological present, which is the one parameter that cannot be removed, because it is a fact about listeners.
How many bars an ensemble needs
The map of required leads is something nobody tells the players, because the leads are a property of the instruments' attacks. So an ensemble has to find them, and the mechanism is the one the microtiming essays describe: each player hears sounds rather than onsets and moves toward the others. It converges on the map to within a fifth of a millisecond, in five beats, and there is a best correction gain.
How much of the reading arrives late
Every margin reported earlier is two-sided: the best path through a key at a bar is the score into it plus the score onward from it, and the second half uses bars a listener has not heard. Dropping that term is one line. On a thirty-two-bar song it removes more than half the certainty, and on a passage built to be ambiguous it changes the key named at nine bars out of eleven.
The pitch that does not wobble
Three earlier essays have treated a vibrato as a modulation of roughness. The reason singers use one is what it does to the note, and there is an extractor here that turns a set of partials into a pitch and has never been asked what it does with partials that will not hold still. The period survives, at a cost that rises with the extent — and the practice stops within a hair of where the cost becomes total.
The dissonance arrives and the dynamic does not
A scoring decides two things at once and both of them have to be integrated by a listener before they exist. The loudness smoother's release is two seconds and the roughness window is thirty-seven milliseconds, and that ratio of fifty decides which of the two survives at the pace music is actually played. Nothing anybody performs is fast enough to blur a dissonance, and a great deal of it is fast enough to average a dynamic.
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 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.
The listener who forgets
Setting an analyst's reading of a key against a listener's measures what arrives late. Both passes assume perfect recall of their own half — which is as wrong going forward as knowing the future is going back. Put a decay on the forward pass and a listener with a memory of a few bars keeps a quarter of the confidence and nine tenths of the answers.
Two surprises and one event
A chord change is surprising twice over — in which chord it is, and in when it comes — and a listener meets one event. Adding two surprises needs to know how much they share, which is a fact about a repertoire nobody has. Sweeping it instead: the total moves by half, the ordering does not move at all, and the most surprising moment in a passage is the same one whatever the answer turns out to be.
A reader does not read notes
Eleven earlier essays count notes, and the page cannot tell one line of eight quavers from another. A reader can: a scale of eight is one object where eight leaps are eight. Measured against the melodic interval distribution, the same eight notes are four times as much to read — and the eye–hand span, the best-measured quantity in the reading literature, is four notes of a tune and one of a leaping line.
A rest is a diminuendo
Three parameters swept over factors of ten, three and forty-eight returned the same reading to four significant figures. The one manipulation left unswept moves it by twenty-four decibels: a silence. A listener's running impression decays at the loudness smoother's two-second release, so a general pause is a diminuendo nobody wrote, and at the length that makes a gap an ending it is worth more than any marking a composer has.
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.
The cycle that outruns the memory
A timeline and a colotomy were compared at equal strokes and the comparison had no clock in it. A memory span is a number of seconds and a cycle is a number of steps, so the two only meet through a tempo — and at a clave's two seconds a listener's memory covers twenty-eight steps and forgets nothing, while at a gong cycle's forty it covers 1.4 and forgets almost everything. The single line is the better locator up to twenty-three seconds a cycle and the layered code is better after it, which is very close to where each is actually used.
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.
The bars a key is made of
A discount that treats every bar alike is the wrong shape for a memory, so take each bar away in turn and see what it was worth. The bars an analysis points at carry seven times as much of the answer as the ordinary ones and slightly less of the certainty — and a memory built only of them reads the passage worse than a memory with no structure in it at all.
The surprise of nothing happening
A hazard charges a listener twice — once when the chord changes and once, quietly, at every beat it does not. The second term was expected to dominate, because there are more beats than changes. It is a third of the bill at one chord a bar and never reaches a half at any rate a metre survives, because the cost of a beat where nothing happens is second-order small.
Where the chord actually lands
Every timing surprise so far is evaluated on a downbeat: the curve spans a factor of 6.7 and every number is read at its peak. Charge the waiting as well as the arrival and the costs over a bar become a proper distribution, the spread between the best and worst beat rises to a factor of 19.5, and a third of the probability sits on a bar in which nothing changes at all.
The part of the error a key cannot touch
Four earlier essays turn one dial — the correlation between two notes' pitch errors — and apply it to the whole of a note's limen. Half of that limen is not the listener's: a note of finite length does not carry its frequency more finely than 1/2T, and no context can put information into a signal that is not there. So the correlation has a ceiling, it is 0.21 at a quarter-second note at A4 and 0.07 at A2, and the figure that prices a correlation of one half is drawn where one half is unavailable.
The middle nobody could have guessed
A struck note has no steady state, only a slide from one spectrum to another — so the question is what the middle carries that the ends do not. The answer is exact rather than statistical: every loss law in the family leaves the strike with the same spectrum and ends in the same silence, so both endpoints carry precisely nothing about which of them it is. The whole difference is 41.3 decibels, and it peaks 0.38 seconds in, seven per cent of the way through the note.
The rate that does not rise with the partial
Twelve earlier essays give every vibrato the same six hertz, and the measured spread is 5.5 to 7.5. Putting the two fluctuations a choir contains on one axis shows why the rate matters: the beating between mistuned voices rises with the partial and leaves the range a listener follows as fluctuation at 1,217 hertz, while the vibrato's own modulation is six hertz at every partial. Above that frequency a section fluctuates by vibrato alone — and if every singer had the same rate, it would barely fluctuate at all.
Four parts are easier to read than two
Twelve earlier essays read one line, and a score is several at once. Measured through the voice-leading model, a notehead of a four-part chorale asks a reader for 1.30 bits and a note of an independent line asks 1.89 — so twice the ink is less than three quarters of the load. The reason is a boundary those essays already established: a duet has no complete voicing of any triad at all, so two parts cannot be read from their harmony and have to be read as two melodies.
Where a wrong head gives itself away
Every claim so far maps a delay to a direction through one fixed geometry, and the listener acquires that map while the geometry grows under them by seventy per cent. So the map can be wrong — and the essay before this one said the error would be largest on the median plane, where the delay curve is steepest. It is exactly zero there. The steepness is in the error and in the threshold and cancels between them, which leaves a listener whose internal head is 1.3 millimetres out with one place to catch it: hard to the side, where nobody localises well.
A short note is heard more in tune than it is
Four earlier essays treat a key as something that reduces the noise in a pitch judgement. Treat it instead as a prior and the prediction changes kind: not a smaller error but a systematic bias, pulling a short note toward the nearest scale degree by an amount the Fourier bound sets. Thirty cents out of tune on an eighth-of-a-second note is heard as eight. And the part the debt got wrong is the part that matters — the bias does not vanish on a long note. It stops at 17 per cent at A4 and at 48 per cent at A2, because the likelihood's width has a floor that no duration removes.
A tonic bought with the function
Putting the measured probe-tone profile inside the ordered key-finder is one term, and it does what was predicted: the natural-minor passage is named A minor at every bar instead of C major. It also does two things nobody predicted. It renames a scheme that has been read in the wrong key at every bar since the day it was written, and it destroys the chord's function while it is buying the key.
A fourth decision, and two that were never made
The joint search resolves key, metre and segmentation together and holds the segmentation's cue mixture at zero. Adding the mixture is one loop, and reading the search in order to add it turns up something worse than a missing axis: on the passages it is drawn on, the key it reads is the same key at all forty-eight of its hypotheses and the metre scores every barline identically. The fourth axis then cannot be ranked at all until each reading is measured against its own null, because a mixture changes the ruler and not only the answer.
Eighty-one chords, one number
A dominant seventh has eighty-one arrangements inside three octaves and their roughness spans a factor of five and a half. The tonal-expectation model gives every one of them the same 3.51 bits, because its states are scale degrees and there is no register anywhere in them. Conditioning the surprise on the voicing costs no corpus — and the arithmetic says the conditioning belongs beside the probability rather than inside it, for three reasons that can each be computed.
A twenty-five is a nine until its last unit
Every account of long additive metres says they are heard as groups of shorter ones, and the metre-induction model had never been pointed at the claim. Pointed at it, the model does not prefer the group — it prefers the long bar outright, and would go on preferring it more the longer anybody listened. What it cannot do is start: the evidence that separates a bar of twenty-five from a bar of nine does not exist until the whole bar has been heard, and at the tempo an unequal metre is best played at the psychological present holds sixteen units.
A general pause is spent by the note after it
Whether a composer should write the pause before the diminuendo or after it looks like a question about how big the ensemble is. It is not. Forty decibels of ensemble are worth one decibel of silence, and the order is worth seven — because a running impression rises twenty times faster than it falls, so half a general pause is spent by ninety-seven milliseconds of sound.
Where the note is costs more than which note it is
Thirteen earlier essays measure a page, and the three that price a reader price only its pitches — every line they measure is a run of equal notes. A metrical weight normalised by its own sum is a probability, and minus its logarithm is bits — the same substitution made earlier for intervals. Measured over the tunes used throughout it comes out at 2.23 bits a note against the pitches' 1.89, so the larger half of a reader's load is where the note is.
An interval is two posteriors subtracted
Treating a key as a prior over one note predicts that an interval's pull is not the single-note pull doubled, because the two degrees are not equally weighted. Half of that is wrong: splitting a mistuning between the two notes gives exactly the mean of what each end gives alone, to a thousandth, at every one of the twenty-one intervals in the scale. What is not the mean is which end carries it — and the pull turns out to be largest not on the shortest notes but on notes of about an eighth of a second, where the likelihood is a quarter of a semitone wide.
Which end the mistuning is on
Twenty-one intervals in the major scale, each with two ends, and the same twenty-five cents reaches a listener at anywhere between 32 and 79 per cent of its size depending on which of the two notes carries it. The most lopsided is the tonic to the leading note, where a departure on the upper note arrives two and a half times as strongly as the same departure on the lower. Two mechanisms produce it and they can be separated by one flag: two thirds of the asymmetry is register and one third is the key.
The tone on the root changes hands at the fifth
Every combination tone of a just interval is a harmonic of a fundamental neither note contains, and which harmonic is fixed by the ratio. The difference tone lands on that fundamental for every interval up to the fifth; the cubic product lands on it for the fifth and every interval above except the minor sixth. So the loud product names the root of a narrow interval and the quiet one names the root of a wide one — and a just major seventh's difference tone is a note seven harmonics up that no keyboard has.
A major triad's combination tones are its own notes
Play a just major triad of pure tones and two of the ear's cubic products land exactly on its root and its fifth. The reason is a condition rather than a coincidence — a chord's cubic products fall on its own notes when its middle note is the mean of the outer two in hertz — and it holds for the major triad in root position and in the six-four, and for no minor triad in any position or tuning. Equal temperament misses the landing by one number, 5.6 hertz on middle C, which is a beat that belongs to no pair of notes in the chord.
The bass line under a passage in thirds
A major scale harmonised in parallel thirds gives the ear a difference tone under every pair, and in five-limit just intonation those tones are a diatonic bass line — C, A, C, F, G, F, G, C — made of the scale's own notes. Tempered, the same line moves only by whole tones, a neutral third and a fourth stretched to 650 cents, and wobbles by up to 84 cents from note to note. In sixths the bass is drawn by the other product, because the cubic product of a pair is the difference tone of the same pair inverted.
Two cues meet in a corner
The profile finds a key's tonic and the bass finds a chord's degree, and until now each was swept with the other held at nothing. Swept together across 42 settings, the plane they make is not the ridge that was predicted. The tonic is a step in one direction, at a profile share of 0.55, and the bass cannot move it; the degree is a slope in the other, rising to 89 per cent as the bass is weighted, and the profile barely touches it. Every question is answered only in a corner of the plane — and the one place the two cues overlap is the one piece of music both can rescue.
A bass line is not a list of roots
Every bass note the key-finder has been given was its chord's root, and under that line a bass cue reads 89 per cent of scheme bars on the right degree. Give the same chords an economical bass that moves to the nearest chord tone, as a keyboard reduction would, and nearly half of them are inverted. The cue that rewards the triad rooted on the bass then reads 68 per cent at best and worse as it is trusted more; the cue that rewards any triad containing the bass cannot be fooled and stops at 61. The same inverted line does one thing the roots never did: it puts the leading note of each new key at the bottom, and finds the rondo's modulations.
The chords never move the barline
Every hypothesis the joint search had drawn was one bar long, and on one bar with a note in every slot the metre cannot choose a barline at all. Four bars with rests in them make the barline a decision the metre and the chords both have an opinion about, and the prediction was that the chords would move the barline more often than the barline moves the chords. It is the other way round, completely: whenever the two prefer different barlines the search takes the metre's, on up to 72 per cent of passages, and in fifteen hundred passages the chords never once move it. What the chords decide is the one thing the metre cannot see — whether the bar starts on the downbeat or half a bar later — and they decide it right a little over two times in three at best.
The chords are a weak witness to the barline
Scaled by its own range, the metre overrules the chords every time the two disagree about where a bar begins. The obvious repair is to score each reading against its own chance — the metre against the same number of notes placed at random, the chords against the passage's notes shuffled across its bars — and add the standard scores. It changes very little: the search finds the barline within six points of where the product found it, and the chords gain the power to move the barline only on passages whose rhythm says nothing, where random notes move it nearly as often. The null's real result is the size of the two witnesses. At the written barline the metre stands up to 5.9 standard deviations above chance, and the chords, with every note a tone of its bar's chord, stand 1.55 above it at best.
The accent buys two units, however loud it is
A twenty-five cannot be told from a group of shorter bars on its onsets until more steps have gone by than a listener's present holds, and the obvious objection is that nobody plays an aksak bar as bare onsets: the long beat is louder, and the bar's first beat is marked. So how loud does an accent have to be? The question has a surprising answer. Loudness is not the variable. The existing accent cue changes nothing, and delays the answer where it changes anything. An accent that a reading has to predict works at any strength at all, and at no strength does more than a fixed amount: on the long beat it buys the two steps of a short beat, and on the downbeat it takes every arrangement to one floor — the bar less its last beat — which no cue carried by the notes can break. The longest bar that can be heard as one moves from sixteen units to eighteen.
A proportion is only as fine as its two durations
Analyses of form measure proportions in bars and report them to three figures — a climax at 0.618, a section in the ratio 3 : 2. A listener has each part only as an estimate of how long it lasted, and a ratio of two estimates is blurred by both. Timed as well as anyone times a single second, eleven proportions fit between 1 : 1 and 3 : 1; timed from memory over minutes, two do. The golden section is told from 3 : 2 only below a Weber fraction of 5.4 per cent.
A return is shorter than its first hearing
A rondo's refrain takes three fifths of the clock and a verse-and-chorus song is balanced to the bar. Count instead the bars a listener could not have predicted when they arrived, and the returns shrink to between a tenth and a quarter of what is kept — so a song equal by the clock is between three and seven times heavier in its first half. A coder that learns repeats one bar at a time says the halves are equal, and the two memories disagree by more than any proportion a listener could confuse.
A final chord stands out for a twentieth of a second
A general pause drives a listener's running impression down, and the final chord that follows is supposed to cash the fall in. It cashes in at most two thirds of it. The note's own loudness rises with a 22-millisecond constant and the impression with a 99-millisecond one, so after a bar of silence the chord stands furthest above the impression 54 milliseconds in, by 5.1 of the 8.1 decibels the silence bought, and after 206 milliseconds the two are within a phon of each other. A short stamp spends most of its life standing out; a chord held a second and a half spends a seventh of it.
The chords mark the barline by changing there
Read bar by bar, the chords stood barely above chance at the barline and broke the metre's half-bar tie two times in three at best. Read instead by where they change — how different the chords are across a candidate's barlines against how different they are across the middle of its bars — the same notes break the tie right on 81 to 96 per cent of passages, and added to the metre they find the barline on up to 89 per cent against 61. The weakness was the question the old reading asked, not the harmony.
A rough arrival is rough because of its spacing
The pair the expectation essays report for every chord — how surprising it was, how rough its voicing is — has no level in it. Putting level back in answers the question it left open, and not the way it was framed. At one written dynamic the arrivals keep their order from 40 to 90 dB at three registers of four, and the bass stays 8.6 times rougher than the treble. Made equally loud, the bass has to be played 12.8 dB harder, and it is 343 times rougher: level does not explain the register's roughness away, it multiplies it.
A combination-tone bass needs a forte
A scale in just thirds draws a diatonic bass line through its difference tones, and in sixths the cubic product draws one. Given the two published level laws, with their constants swept, the thirds' bass is not heard at all below primaries of about 66 dB and is heard whole only from 71 to 81. The cubic products are a different kind of object: the primaries mask them decibel for decibel as they rise, so no dynamic changes whether they are heard. Most of the thirds' inner line never is, and the sixths' bass needs a forte and a gentle law.
Knowing every metre is slower than knowing none
A long aksak bar cannot be told from its shorter cuts by induction before one step into its last beat, and no accent carried by the notes moves that floor. The obvious escape is a listener who knows the repertoire and recognises the metre instead. Recognition among all 1,820 arrangements of twos and threes never beats the floor, is never quicker than induction, and is slower for half the metres: a nine induced in 9 steps is recognised in 27. What breaks the floor is a small repertoire that leaves out the metre's own longest cut — with the cut known, no repertoire of any size does.
The bell pattern is slowest only to a perfect memory
Among the orders of its own gaps, a named timeline is usually both the most even and the slowest to locate — for a listener who never forgets. Give the listener a memory that halves and the result comes apart. Of six timelines slowest among their orders with perfect memory, only the fume-fume stays slowest for every forgetting listener, and the standard bell pattern, which is the fume-fume with onsets and rests exchanged and settles at exactly the same floors, is second of its three orders for every memory of half its cycle or less. The census ranking survives better, and in fourteen of twenty-one censuses it was the arithmetic of a pattern that repeats.
A dancer who comes in late needs the downbeat marked
Every window for recognising an aksak metre so far started at its written downbeat. A dancer joining a dance already going has not heard the downbeat, and the arithmetic of that is blunt: a metre entered part-way is, onset for onset, each of its own rotations heard from their downbeats, and the rotations are metres too — 2+2+3 and 3+2+2 are counted differently. So on onsets, and with the long beats accented, no metre is ever told from its rotations. Only an accented downbeat tells them apart, and with it a listener who knows thirty metres recognises 54 per cent of them inside the present from a random entry, against 1 per cent without.
Three harmonics of the bass arrive before the bass
Every product priced until now was between two pure tones, and nothing that plays thirds is pure. Give each note a spectrum and the ear receives every pair of partials — and for a just interval p:q every one of their products is an exact multiple of the same absent fundamental. That crowd lands where the threshold of hearing is tens of decibels cheaper, so it names the bass at 71 decibels where the component at the bass's own frequency needs 74, and at 75 against 85 an octave lower. Tempered, the crowd still forms and names a note seventy cents flat.
The ghost bass drops a twelfth at a forte
Both crowds arrive at once and every member of both is a multiple of the same absent fundamental, so a listener is never given a choice between them — only a different subset of one harmonic series at every dynamic. Softly, the subset is an exact gapless series on three times the fundamental. Loudly, the difference tones fill in the low harmonics and no template on the higher note survives them. Between 62 and 72 decibels, depending on the interval, the note the crowd names falls by an octave or a twelfth, and the two qualities of third cross at different levels.
A count is not an estimate
Both established routes to a proportion are estimates — a duration timed, blurred by a Weber fraction, and a duration stored, biased by what was new. A listener who has induced a hypermetre has a third, and it is exact until it fails. It fails two ways that pull opposite: a slip miscounts one unit and its relative cost falls as the section lengthens, while a lapse loses the count entirely and its chance compounds. The mixture has a floor at about four units, where counting is 3.7 times finer than timing, and it is worth almost nothing past a hundred.
Given the bar in octaves, the degree comes back
A bass note is a bare pitch class in the usual figure, and a register in any realisation anybody plays. Voice each bar in octaves and a listener knows which three pitch classes are sounding and which is at the bottom, which names the chord outright — and the rule that uses it reads the right scale degree in 92 per cent of bars on a real bass line, against 68 for the published cue on the same line and 89 for that cue on a line made entirely of roots. The question was whether the register recovers the 89. It recovers it and passes it.
The error that moves straight ahead
The essay before this one found that a listener whose internal head is the wrong size makes no error at all on the median plane, and has to look hard to the side to catch it. Every head drawn here has its ears at equal radii, which makes the delay curve odd and every error a factor — and a factor cannot move a zero. Real heads are not symmetric. A constant offset of twenty microseconds displaces a listener's straight ahead by two and a quarter degrees, and it displaces every other direction by the same number of just-noticeable steps, exactly.
An exit is worth nothing until the tutti is given up
Six parts entering a five-chord passage have a best schedule when each enters once and stays, and letting parts leave and come back was supposed to improve it. Searched over every set of sounding parts at every chord, it improves it by exactly nothing, with or without the chord before still masking — as long as all six must be playing at the end. Let one part be missing from the final chord and the weakest entrance gains 1.4 decibels; let two be missing and it gains 1.9, by a relay in which the parts with least room come in, are heard for one chord, and give way.
Checkpoints sharpen the middle of a form, not its top
A listener who counts bars loses the count somewhere in a long section and is thrown back on timing the whole of it. A listener who also counts phrases can mend the lapse at the last phrase. If the two counts fail independently, the level a minute long goes from four distinguishable proportions to nineteen; the whole eight-minute piece goes only from two to four, because thirty phrases are long enough to lose a count as well. And if a fifth of lapses take both counts at once, three quarters of the gain is gone.
The bass errs fast where the content errs slow
Asked how often the chords change, a reading built on pitch-class content names a slower multiple and never a faster rate. Give the passage a bass that states each new root and moves between chord tones inside a chord, and a reading built on the bass's moves errs the other way: it names a faster grid and never a slower one. At two chords a bar the bass is right every time; at a chord every two bars it is never right. Six ways of combining the two readings each trade one end of the range for the other.
The played notes already name the ghost bass
The products of a just third's partials, fitted on their own, name a note a twelfth above the bass when the interval is soft and drop to the bass when it is loud. Put the two played notes back beside them and the drop disappears: the notes and their products name the bass at every dynamic, because the notes' own partials are harmonics of it already. What the dynamic changes is not which note is implied but how complete its harmonic series is — nine holes from the notes alone, four when soft, none when loud.
The ceiling is thirteen bars with names
The key-finder's two cues stop buying anything at about 93 per cent of scheme bars read right, and the obvious suspect was the chord segmentation feeding it. The reading was never given a segmentation: every bar arrives with its true chord. What the ceiling is made of can be listed instead, and it is thirteen bars of 188 — seven in a bridge of secondary dominants, four in a minor episode whose chords C major also owns, and two at the edges of a modulation. No weight of any cue moves one of them.
A late dancer needs the landmarks, not the rhythm
A listener who joins an additive-metre dance part-way recognises it far more reliably with the downbeat accented. Strip the stream down to its landmarks — the onsets that begin a bar or a long beat, with every other onset removed — and the listener does as well or better: knowing a hundred metres, 23 per cent are recognised within the present against 14 with every onset. Unmarked, the landmarks still beat every onset with the long beats accented. Neither half does it alone; what identifies a metre from a late entry is where its long beats sit relative to its bar.
Against a pulse the bell pattern is the easiest to place
Heard alone, the standard bell pattern is not the quickest order of its own gaps to place in its cycle, for a listener with any memory. Heard against a pulse every three steps or every four — which is how anyone hears it — it is the quickest, at every memory and at every alignment of pulse and bell, and by a wide margin: at a memory of a quarter of the cycle, 0.56 bits unplaced over the first cycle against 0.73 for either rival against a pulse in threes. Six of eight named timelines do the same. A timeline's order of gaps looks chosen for how it sits against the beat, not for how it sounds alone.
A bass chord low enough to balance has already hidden its tenor
Played as loud as the written register, a progression two octaves down is 343 times rougher than the same progression an octave up — if every partial on the page is counted. Count only the partials that stand above what the rest of the chord masks and that register is the smoothest of the four, with nothing left that beats. The balance is not what does it: the extra thirteen decibels move no voice by more than two partials. The register had already buried the tenor at the written dynamic.
A bass that holds through a change marks the barline
At two chords a bar the chords change on the barline and on the half-bar alike, so a reading of where they change is at chance, and the metre ties the two. The bass has one more piece of evidence: a change inside the bar can be voiced over the note already sounding, and a change on the barline is voiced over its root. Hold the bass through one mid-bar change in six and the metre and bass together place the barline in 85 per cent of eight-bar passages; one in three, 97. The convention cannot be stronger than that, and the chord changes, asked first, only get in the way.
A walking bass marks the bar by the note it is on
The reading that finds a barline from where the bass moves collapses to twenty per cent when the bass moves on every crotchet, and the bass the last essay called busiest moved twice a bar, because its beat was the half-bar. Given one that really walks, the same computation with sounds the chord's root in place of moves rises from nothing to a whole note a bar exactly as the other falls, and the two are equal at a bass moving on three crotchets in eight. Neither places a barline alone: the root is still sounding on the quaver after it. The metre, which cannot tell a barline from a half-bar, tells it from the quaver after it at once.
A texture in which nothing says where the bar begins
Two chords a bar over a bass that moves inside the chord is the one arrangement in which every witness this account has stands together at the metre's coin toss. The metre ties the barline with the half-bar, the chords change at both, and the bass states a root at both and walks between both — at every busyness, and whichever question the bass is asked. The only thing that breaks the symmetry is the voicing convention, and what it is worth falls from 98 per cent to 90 as the bass fills in, not because fewer changes can be held but because the motion around them is evidence for nothing. Chasing five points of residue above the toss found a defect that had been flattering the reading since it was written.
The leap at the barline is a fact about register
A bass leaps to a root at the barline and steps inside the bar, and no reading of pitch classes can see it — so the essay that named it recorded it as a limit. Given octaves and the size of every motion, it is worth nothing: realised at least motion the reading tracks whether the bass moved at all and ends 0.87 semitones on the wrong side of zero, because a line that always takes the nearest octave has no leaps to take. Play a stated root at the bottom of the compass instead, and the same sixteen notes in the same order turn a margin of minus 1.67 semitones into plus 1.67 and hold at 90 per cent where the move reading has fallen to 20. The barline is not where the bass moves furthest. It is where the bass goes back down.
The bridge is not a labelling problem
Seven of the key-finder's thirteen remaining misses are the thirty-two-bar song's bridge, and the essay before this one proposed that they might be an argument about labels rather than a failure: relabel the eight bars with the keys their dominants point at, and the reading's E and D majors might turn out to be right. They do not. The reading gets one bar of eight under either label, because four of the eight are read as the chord's own root taken for a tonic — a dominant seventh heard as a chord in its own right. And one of the bars the relabelling could have bought is unwinnable in principle: an applied dominant is the same four notes in the major and the minor of the key it points at.
Only a lapse of attention keeps a form's top vague
A listener who keeps a count at every level of a form — bars, phrases, periods, sections — each mending the one below when it lapses, does not have a vague top at all. The whole eight-minute piece becomes the sharpest level, at seventy-six distinguishable proportions against two. Failures shared between neighbouring counts barely dent it, because a shared failure has to climb every level to reach the top. What puts the vagueness back is a lapse that takes every count at once, and one lapse in a hundred of that kind is enough.
A repeat sign loses a listener that a refrain does not
A lapse of attention loses every count a listener is keeping, and when it ends the listener has only the music to say where they are. A listener who knows the form comes back to a rondo's refrain and is almost never misplaced, because the episodes between refrains make only one of them reachable. They come back near the join of a section repeated immediately and are misplaced nearly half the time, and a form built of such repeats loses between a third and a half of the precision a count at every level had restored. One of the most familiar signs in notation does more damage than the most repetitive form.
The strokes between the gongs are a clock
An experienced listener arriving in a forty-second gong cycle was expected to be no better placed than a newcomer, because a whole cycle is timed in the band where a Weber fraction is near forty per cent. But nobody times a gong cycle as one interval. A listener who resets at the last gong, the last kempul and the last kenong times three short intervals instead of one long one, and arrives knowing their position to a tenth of a bit — better than a listener timing the whole cycle to ten per cent. A single timeline, whose strokes are all one instrument, offers nothing to reset on.
Against both feels, the bell pattern's order stops mattering
Against a pulse in threes, or a pulse in fours, the standard bell pattern is placed a sixth or a tenth of a bit sooner than either other order of its own gaps. A twelve-step cycle in the ensembles that play it is heard against both feels at once, and the two pulses together are a position code of their own: they coincide once a cycle and place a listener within three steps. Heard against both, the three orders are within a seventieth of a bit of one another and the bell's lead is gone — the advantage its order was shaped for lives only where one feel is dropped.
A ghost bass an octave lower needs notes twice as long
A scale played in just thirds has a bass underneath it that nobody plays — the difference tones of its thirds spell a diatonic line. Every essay on that bass has held its intervals still. A moving passage gives the bass a new pitch every note, and a low pitch is not there until it has run a few of its own cycles. With four cycles, a passage in thirds from C4 keeps its bass for 83 per cent of each note at three notes a second and loses it completely below 73 milliseconds a note. An octave down, every number doubles: the passage from C3 has no bass at all in its lowest note at semiquavers, and it is the scale's one Pythagorean third that sets the limit.
A moving tenor is heard because it is struck again
A bass-heavy chord balanced for loudness hides its tenor under the bass's upper skirt, and arrangers keep inner voices moving in the low register as though motion were the cure. Counted as masking, motion alone is worth nothing: the note the tenor leaves stops masking the new one within ten milliseconds, and on a sustained instrument the moving tenor keeps exactly what the held one keeps. On a struck instrument everything changes, and for a reason that is not the motion. The held voices have been decaying since they were struck and the tenor's new note is struck now, so an octave down a tenor re-struck half a second into the chord has all eight of its partials back where the held tenor has one.
Looking ahead rescues the relative minor, not the bridge
A key-finding reading that scores each bar by its own notes cannot hear an applied dominant, whose meaning is in the bar after it. Given one cue about a pair of bars — a dominant earns credit when the next bar is rooted on its key's tonic — the thirty-two-bar song's bridge is read as the chain of dominants it is, each chord both the arrival of the last and the departure to the next. But the same cue hears a blues's opening tonic seventh as the dominant of its own IV, and at the setting that read the listing best it costs five bars for three. The cue earns its place only in a reading reluctant to change key, and there what it rescues is the rondo's episode in the relative minor.
A quiet bass is further off-centre than a loud violin
An ear whose threshold is a decibel worse than the other is a little later to report every sound, and the published brainstem latency law says how much later: a gap that halves every 43 decibels and grows toward the bass. Taken at full size, a one-decibel asymmetry would put straight ahead twelve degrees round at a moderate level — seven times what the ear's own two thresholds say a decibel is worth, so most of that latency cannot be reaching the comparator that reads direction. What survives any scaling is the shape. The displacement is not one number but a curve in level and in pitch, and it deforms an orchestra rather than moving it.
A crowd costs a late dancer the silences, not the steps
A dancer who hears only the landmarks of an aksak rhythm — the heads of bars and long beats — recognises it from a late entry better than one who hears every onset, as long as everything played is heard. Let a share of what is played be lost in a crowd and the lead goes, but not for the reason expected. Most of the cost arrives before a single landmark is missed: a listener who allows that one might be can no longer treat a silence as proof, and the landmark stream is built almost entirely of silences. At one lost onset in ten, the caution alone takes 25 points from the landmarks and 5 from the full stream.
The notes name the ghost bass before it has a cycle
A ghost bass that had to wait for four of its own cycles needed 61 milliseconds under a third from C4, and so vanished from fast passages. A pitch mechanism fitting the whole object — both notes' partials, which run their cycles many times faster, and the products — names the same bass in five. Seven of the eight thirds of a just scale have their bass for most of every note at any tempo a player reaches. The eighth, the scale's Pythagorean D–F, never has its own: the object hears it as a 6 : 5 and supplies the bass a D a comma lower would give, a semitone above the difference tone, until the difference tone arrives and breaks the fit.
A melody marks the barline by where it lingers
At two chords a bar over a walking bass, every harmonic witness stands at the metre's coin toss about where the bar begins. Give the passage a melody with a habit — long notes that prefer the downbeat — and the barline comes back: with a long note in half the bars and four in five of them on the downbeat, in 91 per cent of passages. The count of long notes barely matters; the preference is everything, and at even odds no number of long notes helps. A phrase end held through its bar is the strongest single cue. And a listener who adds the bass's readings to the melody's does worse than one who ignores the bass.
The dynamic chooses which D the scale has
A just C major scale has one third that is not 5 : 4 or 6 : 5 — D–F, a Pythagorean 32 : 27 — and a pitch mechanism fitting the notes' partials hears it as the just minor third a comma away, with that third's bass, B♭1, beneath it. Only the Pythagorean third's own difference tone can contradict that, and it is audible only from 76 dB. So below a forte the ghost line under a scale in just thirds is C, B♭, C, F, G, F, G, C for the whole of every note, and the syntonic comma is resolved by the listener rather than the players; above it, and only in notes longer than 73 milliseconds, the B♭ is taken away.
A second slot hears every modulation as a tonicization
A key-finder that names one key per bar reads a chain of applied dominants by moving the key with every chord. Give its state a second slot — the key a bar is in, and the key its dominant points at — and the thirty-two-bar song's bridge is read exactly as the scheme labels it, every bar, for the first time in these essays, and the blues's opening stays in its tonic. At every setting that does that, the rondo's two eight-bar episodes are heard as tonicizations inside C, and no setting of the three costs reads both. A modulation to a closely related key and a long tonicization are the same chords; what separates them is how long they last, and a cost for entering a state cannot count.
A syncopated melody needs its phrases to land
Put a melody whose long notes all fall on the half-bar over a harmony that changes once a bar and a walking bass, and a listener adding up the evidence hears the bar begin in the wrong place three times in four. The harmony knows where the bar is, but only through one witness: the bass's root votes for the barline in every passage, and the bass's motion never does — a walking bass lands on each new root by step, so it moves less at the barline than inside the bar. One syncopated voice ties the root, and the motion breaks the tie its way. What rescues the barline is not the harmony but the melody's own phrase ends: hold half of them from the downbeat and the reading finds the bar in 86 per cent of passages.
A part that must stay changes over in shifts
The best way to keep every entrance audible, when the passage need not end with everybody in, was a relay: a part enters, is heard for one chord, and gives way. Make every part stay at least two chords once it is in and the relay does not collapse into overlaps, as predicted. It changes over in shifts: two parts enter together, one chord passes in which nobody enters, and both leave on the chord their successors arrive. Half of what exits were worth survives a two-chord stay and nearly two fifths a three-chord one — and with the chord before still masking, the stay costs less, not more, because it was the one-chord handover that memory had already made leaky.
An onset can only hand over what the chord leaves
On an organ, a tenor that moves while the chord holds keeps exactly the partials a held tenor keeps, so the masking count cannot tell them apart. What can is the onset: a component that starts thirty milliseconds after the sound around it is heard out as something new. A moving tenor starts hundreds of milliseconds after the chord and gets that for every partial it has left — and what it has left, an octave down, is one partial on a string and three on an organ, which still name the tenor's own pitch. Two octaves down there is nothing to hand over. And a tenor that moves at the chord change, with the other voices, gets nothing, which is why the motion that carries an inner voice is the motion between the harmony's changes.
A modulation is a dominant that keeps coming back
A key-finder with a slot for an applied dominant read the thirty-two-bar song's bridge as its scheme labels it and heard the rondo's two episodes as tonicizations inside C, and no setting read both. The obvious repair — charge a tonicization by the bar, so a long one costs more than a short one — makes it worse: the reading gives up the bridge before it gives back a single episode, because the bridge spends six bars in applied chords and the episodes three and two. By the bar, the chain is the longest tonicization in the listing. What the episodes have and the bridge does not is a dominant that resolves to the same tonic again and again.
A pair entering as one hides the part that cannot be heard
Scored as two entrances, a pair of parts coming in together is charged for masking itself; scored as one arrival — a new colour against what was already sounding — it is not, and the best schedules change completely. Allowed two at a time, the weakest arrival rises from 0.6 dB above the mask to 10.9, and every pair the search chooses is a loud part carrying a quiet one: a violin 19.6 dB clear beside a clarinet 10.9 under. Allowed any number, the six parts enter at once. The staggered build-up of every earlier schedule exists only because each part was meant to be heard as itself.
A feel heard half the time gives the bell half its lead
Against one feel the standard bell pattern is the quickest order of its gaps to place; against both feels at once its lead is gone. An ensemble's texture is neither: each feel is heard some of the time. Given a listener who knows how often a pulse's strokes are lost, the lead comes back in proportion to the loss — half the strokes missing restores half of it, at every memory from a step and a half to a whole cycle. There is no threshold at either end, and a listener who treats every silence as proof comes out more certain and worse placed.
Two bars of drum hold the barline; a dozen bars of bass do not
A listener who settles where the bar begins and then holds it hears a syncopated tune against the bar only if the ground before it built enough confidence to spend. Read bar by bar, a walking bass under one chord a bar is worth less than half a vote a bar for the barline, and a syncopated bar takes an eighth of a vote back, so a tune needs about twelve bars of that ground to be heard against the bar nine times in ten. A drum on the downbeat makes each bar of ground worth a vote and a half, and two bars are then enough — but only for a listener who can bank more than four votes of confidence.
A bowed note is placed as if it were quieter
An ear a decibel or two worse than the other is later to report every sound, by an amount that grows as the sound gets quieter, and a listener takes a note's direction from its onset. A plucked or struck note reaches its dynamic before the onset is over and is placed almost where a steady tone would be. A bowed note is still near the threshold of hearing while its onset is being read, so it is placed as though it were 27 decibels quieter than it is. The prediction was that slow attacks would soften the displacement; they sharpen it, and an asymmetric listener's orchestra is deformed by its articulation as much as by its register.
A crowd that hides bars is kinder than one that hides onsets
A dancer joining an additive-metre dance in a noisy room loses some of what is played, and the essay before this one lost it one onset at a time. A crowd does not. It hides stretches — a burst of laughter covers a bar. The prediction was that a stretch as long as a bar would hurt the stream of landmarks most, since it could remove every landmark in a cycle, and that long bars would survive best. Holding the share of time lost fixed, longer stretches help every stream, help the full stream more than the landmarks, and leave long bars as hard to place as ever.
A return is cheaper to avoid than to pay for
The essay before this one found what separates a modulation from a tonicization: an episode's dominant keeps resolving to the same target, and the bridge's dominants never do. So the key-finder was given a memory of where its last dominant went, and charged for a return — the prediction being that one setting would at last hear the episodes as keys and the bridge as a chain. None does. Every return the charge is aimed at is avoided for less than a nat, by hearing a D7 as a minor chord or by moving the passage into another key, while the reading the charge was meant to force costs twelve.
A floor under each member is paid for in steps
Score parts entering together as one arrival and the best pairs are a loud part carrying one that cannot be heard. Put a floor under each member — no part more than so many decibels under its own mask — and the prediction was a schedule between the two, neither staggered nor buried. There is none. The arrival's margin climbs in three steps as the floor is loosened, each step bought with a passenger buried about as deep as the step is high, and below a floor of five decibels nothing beats bringing the parts in one at a time, because the clarinet can clear its mask only alone.
A tempered seventh chord already has the tuned one's low note
A dominant seventh tuned 4 : 5 : 6 : 7 is one periodic sound, and its period is a note below the chord that nobody plays. The question left open was whether tuning adds that note. Run through the temporal account of residue pitch, the tempered chord turns out to repeat at the same place, a few cents sharp, at 0.82 of the tuned chord's exactness at the strike and 0.96 a second later. Tuning does not create the low note. It makes it exact, and it gets there by a route on which every step helps, which is not true of the beating.
A listener who weights its witnesses needs eight bars of bass, not twelve
A syncopated tune over a walking bass needed about twelve bars of ground before a listener with a memory heard it against the bar nine times in ten, with every witness given one vote a bar. Let the listener weight each witness by how often it has agreed with the reading it holds and the root earns a second vote, the bass's motion loses half of one, and the syncopation loses almost all of its. Eight bars are then enough, a tune that syncopates every bar becomes hearable against the bar at all, and reading the syncopation backwards buys nothing that ignoring it does not.
A bowed bass line is placed by its entrance; a violin line by every note
A listener whose ears differ slightly places a note by its onset, and a bowed entrance is placed as though it were far quieter than it is. A legato line's later notes do not start from silence. Whether one of them has an onset at all depends on how much of the note before is already in its own auditory filter — and in the bass, where the filters are wide and their lower skirts shallow, a step of a tone or less has none, so the note keeps the entrance's displacement. In the treble nearly every note has its own onset and is placed near its steady position, except where the line leaps down.
An elaboration is a clock hand where the skeleton has none
A colotomic cycle is a clock whose hands are its punctuating layers, and the finest hand a slow cycle can use runs out as the cycle slows. The elaborating parts that fill the cycle were predicted to supply that finer hand. They can, and a two-step figure recognised at every boundary is a kethuk exactly. But the figure that does most is not a fine one. It is a long one with a single recognisable point in the middle of the cycle, where no skeleton stroke falls: at eighty seconds a cycle it leaves a listener a fifth as uncertain as the skeleton alone, where a kethuk takes off a tenth — and it still does more than a kethuk when a listener catches that point one time in ten.
A bowed bass line has an onset at every step, in its upper partials
A legato note's onset was read in the auditory filter at its fundamental, and in the bass a step of a tone or less left that filter nearly as full as before: no onset, and the note kept its entrance's displacement. A bowed note is not a fundamental. Read in every filter its partials reach, every step of a bowed bass line has an onset, first seen in the third to fifth partial, where a tone moves a partial right out of its filter. The line is re-placed at every note after all — and nearer the centre, because a partial's filter is at a frequency where the ears' latency difference is smaller. The bowed bass entrance itself is displaced a quarter less than its fundamental said.
A listener who knows the style needs no introduction
A listener who weights each witness to the barline by its record needed eight bars of walking bass before a syncopated tune was heard against the bar nine times in ten, and with no introduction at all it learned the syncopation's lesson instead. Finer records — one for each side a witness takes, one for each section — change nothing. What changes everything is arriving with the style's habits: a listener who already gives the bass's motion and the melody's long notes no vote hears the tune against the bar 93 per cent of the time from its first bar, and 94 per cent for a tune that syncopates every bar. The root need not be trusted more. The others need to be trusted less.
Two landmarks in a cycle help only if they can be told apart
One recognisable point inside a slow gong cycle, placed where the skeleton has no stroke, did more for a listener than a whole layer of kethuk strokes. A second point does as much again, a third nearly as much again — provided the listener can tell which point they have just heard. If the points sound alike, a second one is worth a fraction of that, seventy of the hundred and five ways of placing it leave the listener worse off than one point would, and two alike points half a cycle apart undo most of what the first one gave. Whether the listener keeps one timer or several turns out not to matter at all.
New music says only that it is new
A listener who knows a piece comes back from a lapse of attention and is placed at once by whatever they hear, and a through-composed piece, which never repeats anything, is the easiest of all forms to come back to. A listener hearing it for the first time is not so lucky. What they hear on returning is either something they have heard before, which names itself, or something they have not, which says only that it is new. For a rondo that costs almost nothing. For the through-composed piece it costs its whole lead: at lapses of half a minute or more, a first-time listener is placed no better in it than in a rondo — and being told the piece's plan in advance gives back almost none of the difference.
The scale's ii chord borrows the dominant's bass
Heard quietly, the pair D–F of a just C major scale brings the bass of the other D with it — B♭, the bass the 10 : 9 D implies — so the comma is resolved by the listener rather than by the players. Add the A that makes the pair a ii chord and that stops being true. The whole-object fit now hears the chord over G, as the top of a dominant ninth, and it does so because the template prefers simple harmonics to accurate ones; a different bass is heard in each inversion, and at a forte none at all. Only a ii built on the 10 : 9 D has one bass in every voicing and at every dynamic. Played quietly from a fixed scale, I–vi–ii–V–I is heard with the bass line C, F, G, G, C: the ii merged into the chord after it, and the progression home.
A bell's strike gives its tierce a millisecond
A low bell's tierce is masked from below by its prime and hum, so it is present at the strike or never — and the strike was the one moment the count treated as a steady state. Give the modes a rise as well as a fall and the prediction was that the tierce's margin would peak somewhere inside the first two hundred milliseconds. It peaks at the very first instant and falls from there, because the shadow a masker casts upward grows faster than the masker. On a C2 bell the tierce is above its threshold for less than a millisecond, and under the most generous rise anybody could propose for twenty-five: ten to thirty decibels too brief to be heard. What the onset visits for an instant, a softer stroke keeps for the whole note.
The habit worth bringing is to distrust the tune
A listener who arrives with a style's habits — the bass's motion and the melody's long notes credited at a coin toss — hears a syncopated tune against the bar from its first bar. But a listener does not know the style in advance. Give it two sets of habits, one for tunes that mark the bar and one for tunes that syncopate, and let it weigh them by how well each predicts what it hears: it does better than a listener with no habits and far worse than one who simply knows, and it becomes sure of the style in fewer than one passage in ten. The reason is that the evidence runs one way. A tune that marks the bar never testifies against the habit of distrusting tunes, so the habit that serves every style is the syncopating one, kept always.
The bell pattern's order is for arriving
Against a feel that comes and goes, the standard bell pattern is the quickest order of its gaps to place, and the lead grows the less a listener knows about the drummer. Followed past the first cycle, the lead is gone, whether or not the listener ever learns how often strokes are lost. And when both feels thin, a different order keeps a listener placed better than the bell does, because its two short gaps make one figure where the bell's make two that look alike.
A tuned chord's flutter binds it only if its notes start together
A close seventh chord tuned 4 : 5 : 6 : 7 low on the keyboard fluctuates at one rate in every auditory filter, and one rate everywhere looked like the ear's evidence that a sound is one thing. It is only half of that evidence. The filters also have to rise and fall at the same moments, and whether they do depends on when each note starts — which tuning does not decide. Spread the notes' onsets by two milliseconds and the tuned chord's filters move together no more than a tempered chord's.
A passenger under its mask is still heard in the arrival
The best way to bring parts in together was a loud part carrying a quiet one, and the quiet one was scored as buried — ten decibels under its mask, on average over its partials. An average is the wrong question. A masked threshold is the level at which a sound becomes a detectable change, and nearly every buried passenger has partials well clear of it. Scored as a change to the arrival rather than as a line of its own, every one of seventy-one passengers is heard, and the carriers' walk passes almost untouched.
A late root is believed because the record is kept by the reading
The habit worth bringing to a tune turned out to be trusting the bass's root and doubting everything else. A bass that anticipates the next chord does not break that habit — the root is still tied across the barline, and it is the bass's motion that lies. A bass that puts the root at the half-bar does break it, and nothing a listener learns can repair it, because each witness is judged by whether it agrees with the reading, and the reading was made by the liar.
The leading note is already inside the chord that hides the key
A key-finder kept hearing a rondo's episodes as passages inside C, and the escape it used was to hear a D7 as a D minor chord, throwing away its F♯. Charge a chromatic note by how strongly it points at another key, and that escape closes. Nothing else moves, because every F♯ and G♯ in the episodes was already inside the chord the reading heard — as the third of V of V. The charge takes a chromatic note seriously everywhere except where it was needed, and in the blues it mistakes a flattened seventh for a leading note.
Two honest bars convict a lying root
A bass that states its root late defeats every listener who learns from agreement, because the reading forms before any honest witness speaks. Give the passage a drum on its first downbeats and the same record that ratified the liar convicts it — but only a listener holding a habit that doubts the root can act on the verdict. Two strokes are enough for that listener, for as long as the tune lasts. One is not, and no amount of drum is enough for a listener that credits the root and the drum alike.
A vibrato hides a choir's tuning above four hundred hertz
Thirteen essays drew a vibrato that had always been running; a real one grows out of a straight tone over the first quarter-second of a note. Counting the beats a listener can follow between two voices of a section shows what that front edge is worth. A vibrato takes most of a section's countable beats away above about 400 hertz — seven in ten of them at the singer's formant — and adds some below. The straight start gives them back only while the vibrato is still growing, and in the band where a voice carries that is less than one beat.
A dancer who hears the crowd can trust the quiet
A late dancer in a noisy room who cannot tell noise from silence has to treat every silence as weak evidence, and that caution was the largest cost in every figure before this one. A dancer who hears the laugh that covers a bar knows which silences to discount and can trust the rest. Losing a quarter of the music, that dancer recognises more metres than one who loses nothing but must allow for losses — and the landmarks, which a noisy room had made the worse stream to follow, lead again once the noise comes in bursts. The quiet has to be trusted to one onset in nineteen.
A bell is never minor alone
A tuned bell carries two thirds: the tierce, a minor third above the prime, which is why a bell is called minor, and the deciem, a major third above the nominal. Run the masking count across every register and every stroke and the minor one is never delivered without the major one. Struck softly a bell delivers both; struck harder, only the major; and below C2 the tierce is never delivered at all. The deciem survives because it is masked by one mode barely louder than itself, the tierce by two that outweigh it.
A section that says what it is for places a first hearing
A first-time listener who loses count in a through-composed piece comes back into music they have never heard, and new music says only that it is new. Suppose instead each section announces what it is doing — opening, continuing, intensifying, closing — and the listener recognises it. How much of their place that gives back depends hardly at all on how many functions there are and almost entirely on how soon the same function comes back. Four functions cycled restore 85 per cent of what a first hearing costs at forty-second lapses; the same four in the familiar arc, two sections each, restore 42; two functions alternating restore 85 per cent at twenty seconds and 14 at a minute.
An honest drum has to come first
Two strokes of an honest drum at the very start of a passage protect a listener from a bass whose root arrives late in every bar. The same two strokes a bar later do nothing at all, and neither does a drum that then plays every downbeat to the end. A listener that keeps a record of its witnesses scores the late drum against the reading the root has already made, and convicts it within two bars. Every bar the lie is believed first multiplies the trust the drum would need, and by the seventh bar no trust short of certainty is enough.
A choir's vibratos must lock to two milliseconds
A vibrato hides a section's mistuning from a listener counting beats, and the obvious way it could stop hiding it is for the singers' vibratos to move together. They would have to move very nearly together. Half-entrained vibratos leave a section as hidden at the singer's formant as independent ones; locked to nine-tenths they expose three-quarters of what a straight section does; only past nineteen parts in twenty does the section's tuning show as if they sang straight. At six cycles a second that is two vibratos peaking within two milliseconds of each other — and the better a section is tuned, the tighter the lock has to be.
In a loud room the accent has to be loud
A late dancer who hears the crowd as noise ignores everything played under it. Real noise is not that thorough. It hides the soft strokes and lets the loud ones through, and an accented downbeat is a loud one. Let the noise pass loud strokes and some soft ones, and marking the downbeat is worth more to the dancer than in a quiet room: with half the time under noise, 29 points of recognition against 23. Noise that swallows the accent halves its worth. In a quiet room no amount of loudness bought an accent anything extra; in a loud one, loudness is the whole of what the accent is for.
A tuned chord stays in step for half a cent-second
A close seventh chord tuned 4 : 5 : 6 : 7 low on the keyboard fluctuates in every auditory filter at once, but only if its notes start within a millisecond of each other — and a tuned chord, it was said, keeps its phases for as long as it sounds. It keeps them only as long as it stays exactly tuned. Mistune its notes by a fraction of a cent and they slide against each other, and the chord drifts out of step in a time inversely proportional to the mistuning: about half a cent-second. A tenth of a cent holds it for four seconds, a cent for half a second. A chord that starts out of step never drifts into it.
Two functions far apart outlast four that blur
A first-time listener who loses their place in a through-composed piece gets most of it back if each section announces what it is doing and the same function does not come back too soon: four functions cycled restore 85 per cent of what a first hearing costs. That rests on hearing each function exactly. Let a listener mistake a function for its neighbour in the arc — a continuation for an intensification — one time in ten, and the cycle keeps less than half of its gain. Two functions at the opposite ends of the arc, opening and closing alternated, lose nothing to such confusion, and from a little over one confusion in five no arrangement does better.
A break rescues a late drum only by ending the reading
A drum that enters after a late root has made the reading needs odds in the hundreds to undo it. Bring it in after a break in the texture, and the obvious guess is that the break helps by making the listener forget whom it trusted. It barely does. What rescues the drum is the listener forgetting what it heard: with the old reading gone, a drum on bar 9 needs odds of nine to one, and with the record gone too it needs less than the three to one it has always had. A break that leaves even a hundredth of the old reading behind rescues nothing at all.
A shared vibrato cannot hold a tuned chord together
A tuned close seventh chord binds its auditory filters together only while its notes stay within a third of a millisecond of each other, and mistuned by a fraction of a cent it drifts out of step in half a cent-second. A vibrato shared by every voice looked like a way to hold it: if all four notes swing together, they slide together. They do not stop sliding. A perfectly locked vibrato leaves the drift exactly as fast as before, because it changes every note's frequency by the same factor and leaves their differences alone; a vibrato locked ninety-eight per cent takes an exactly tuned chord out of step in six seconds, and one locked ninety per cent in one.
Singers who hear each other late lock their vibratos in opposition
A choir's vibratos give back the section's tuning at the singers' formant only if they are locked to within about two milliseconds. Singers who lock do it by hearing each other, and they hear each other late. Two vibratos pulled towards what each hears of the other settle near in step while the delay is under about forty milliseconds, and even then come within two milliseconds only if each singer corrects a phase error in about thirty. From forty to a hundred and twenty milliseconds late — a third to two-thirds of a vibrato cycle — they lock in opposition, peaks seventy to ninety milliseconds apart, and hide the section's tuning more completely than vibratos that never locked at all.
In a crowd the downbeat belongs to the drum
In a loud room a marked downbeat is worth more to a late dancer than in a quiet one, so long as the mark gets through. Whether it does depends on where its sound lies, because talk is not loud everywhere: it is loudest from 250 to 400 hertz, exactly where a melody's notes are, and fifteen decibels quieter at the bottom of a drum. A louder melody note is heard half the time through talk ten decibels over the band; a low drum survives a crowd twelve decibels louder than that. With the talk fifteen decibels over the band, a downbeat marked in the melody is worth two-fifths less to the dancer than one marked by the drum.
A listener who learns the plan keeps only the far pair's immunity
A first-time listener who recognises what each section of a through-composed piece is doing gets most of their place back after a lapse — if they know the plan of functions. A listener who has to infer the plan from the sections heard so far loses most where the plan said most: four functions cycled give up more than half of what their labels were worth, nearly all of it to lapses in the first two minutes, before the second function has settled which plan the piece has. Opening and closing alternated lose a little and stay immune to confusing neighbouring functions. The far pair's immunity was never knowledge of the plan; it was the arc.
A silent break has to outlast the reading's lead
A listener waiting through a break goes on expecting downbeats at the reading it holds, and each one that fails to come can be charged against that reading. Charged at a witness's vote apiece, the silence ends the reading only after as many bars as the reading has votes in hand: three bars after two bars of tune, eight after four, twenty-one after eight. A one-bar break would need a missing downbeat to cost twenty votes. And a silence that does end the reading leaves the record standing, which convicts the drum anyway.
The raised tierce points the bell at its own note
A bell's four lowest modes — hum, prime, tierce and quint — can imply a pitch of their own. With a major tierce they are the second, fourth, fifth and sixth harmonics of the prime two octaves down: the strike note's own name, with one empty slot. It was the minor tierce that pointed elsewhere all along. Its lower modes are the fifth, tenth, twelfth and fifteenth harmonics of the note a major third below the strike, and in 82 of 190 struck bells that is the series the delivered modes fit. Raising the tierce removes a competitor rather than adding one.
An announced plan pays the cycle and punishes the blocks
A slow introduction, a title or a programme note can tell a first-time listener the plan of a piece before the first lapse — and be wrong. Trusted as far as it deserves, an announcement gives back half of what being told the plan is worth to four cycled functions only once it is right nine times in ten. But how far to trust it depends on the piece: a cycle rewards believing even a coin-toss announcement completely, while functions in blocks of two are made worse by an announcement right half the time, and a confident wrong one can cost a listener forty points of the first minute.
A felt drum reaches only where the heard one already does
A low drum near a stage is felt in the body as well as heard, and talk cannot mask a vibration. Given that second channel, a drum-marked downbeat always arrives — and is then worth 19.8 points to a late dancer, exactly what an always-heard drum was worth, because the crowd has already taken the soft strokes that made a mark worth more. The felt channel pays only under crowds twenty decibels over the band. And it is driven by the drum's own level, which in a reverberant room is high enough to be felt only where the drum is already loud enough to be heard.
A chord comes back into step too briefly to bind
A vibrato that is shared imperfectly does not carry a tuned chord's notes ever further apart: each note's time is warped back and forth, and the chord passes back through step twice in every swing. Locked ninety-seven or ninety-eight per cent, it does so about ten times a second. But each return lasts on average less than one cycle of the chord's own flutter, which is the rhythm the ear's filters would have to share to show the binding — fewer than one return a second lasts that long. The chord is in step often and never for long enough.
Sixteen singers cannot all oppose each other
Two singers who hear each other a third of a vibrato cycle late lock their vibratos in opposition and hide their tuning better than if they had not listened at all. Sixteen cannot do it, because no arrangement puts every one of them opposite every other. At the latencies where a pair opposes, a section of sixteen does not lock at all: each singer keeps a vibrato rate of its own, and a listener hears the section's tuning exactly as through independent vibratos. Outside that band the section locks in step and gives most of its tuning back. A section that listens to itself can expose its tuning or leave it as it was, but never hide it.
A gamelan's shimmer should rise only downward
A gamelan tuner who lets each pair's beat rate follow its pitch saves roughness in the low octave, where the pairs slow, and pays it in the high octave, where they race. Repeating the middle octave's rates only at the goal tones and letting the rest follow the pitch, as the lead proposed, is rougher than repeating everywhere. The tuning that saves is the one that lets the rate follow the pitch below the middle octave and repeats it above — a fifth less roughness at the square — and it keeps the clock only if the low octave does not double the goals.
A fill cannot end a reading, but it can win the next one
A drum fill in the break before a late drum is a witness that speaks while the old reading still stands, so every stroke it plays is scored as disagreeing, and its credit falls to a coin toss within two or three strokes: at three to one it can cast 1.37 votes in all, against a lead of twenty by the middle of a tune. A fill cannot end a reading. But once a silence has ended it, the same fill sets the next one, and the record that convicted the drum through every length of silence starts convicting the bass instead: after twelve bars of silence before bar 5 the drum goes from 7 per cent of passages to all of them.
A carrier gives up room, not partials
A passenger masks its carrier as the carrier masks it, so the arrival might be a new spectrum belonging to neither part. Across the seventy-one pairings of the passage it almost never is. Carriers lose nineteen partials in all to their passengers and passengers lose a hundred and thirty-five to their carriers; a voice beside a violin takes thirteen decibels of the violin's room and not one of its partials. The nine pairings that leave neither part a majority are mostly on one chord, and there the chord had already done it.
Two octaves up, a sung chord can bind at every swing
A vibrato's swing between two notes is the same number of milliseconds in every register; the tolerance for being in step halves each octave, and so does the period of the chord's own flutter. The first two make a scaling law — an octave higher is the same chord with its vibratos disagreeing half as much — and the third breaks the tie. Matched for time in step, the higher chord's returns carry twice as many flutter cycles: over C2 fewer than one return a second is long enough to bind, over C4 with the vibratos locked ninety-nine and a half per cent nearly every return is.
A varied bell can be a landmark or a false start
In a thin texture the standard bell pattern keeps a listener placed five times worse than another order of its gaps, because its two short gaps look alike. A lead drummer's variation — one stroke moved, once every few cycles — was predicted to give the bell back what it loses. The best single displacement every other cycle recovers seventy per cent of the gap; every third cycle, a third; every sixth, a seventh. Every variation makes the bell slower to arrive by. And the displacements that turn the varied cycle into the bell begun somewhere else make keeping one's place three times worse, because they sound exactly like having lost it.
A gamelan's shimmer has no cheaper shape, only a slower one
The tuning that let each pair's beat rate follow its pitch below the middle octave and repeated it above saved a fifth of the roughness — and slowed the ensemble's average shimmer by more than a third while doing it. Held to the shimmer it promised, it is rougher than repeating the middle octave's rates everywhere, and the middle octave's rates simply slowed to the same average are smoother than either. With the average fixed, the cheapest shape runs the other way, and a knee is never cheaper than a step.
A third part takes what it would have taken alone
A passenger costs its carrier room rather than partials, and the obvious worry is that the room compounds: that a third part, entering beside a carrier already ten decibels nearer its limit, finds it fragile. Across 284 three-part arrivals it does not. Of the 438 carrier partials lost with three parts sounding, 21 are lost only to the combination; the rest are taken by one of the two parts alone. Masking adds in power, so a threshold the passenger has raised rises less when a third part adds to it. What decides the loss is which part enters third, and two parts — the flue and the violin — take five sixths of it.
A cadence has to empty the reading, not weaken it
A drum fill after a long enough silence wins the next section for an honest drum, because it speaks into a reading that is empty. A cadence might do the silence's work in a bar. It does, but only on one condition: before bar 9, a cadence that removes ninety-eight per cent of the listener's conviction leaves a two-stroke fill winning one passage in a hundred, and one that removes all of it lets the fill win every one. The fill turns the reading either way. What the last sliver decides is whether the fill's first stroke is recorded as a disagreement — and that record is what the late root then uses to win the reading back.
A row that hears its neighbours moves its tuning, it does not hide it
Sixteen singers who all hear each other alike cannot lock in opposition, because opposition between every pair is impossible. A row that hears mainly its neighbours has no such obstacle — opposition along a chain is consistent — and at the latencies that make a pair oppose, it half-alternates: neighbours opposite each other, every second singer nearly in step. That hides the tuning between neighbours as well as a duet hides it, and exposes it between every second singer more than independent voices would. Over the whole row the two cancel to the hundredth. With no latency, the same local hearing stops the row locking at all, and hides nearly half of what a whole-row lock would show.
A ring of minor bells rings a second scale a major third below
A minor-tierce bell's four lowest modes, read as a residue, imply a note a major third below the bell's strike note. Put eight such bells in a ring tuned to a major scale and the implied notes are that scale moved down a major third — a ring in C carries the scale of A♭ major underneath it. Only three of the eight land on notes the ring rings, from the mediant, the submediant and the leading note; the tonic, the octave, the supertonic, the subdominant and the dominant all imply notes the ring never sounds, each a semitone from two that it does. Above a tenor on C3 the lower modes deliver the implied note at nearly every stroke. A reading that weights the whole spectrum still hears none of it.
The felt channel carries the inner beats, not the downbeat
A low drum felt in the body gets the downbeat through any crowd, and is then worth less than it was in a quiet room, because the crowd has taken the soft strokes between. Put a kick drum on every landmark of the dance and let all of it be felt, and in a crowd thirty decibels over the band a late dancer recognises the dance in seventy per cent of entries against thirty-seven for the felt downbeat — with no felt accent at all. The accent, felt or not, is worth about ten points on top. The worry that a stream felt alike has no downbeat turns out to be the small half of the arithmetic.
A narrow vibrato needs no lock
A tuned close seventh binds and releases at the vibrato's swings only where its notes' timing swings by about the width of its onset tolerance, and the swing is the vibrato's width times how far the singers' vibratos disagree. Down to a ninety-five per cent lock the two trade one for one: a 71-cent vibrato locked ninety-nine and a half per cent is the same chord as a 7-cent one locked ninety-five. Below that the trade fails, in the singers' favour. With no lock at all the swing stops growing with the disagreement, and a vibrato of three cents over middle C — twelve over the bass — binds the chord at most of its swings with each singer's vibrato its own.
A gamelan's shimmer can slow to a fifth before its clock notices
Roughness falls steadily as every pair's beating is slowed by one factor, and the listener who times a goal's swell does not object until the shimmer is a fifth of the promised speed. The limit is not how many beats a swell holds — a ten-second step holds eight even there — but the once-a-second boundary below which a beat is waited out rather than counted, and it bites when the second-slowest goal degree crosses it. At the quick tempi where a swell could hold too few beats, the skeleton already carries the clock alone.
A goal tone that returns should swell only once
When two of a gamelan cycle's four goal strokes land on the same degree, their swells of beating sound alike, and a listener who hears one cannot tell which goal is coming. Across all 625 ways five degrees can fill four goals, 365 are served better by an elaboration that anticipates fewer goals than four. The repeated pair costs most at slow cycles, can cost more than every swell is worth at moderate ones, and is spared only when its first swell comes straight after the gong.
A cadence that votes must not vote as the drum
A cadence lands on a downbeat, so it could cast a vote for the barline at the moment it loosens the listener's grip. Whether that vote helps depends on whose it is taken to be. Heard as the tune's long note, it speaks with credit the tune spent long ago and is worth almost nothing. Heard as the drum, it is exactly one more stroke of fill, and is convicted as the fill's first stroke was. Heard as a witness of its own, it carries a third of a vote and no record to lose — and that moves the line from an emptied reading to a fiftieth of one.
A straight tone drifts out of step and stays there
A tuned close seventh binds — its filters flutter together — only while its notes keep their timing within a fraction of a millisecond, and a narrow vibrato keeps them there because a sinusoid's timing offset swings inside a fixed range. A straight-tone singer's pitch is never quite straight: it wanders slowly, a cent or less, at random. That wander's timing offset is a random walk. Over C4 a wander of half a cent takes the chord out of step within a fifth of a second and leaves it in step four per cent of the time, where a three-cent vibrato holds it nearly half. What matters is the wander's slow part, and adding a vibrato on top never helps.
A tied note is the oldest thing in its own dissonance
A suspension is taught as a dissonance that resolves, and the sum is done on a chord symbol with no time in it. Put the time back. On voices or an organ, a 4–3 is no smoother after its step than before: of eight spacings, two fall and four rise. On a piano the tied note was struck a chord ago, so it supplies under a third of the roughness it is blamed for, the fall to the resolution is the clock's, and the step itself makes the sound about three times rougher than leaving the note where it was.
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.
A set free to change key becomes a set in two
A set list orders its songs for the music and a capo wants them ordered by fret, and the trade between the two looked as if it might disappear if a singer would move a song a tone. It does not. Searched exactly, moving songs adds five to twenty points of the capo's saving at any count of fifths and stops improving at six moved; at its limit the best set rocks between B minor and E minor, because a count of fifths rewards a pendulum. A set that really walks the chain of fifths has three to spend, not eleven.
A blown note parts by its register, not its family
A wind note's partials reach their steady levels at different rates, and one ranking of five instruments had the saxophone's parting soonest and the horn's latest. Run at every note rather than one, that ranking dissolves: it was read at pitches from 126 to 428 hertz, and pitch was doing most of the sorting. Moving up one instrument shifts the point of parting three times as far as changing instrument at one pitch, and read at half of steady level, all five come together within a fifth of each other, between about 290 and 440 hertz.
A tune's range is a number of notes, not an interval
An earlier essay derived the width of a tune from a walk pulled back towards its middle, and read it in semitones. That reading has a scale inside it. Put the same walk on five notes, seven and twelve, and at thirty notes it covers 16, 11 and 7 semitones, while using the same seven or so different pitches on all three. The width a tune inherits from its walk is a count of notes, which an interval then measures. And on a pentatonic scale, the taught rule about leaps cannot even be stated in semitones.
A section keeps its pizzicato only inside a cone
In a hall a section's pizzicato loses its corpus notes to a held clarinet within two metres, on the assumption that a violin radiates equally in every direction. It does not, and twelve players sharing a beam cannot average it away. Directly on the players' axis, the same section keeps every note for twenty-five metres. Thirty degrees off, with the beam's upper partials thrown elsewhere, it is worse than if it had never pointed. A question about how far back a pizzicato carries turns out to be a question about which way the listener's seat faces.
A bell can mark a cycle without moving a stroke
A lead drummer's varied cycle helps a listener or misleads one, according to which stroke it moves, because a moved stroke can make the bell look as if it had started somewhere else. Give the varied cycle a different sound as well and the distinction goes. Heard nine times in ten and a misleading variation is no longer one; heard always, it no longer matters which stroke moved, or whether any did. A mark heard seven times in ten does almost nothing, and the arithmetic of that threshold is the same as a coin's.
A trill is half a consonance unless it borrows its own resolution
A struck suspension loses roughness because its tied note is old, and the obvious repairs are all things a player already has. Three of them fail in ways nobody would predict. A re-strike under about nine decibels below the chord is smoother than the tie it replaces. No rate of trill stops the fading, because the three notes under the trill are what is fading. And a trill on the upper neighbour spends half its time on a chord note: only the trill that alternates a suspension with its own resolution gives back more than a single strike.
A vibraphone's valve is a door on the sound and a drain on the bar
A vibraphone's motor is usually described as a duty cycle: loud while the valve is open and quiet while it is shut, with a tremolo as deep as the gap between them. Put the tube's own time back and the description comes apart. The door and the drain obey different laws. A low note's tremolo is a third shallower than a high note's at the same speed, the note rings almost three times longer than with the valve left open and well beyond any mean of the two states, and the same stroke can land eight decibels apart according to where the motor happens to be.
A melody's pull can be counted only where a step is a skip
A melody drifts back towards its centre, and nobody has said in what unit: a distance on the keyboard or a distance in the scale. On even scales the two cannot be told apart. On unequal ones they can, and an exact reckoning puts a price on it: about five hundred thirty-note tunes on the major scale, a dozen on hirajōshi. The price falls with the square of how uneven the scale is, and then drops seventeenfold at the point where a step of the scale gets wide enough to be counted as a skip.
A wall puts antiphonal seconds back beside the firsts
Second violins seated opposite the firsts have their plates turned away from the audience, and in a hall a section's pizzicato depends on its beam. With nothing behind them they keep their worst note in about one seat in a hundred. A perfectly hard wall two metres behind gives them back a cone as large as the firsts' own, but a wall that loses three decibels takes most of it away again. And the seats that cone serves turn out to be, within a seat or two, the seats the same section would serve sitting beside the firsts.