MAPPING MUSIC

Category: Mapping Music

  • Mapping Music 11. TEXTURE

    Imagine a piece of music exploring texture in time, made of single sounds and sonorities occurring one at a time in sustained resonance. Then imagine the points of sound are separated by rests, silence. As the texture drifts in and out of a resonant cloud, the sound events remain unconnected. Suddenly, their pace explodes into a torrent of notes. That describes the following powerful piece by my UNT colleague, Joseph Klein.

    Joseph Klein – Pathways IV: Rhymes & Spirals (2024)

    Sound color

    Our next music map shows a simple color-coding graphic system for classifying most musical timbres, informally the tone quality of sounds. The map intuitively chooses colors of the rainbow. While the color spectrum orders the frequencies of light (another manifestation of periodicity), our sound-color classifying map does not imply any ordered quantification of timbral complexity.

    instrumental color rainbow

    Though we think first of an orchestra for a rainbow of color, chamber music can incorporate a variety of instrumental colors, each produced in vivid isolation by one instrument, standing out or changeably mixed with other colors.

    Augusta Read Thomas wrote Dance Mobile in 2021, scored for 13 instruments: Woodwind quartet (Flute, Oboe, Clarinet, Bassoon); Trombone; String quintet: (2 Violins, Viola, Cello, Contrabass); Piano; 2 Percussion (vibraphone/metal, marimba/wood, drums).

    The piece starts with a single pitch, blending several colors that swell in intensity. Then ensues a kaleidoscopic dance of at least seven distinct color combinations, of two basic types:

    Sustained sounds – strings; high woodwinds; lone brass of the trombone

    Sparks – pizzicato strings; ringing metal sounds; drum strokes; staccato piano

    Augusta Read Thomas – Dance Mobile (2021)

    Though the piece is dedicated “in memoriam Oliver Knussen,” the memory is a joyous dance of color.

    Symmetry

    In the exposition of Webern’s Symphony, Op. 21, we saw that each contrapuntal line duplicates the exact rhythm of the lead line, with each entrance one bar later — a classic canon. But each contrapuntal line presents a different succession of instrumental colors:

    Horn . . . . . . . . . Clar. . . . Cello
          . . . Harp . . . Cello pizz. . . . Cello arco . . . Violin . . . Harp . . . Horn . . . Harp
          . . . . . . Horn . . . . . . . . . Bass Clar. . . . Viola
           . . . . . . . . . Harp . . . Viola pizz . . . Viola arco . . . Violin . . . Harp . . . Horn . . . Harp

    The German term for this is so elegant, we’ll use it here:

    KLANGFARBENMELODIE — melodic or contrapuntal line expressed by a string of changing tone colors

    Webern placed each pitch in every line in a particular fixed octave, except Eb that appears in two different octaves. This makes a striking, symmetrical 13-pitch constellation with a palindromic array, the same array going down as going up.

    Webern 13-pitch constellation

    Not only was he obsessed with symmetry in this piece, but this constellation’s symmetry also proves that he was thinking specifically about the chord voicing in what I have identified in successive interval array form.

    We can use this constellation as a Y-axis for a graph mapping the timbres as they appear in the various parts in canonic lines in pitch space for the first 9 bars. This farben color map looks like one of the later geometric paintings of Piet Mondrian.

    Op. 21 color map

    Pointillism

    Though we often share musical terms and concepts with visual art, we sometimes mean different things by the same term. In painting, a technique developed in the Impressionist style period of the late 19th century that became known as pointillism. The most famous example is Georges Seurat’s “A Sunday Afternoon on the Island of La Grande Jatte” at the Chicago Art Institute. Instead of sweeping brush strokes and palette-blended colors, it used small separate spots of subtly varied colors to make a texture that, when viewed from a distance, seems to merge into a color cloud, giving the impression of animated light.

    Musical pointillism, unlike painting, separates sounds in time and pitch space, not to blend them into a texture so much as to highlight the different qualities of each unique sound event. Webern was a pioneer of musical pointillism in works such as Op. 21. Let’s graph the first 10 bars of this fabric using our timbre color-coding (BLUE = wind, ORANGE = percussion, VIOLET = plucked string) on a broadly distinguished 6-octave pitch range. We get something as colorful as a Mondrian painting!

    Andromeda sound color map

    As a musical fabric, isolation — using the vast available range of pitch and the empty time of rests and silence — is a fitting analog for the vast, mostly empty space of a galaxy. Let’s use it for a demonstration etude.

    Andromeda is the nearest large galaxy, 2.5 million light-years from our own Milky Way galaxy. Our sound color demonstration study uses every sound quality on our sound color spectrum except red. Here is a score of the first 10 bars.

    Notice that the green woodwind notes are doubled with a synthesized vocal-type sound. Yellow brass notes are punctuated by orange metallic percussion attacks. Likewise, blue string notes are articulated by the plucked string sounds of harp.

    Here is the whole colorfully pointillistic 3-minute study:

    Sound Mass

    At a time when electronic music was emerging in the 1950s, new instrumental resources were also developing a new style that was all about animating massive layers of sound.

    German experimentalist Karlheinz Stockhausen composed two early, influential sound mass works, Gruppen (1957) for three orchestras, and Carré (1960) for four orchestras and four choirs. The scores were huge, dense, 12-tone, and monolithic in form.

    A 2002 piece by John Adams, On the Transmigration of Souls, harkens back to a mid-century masterpiece of the Avant Garde. In 1961, Polish composer Krzysztof Penderecki wrote a piece for a massive score of 52 string instruments. Conceived as an abstract, freeform, dense massing of animated and intense musical fabrics, it represents a pioneer in the genre of sound mass music, winning the UNESCO Prize that year. Only after it was heard in performance, he said, “I was struck by the emotional charge of the work … I searched for associations and decided to dedicate it to the Hiroshima victims” — thus the title, Tren Ofiarom Hiroszimy (translated Threnody for the Victims of Hiroshima).

    As a young composer in the ‘70s, I reflected this approach in some pieces titled Animated Landscapes. (The title was inspired by John Cage’s famous Imaginary Landscapes no. 4 for 12 radios.) Beyond referring to the painting genre of landscapes, the title sets the imagination for solid, continuous textures like viewing the shapes of a mountain range, but set into rhythmic motion. (This approach became prevalent in ensemble music, especially of Midwestern composers such as Donald Erb.)

    Considerably predating the music mentioned above, Schoenberg’s Fünf Orchesterstücke, Op. 16 (1909), was originally scored for a large orchestra of 37 parts. It is not thought of as sound mass music, as its five movements each have Expressionist or Impressionist titles: “Vorgefühle” (“Premonitions”); “Vergangenes” (“The Past”); “Farben” (“Summer Morning by a Lake”); ”Peripetie” (“Peripeteia”); “Das obligate Rezitativ”(“The Obligato Recitative”). The third movement, Farben, is of special interest not only for its exquisite mixed-palette painting of orchestral timbres, but also for its thick though delicate fabric of sustained sounds. At the start, nothing moves, the subtle shimmer of instrumental colors fading in and out of a continuous fabric of delicate, faint sounds. (A sound mass can be delicate, not necessarily “massive.”)

    Here is a score of the first page, showing sounding concert pitches for all instruments.

    Schoenberg Farben scoring

    Each measure presents one constellation, recolored with different instruments in the second half of the measure. For the first three bars, the constellation does not change, and then only subtly in the next five bars, maintaining the constant C pedal point in the low strings.

    Farben constellations

    The bass clarinet’s F3 in bar 7 is considered an ornamental non-harmonic pitch. While you can see many recurring smaller constellations imbedded within these changing large constellations, such as 5 5, 3 5 and its inversion 5 3 (which are triads), and some transformations of smaller constituent constellations: 8 3 redistributed to 9 2, 4 7 shrinking to 4 5 (another triad), and 3 4 (also a triad) shrinking to 2 4.

    Though there are many triads embedded in the constellations, the overall quality of the sonorities is complex, as the triads are framed within critical dissonances:

    framing dissonances

    Foreground / background

    Most landscape paintings, distant textures of forest, mountains, sky, waves on the sea, or clouds, have some sharp focal point. Often on the horizon (in itself a focusing anchor of the visual display), it may be a barn, a setting sun, a boat, a farmer and dog. If we consider proportion and symmetry in a visual composition, the focal point is best not dead center. A more interesting balance, according to expert photographers, follows the Rule of Thirds, placed one-third from the left or right, one third from the top, or both. Two-thirds is a ratio of 0.667. The Greeks famously defined the Golden Ratio, an ideal ratio dividing a whole length or height into two parts such that the ratio of the smaller part to the larger is the same as the ratio of the larger part to the whole. The ratio is 1.618:1, the solution to the equation: x2 – x – 1 = 0; a 62% and 38% division.

    In a simple traditional musical texture, an accompanying harmonic texture is designed as a background for the focal element of a melody. Sound masses may lack such focus, like the forest or sea waves. When there is to be perceived a standout element of the texture, Schoenberg called this focal element of the musical fabric the Hauptstimme. Though that might translate “highest voice,” the melody or other focal events are not necessary to be higher in the pitch range of the fabric than other elements. But there must be some isolation or distinction setting them off from background in at least one of the parameters mentioned above. The Hauptstimme focal line or textural element can be:

    • in a pitch range isolated from background
    • a color isolated as a single timbre, not a mixed diffusion of background colors
    • slower or faster than background
    • more rhythmically elastic, varied than background
    • not synchronized with background
    • loudest line (the most obvious)

    Schoenberg devised a special symbol for the focal Hauptstimme line of a fabric, a boldface stylized capital H, which you see marking the bass clarinet entrance in bar 7 of the Farben example. Here is how that principal Hauptstimme line continues, a Klangfarbenmelodie of changing color, from bass clarinet to clarinet with trombone to three solo contrabasses.

    Hauptstimme handoffs

    Notice the aggressive rhythmic motive, each time stepping down 2 semitones; and the  7 7 7 quintal-chord constellations in the contrabasses. (The rhythmically aligned clarinet and trombone are separated by 14 semitones, 7 + 7.)

    Beyond color isolation, Learning to Compose makes a distinction for a timbre mixed with itself or other colors spread over some pitch register (“diffuse”) or reinforcing itself in a narrow, confined pitch space (“concentrated”). While Farben’sbackground is diffuse, its Hauptstimme color is isolated in the low pitch register of the bass clarinet and then also concentrated with the three solo contrabasses.

    In the first movement of Anthracite Fields (2015) by Julia Wolfe, the bass clarinet emerges as a focal sound by its loudness and singularity of pitch in a cloud mass of softer sound. Then aggressively loud clusters suddenly interrupt the steady-state background, yielding eventually to repetitive sung chords and floating vocal duets. The sound fabric maintains a three-dimensional depth of contrasting intensities.

    Julia Wolfe – Anthracite Fields I: Foundations (2015)  

    Galaxy groups

    Our sample etude composition for sound mass is a thick score of 10 wind parts and harp, with a fabric the opposite of pointillism: everything sustains and overlaps. There are basically no pauses or holes in the continuous 2-minute sound fabric. Its title, Laniakea, is the name of the supercluster of galaxies that includes the Milky Way.

    Laniakea score excerpt

    Having shown the score with all its notational details, to better illustrate the main point of the example, sound mass, here is a graphic rendering of that actual second system of notes. We can reveal its pointillism by increasing the contrast in a negative image of light on dark. That makes the attack beginning of each sound show up but not the staff lines or sustained resonances . . . a fanciful art image of Laniakea, a vast empty part of the universe dotted with millions of galaxies.

    Laniakea score abstracted

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    Thomas S. Clark

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    Continue reading Mapping the Music Universe:

    12. FORM

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  • Mapping Music 10. COUNTERPOINT

    Two lines woven into a shared time stream — counterpoint — can be relatively more or less independent. How similar or diverse are their rhythmic patterns (congruent or diverse)? How often do their note-initiating time points “line up” (synchronous or independent)?

    In an example of congruent, matching rhythmic material, the upper line’s rhythm is echoed in the trailing lower line in the first five bars below. But the lines are rhythmically independent, sharing only one time point, the downbeat of bar 4. This echo process is known as . . .

    CANON — leading line is echoed after some delay by one or more answering lines of identical rhythmic values and melodic shape (possibly transposed)

    For more on canons, go to BOOK OF CANONS, 14 short 3-part canonic studies.

    example of two-voice counterpoint

    Bars 6-11 show diverse rhythms (the upper line in mostly shorter durations than the lower), and not in canon but synchronized at most of their time points.

    Rhythmic alignment

    Johann Joseph Fux established a theoretical construct for pedagogical purposes in which contrapuntal lines in a 16th-century style progressed from congruent, synchronous rhythms (“First Species”) to one line twice the pace of the other (“Second Species”), and so on. Only in Fourth Species was the relationship reversed, back to matching, congruent rhythmic values but in studied alternation avoiding synchrony.

    COMPOSITE RHYTHM — stream of durations between time points marked by an attack of a note in one or more lines of the fabric

    Here is a graphic identification of the composite rhythm of each contrapuntal phrase above.

    composite rhythm

    You can see in the first example that there are 7 notes in the upper line and the same 7 rhythmic values in the lower line. But the composite rhythm shows 12 durational values, due to the non-synchrony of the lines. In the second example, the upper line has 9 notes, but the lower line’s 5 notes all align with them. The “sum” of the two lines is a composite rhythm of only 9 durational values, identical to the upper line.

    Contrapuntal intervals (in number of semitones) are identified between the staves. The time points of the composite rhythm, moments when both lines are starting a note, are contrapuntally accented and emphasize the contrapuntal intervals (boldface) formed at those points. The consistency — in this example the contrapuntally accented intervals of 7, 8, 2 (and 2+octave), and 5 (and 5+octave).

     

    CONTRAPUNTAL ACCENT — prominence of contrapuntal intervals formed by notes starting together on a time-point

    Refraction

    This term refers to the metaphor of light going through a prism or drop of water, revealing a spectrum of colors. In that sense, a musical refraction might refer to a line presented by instruments of changing sound color. (See Klangfarbenmelodie below.) But let’s apply the refraction concept to pitches in a line of consistent color.

    Refraction can also be a simple way to make two lines out of one, splitting up its notes into two lines shared by alternation or some other less strict pattern. The pitch assigned to one line can be sustained to make a companion pitch to the pitch or pitches that come next in the other line. In this way, the vertical intervals can be strategically controlled to generate a coherent contrapuntal harmonic flow.

    To demonstrate, here is the opening theme to Jupiter Rising:

    Jupiter Rising theme

    Now splitting this violin line into two violin parts:

    Jupiter theme refracted

    Identifying the contrapuntal intervals (by number of semitones) that are formed reveals a preference for contrapuntal intervals of 2, 4, and 5 semitones.

    Some might say this is not real counterpoint, but the total rhythmic independence of the lines argues for that distinction. Mandelbrot, pioneer of fractal mathematics, described fractional spatial dimensions. Maybe we can call our refraction one-and-a-half voice counterpoint.

    Canon

    Repeating the definition of this ancient form of Rumpelstiltskin magic, spinning complex counterpoint out of a single melodic line:

    CANON — leading line is echoed after some delay by one or more answering lines of identical rhythmic values and melodic shape (possibly transposed)

    For a collection of 21st-century examples, 14 studies in 3-voice canon, go to BOOK OF CANONS.

    Now let’s look closely at a more famous canon, in four parts scored for seven different instruments. Here is a contrapuntal example of canonic threads expressed through changing instrumental colors, the opening of the first movement of Webern’s Symphonie Op. 21:

    Webern Symphony opening

    Instead of showing each instrument’s part, I have rearranged the score so that each staff line strings together the successive pitches of a 12-tone row:

    • On the top staff, A F# G Ab played by horn; E F B Bb played by clarinet; then D by cello, continuing past this excerpt to complete the 12-tone row with C# C Eb.
    • The second staff answers in canon one bar later, starting on F plucked by harp and proceeding with a mirror inversion of the lead-line row: F Ab G F# Bb A Eb E C C# D B.
    • The third staff is also an inversion of the row starting on A.
    • The fourth staff, entering last, is a transposition of the original lead-line row starting on C#.

    Repetition

    Any musical element can be repeated — a note, an arpeggio, a measure, a phrase, a whole section of a form, as in the baroque rounded-binary model or the exposition of a classical sonata-allegro form. When a melodic motive or molecule is continuously repeated many times, it is called an ostinato, usually forming a background to some changing line or evolving stream of events. We can analyze two critical factors:

    CYCLE — duration length of a repeating pattern

     PHASE — time point at the start of a cyclic repetition

    Some 20th-century composers, especially Americans, started to bring background patterns or structures into the foreground, as primary objects rather than accompaniments. The incessant repetition of an ostinato, often a chord arpeggio, became the basis for simple structures. With a relentless pulse at its rhythmic core, most ostinato music generates simple highly congruent rhythmic lines in simple or no counterpoint.

    Classic works by composer Philip Glass, such as the ‘70s pieces Music in Twelve Parts, are continual repetition of chord arpeggios, with the chord changing gradually and subtly over many repetitions. This has two effects: making a very slow harmonic change rhythm and time flow under an animated surface; and creating a broad time form that is monolithic and metamorphic, rather than a more traditional multi-section recurrence form.

    John Adams brought this relentlessly repetitive approach to appealing prominence in symphonic music. His Fearful Symmetries (1988) has a pulsing persistence reminiscent of the great Stravinsky ballets, such as Le Sacre du Printemps (1913).

    John Adams – Fearful Symmetries (1988)

    Steve Reich continued this energetic vein of repetitive rhythmic construction into the 21st century with works such as Double Sextet (2008).

    Steve Reich – Double Sextet (2008)

    Despite its sometimes lush fabric of harmony and animated rhythmic activity, persistent-repetition music has unfortunately been labeled “Minimalist,” often having no melody, no sense of harmonic progression or tonal modulation, no themes, no sectional cadences and divisions, and no discernable large-scale recurrence form. (A music more truly described as Minimalist can be found in the more radical works of John Cage, with sparse sounds — or no prescribed sounds at all — in a time-space of mostly “silence.”)

    Phasing

    Back to ostinato — what about more than one ostinato layered into a more complex texture? Even if the ostinato patterns are of the same length, it is possible for their repetitions at different times to not synchronize but overlap. We would say their repetitions are out of phase.

    Using Webern’s canon technique to place identical lines out of phase:

    Milky Way score excerpt

    The Milky Way is our own barred spiral galaxy. The musical fabric is adapted closely from Buckingham Fountain, the third movement of my Chicago Sketches for flute choir.

    There is also the potential for each ostinato pattern to have its own cycle length of repetition. And if the lines repeat different cycle lengths, their phase, the start of another repetition, cannot always align in synchrony. This can be described as multi-cycle/multi-phase ostinato music, pioneered among others by American composer Terry Riley.

    Inspired by tape loops continuously replaying recorded sequences of sounds, in 1968 Riley produced a massive (45- to 90-minute length) multi-phase ostinato work, In C. Becoming iconic, it has been recorded commercially more than 36 times and performed by countless new music ensembles, finding its improvisatory freedom and large flexible instrumentation attractive. (A 2006 performance at the Walt Disney Concert Hall featured 124 musicians.) It consists of 53 ordered patterns of specified, notated rhythm and pitch, to be continually repeated against a steady eight-note pulse. The patterns range in length from only 4 eighth-notes to extended phrases sprawling across a part’s entire manuscript line (without bar lines). Thus the variety of repetition cycle lengths is enormous. And because each musician chooses when to start and how many times to repeat each pattern, multiple phases are also guaranteed.

    Rather than analyze this iconic piece, I will show and explore a piece of mine inspired by In C, originally composed in 1984. It employs the canon technique and differing-length patterns to create the constant overlapping of patterns out of phase with other lines, This makes it difficult to express all the patterns in one common meter signature. Riley’s solution, and mine, is to use no meter signature, with all lines (parts) aligning only with a constant eighth-note pulse.

    Effulgence improv score

    Before we dive into its structure, let’s listen to its beginning.

    The surface rhythmic relationship of overlapping patterns is simple, all conforming to a common eighth-note pulse, as in Riley’s In C. The differing bar lengths, however, produce different periodicities, different repetition cycles. Patterns of 2, 4, 6 or 8 eighth-notes relate to each other to establish a common quarter-note based meter, a feel of 2/4, 3/4 or 4/4 meter. But the patterns of a prime number of eighth-notes, 3, 5 or 7, oppose the sense of a quarter-note beat.

    The prime numbers mean also that the repetition cycles will rarely synchronize, creating a more complex, floating or flying fluidity of motion. Three against four is fairly simple, as with Patterns 6 and 7. Repetition of primes seven against five, as in Patterns 19 and 20, make a much more complex composite, taking some 35 eighth-note pulses to return to a synchronous starting point.

    multi-phase combinations

    To control the interaction between successive patterns that will overlap in canonic lines, each pattern’s pitch content must work with the pitches of patterns before and after it. By “work” means that the collective, cumulative constellation should be of an intervallic character, an array, that conforms with the overall harmonic character desired.

     Assuming a performance spread of three patterns, here is a sample analysis of the middle, Patterns 16 through 21, showing the three-pattern collective constellation. Each pattern intersects with common pitches of its neighbor patterns, adding pitches to the sonority that will eventually disappear.

    intersecting pitch collections

    This is the mechanics of a metamorphic harmonic process that gives multi-phase ostinato music its graceful evolving form.

    Now let’s listen to the complete composition from 1984 (revised 1994), one of my personal favorites.

    Effulgence

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    Thomas S. Clark

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    Continue reading Mapping the Music Universe:

    11. TEXTURE

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  • Mapping Music 8. TONALITY

    In traditional tonal music, or for a composer’s personal design, there are four main factors defining a tonal language: source scale (covered in Mapping Music 5); harmonic type; horizontal (voicing) connection; and tonal center, a basic concept for Common-Practice tonal music.

    A diatonic major or minor scale and harmonic structures built from it define a key and “tonic” home-base tonal center. (In the ancient modal music of the monophonic Gregorian chant it was called the “finalis,” as it was the expected final arrival destination of an extended melody.) Triads taken from the scale build a scaffold of harmonies, featuring the dominant chord (scale degrees 5, 7, 2, and sometimes 4) with its scale-degree 7 “leading tone” propelling a progression to resolve back to the tonic chord (scale degrees 1, 3, 5).

    In 20th-century music, some composers (notably Bartók) began to define tonal center contextually rather than by scale-and-key, writing melodic patterns and counterpoint that branched out from and converged back to a core base (but not necessarily bass) pitch. Twelve-tone music, derived from the full chromatic scale, would seem to be avoiding any tonal center, but some composers still built textures whose lines and counterpoint would emphasize one focal pitch-class.

    A matrix of choices

    In forging a tonal language, the composer develops preferences in each of these factors. Choices from each factor column can be mixed in a variety of ways. The composer designs by delving into more specific patterns, especially for the source scale (possibly, say, a six-note pitch-class set) and the harmonic type, establishing a preference for certain harmonic intervals (such as my favoritism for 7-semitone Perfect 5ths and 11-semitone Major 7ths).

    There are, of course, thousands if not millions of possible combinations of all these factors, a universe of tonal possibilities for the individual composer and a particular piece.

    Next, let’s dive more deeply into harmonic types and the factor of horizontal connections between successive harmonies.

    Constellation streams

    A stream of successive constellations, which we might nickname a “constream,” would traditionally be called a chord progression. In the following example, all stacks are 10 semitones tall; no common tones in the transposition choices.

    no common-tone connections

    In the next example, stacks of differing heights, with constellations that reduce to three different scale patterns: scale array 5 2, then 2 3, back to 5 2, then 4 1, and finally 2 5, inversion of 5 2.

    common-tone connection

    Now a longer, more mixed succession of interval stacks of constellations belonging to these same three scale patterns (2 5 or 5 2; 1 4 or 4 1; and 2 3).

    extended constreams

    Back to my constellation friends of Mapping Music 6, we can make some constreams with them.

    diatonic and chromatic successions of symmetrical constellations

    An intriguing example from the literature of great early modern music, an interlude near the beginning of Stravinsky’s L’Histoire du Soldat:

    L’Histoire du Soldat excerpt

    This passage is intriguing in many ways. It looks like counterpoint between two woodwind instruments in high register. But both lines are quite simple and don’t seem to go anywhere. (In our GALAXIES: Structure chapter, we’ll discuss these questions of texture and counterpoint.) Introducing it here raises the question of harmony, of constellations and their arrays, though the passage doesn’t look at all chordal. Here is an array analysis of the constellations formed in the first through fourth bars then jumping to bar 10 and, finally, bar 14.

    L’Histoire du Soldat constellations

    Now you can see and hear more clearly the role played by array interval of 7 semitones (“Perfect 5th” as in above examples) and also 5, and 2 semitones in the harmonic continuity of the passage. (Also note 7 + 7 = 14; 5 + 2 = 7; 5 +5 = 10; 2 + 12 = 14; etc.)

    To illustrate that this is not all just theoretical, here is a simple etude composed using exactly the constellations and successions explored in Examples 12 and 17. It took only about an hour to compose this minute and a half in Sibelius. The title: the constellation Pleiades (“Seven Sisters”) is a tight cluster of 7 stars tagging along in the winter sky with Taurus as the Zodiac sails westward every night.

    12-tone sets

    Let’s keep going. How about designing a succession of three four-pitch constellations, so that all 12 pitch classes of the chromatic scale are included but none repeated? (Traditional terminology calls such a set a 12-tone aggregate.)

    three sets make a row

    Constellations a) and c) are different “chord voicing” of the same scale pattern, 2 4 2 . Both scale patterns and all three interval stacks are symmetrical. And they all contain two 6-semitone “tritones,” giving the whole succession the tritone’s quality of ambiguity and the character of the succession a feeling of mystery.

    Altering arrays

    Similarity of interval patterns can build coherence in a stream of constellations. Beyond functional common-practice harmony, this is a kind of process that composers of the 20th century and today can use to create a “new tonality”.

    Possible operations to transform an interval array into a closely related array:

    OPEN — Expand an interval by an octave, adding 12 semitones

    FUSE — Join two adjacent intervals to make a larger interval, the sum of their sizes

    DELETE — Remove an interval, shortening the stack’s height

    SUBDIVIDE — Insert a pitch to divide an interval into two smaller intervals, whose sum equals the original interval

    PROPOGATE — Append or insert an interval of a size already present into the stack

    INVERT — Reverse the registrar order of the stack — turn it upside down

    alteration examples

    There are operations that more significantly alter the character of the interval array.

    REDISTRIBUTE — Fuse two adjacent intervals into one larger interval then re-subdivide it into two different smaller intervals

    SHRINK / STRETCH — Alter one interval size by other than an octave, leaving others unchanged

    COMPRESS / EXPAND — Alter all intervals in the stack by adding or subtracting each by the same number of semitones, or multiplying each by a constant

    These alterations are listed in order, from the mildest alteration producing a similar array (redistribution) to the most dramatic producing a substantially different array, compression or expansion of the whole array (preserving little from the original but its symmetry). Here is an example employing these altering transformations.

    more alterations, with common-tone connections

    The other element of coherence in this example is the many common-tone connections between one chord and the next, establishing a slow-moving stability. Another example of the same interval stacks, same succession of alterations, but choosing transpositional level of each constellation to create as many 1-semitone voicing connections as possible (10 such voicing connections in the following example) makes the con stream’s sense of progressive change stronger.

    more alterations, with semitone connections

    Finally, another example etude, using this last constream . . .

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    Thomas S. Clark

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    9. LINE

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  • Mapping Music 7. HARMONY

    Some points of starlight are actually double stars or star clusters, as revealed through a sufficiently powerful telescope. Borrowing that term, one particular type of musical pitch constellation arising in the 20th century involves sounding adjacent scale steps together as a simultaneity.

    CLUSTER — a constellation presented harmonically consisting of adjacent scale steps separated by small scalar intervals of one or two semitones.

    If the intervals are one-semitone half-steps from the chromatic scale, the resulting harmony is intense, dark, dissonant. If the separating intervals are mostly whole steps, the quality can tend to be like bright glowing light.

    It turns out that the diatonic scale is rich with cluster possibilities.

    diatonic clusters

    The names are borrowed from the Greek names of modes. One cluster array that can be readily found throughout the octatonic scale but not possible within a diatonic scale is the 1 2 1 array, since the diatonic scale has no one-semitone intervals that close to each other. One other cluster array not found in the diatonic scale is the intense, gritty 1 1 1 chromatic-scale array described above.

    Harmonic constellations built from clusters can be still and radiant or animated by rhythmically active lines close together in pitch space. Here is a composed example that does both.

    Photons excerpt

    Symmetrical arrays

    Dorian and Lydian clusters are symmetrical. Their scale-pattern arrays — 2 1 2 and 2 2 2, respectively — are the same when inverted or reversed. Many other interesting pitch constellations have this property.

    Here is a sampling of other, taller symmetrical constellation arrays, reading the same from top to bottom as bottom to top:

    many symmetrical arrays

    Note that although each is a 4-pitch constellation, two of them (4 4 4 and 8 4 8) contain an octave and thus only three unique pitch classes.

    The example below explores the first four arrays listed above. The stacked interval array of 4d is: 7 4 7. Note too that this constellation contains two 11-semitone intervals (+7+4 and +4+7) — in example 4d C up to B and G up to F#; and one very large interval of 18 semitones, C up to F# in the higher octave.

    four symmetrical arrays

    Three of the four could be analyzed in triadic harmony: 1c as an Ab Major-Major 7th chord in first inversion; 2c as an A minor-minor 7th in first inversion, or a C Major triad with jazz added 6; and 4c as a C Major 11th chord with 3rd and 9th missing! And 3c could be seen as a rearranged voicing of a segment of the “Circle of Fifths”! Obviously, I don’t recommend such contortions of traditional harmonic analysis to explain these beautiful, symmetrical constellations.

    Each constellation’s successive-interval array, its stack, is symmetrical under mirror-inversion or palindromic — that is, its interval stack reads the same lowest-to-highest or highest-to-lowest: 7 1 7 and 7 4 7 are two of my favorite constellation stacks.

    These interval stacks were chosen here for two of my particular interests. Each features the “Perfect-5th” 7-semitone interval at top or bottom, with a smaller interval in the middle. The Perfect 5th has a stable, rooted quality, but with two “roots” in the harmony, the overall stability of the sonority is compromised — complex yet balanced. It is like a “double star” in astronomy, to further pursue my constellation metaphor.

    Acoustic quality

    We started with clusters, sonorities that would be traditionally considered highly dissonant. To assess a constellation’s quality or sound character, we will transition from the concept of consonance and dissonance to an assessment of acoustical complexity.

    When two pitches sound together, they make a harmonic interval, but also their distinct overtone series are interacting. In the purer sounding intervals, this interaction is mainly a closely compatible one, with some overtones matching. An example, take a Perfect 5th, C up to G. Their overtones are:

    overtone match for a Perfect Fifth

    The matching or interfering overtones make more of a difference with the lowest partials, as the higher overtones are fainter and fainter higher up in the series. So the c’ 4th partial of C interferes with the 5th partial b’ of the G overtones; but that interference is fainter than the lower g-to-g match. This gets scientifically and mathematically complex to calculate, as we will tackle in a while below.

    For now, the ancient classification for counterpoint is accurate enough to adapt: Perfect Consonance, Imperfect Consonance, Dissonance . . . though I will distinguish between mild dissonance and strong dissonance.

    PERFECT CONSONANCE — intervals P8, P5 and P4 (12, 7 and 5 semitones) — “pure”

    IMPERFECT CONSONANCE — intervals of major and minor 3rds and 6ths (3, 4, 8 or 9 semitones) — “triadic”

    MILD DISSONANCE — intervals 2 semitones different in size from a unison, octave, or double octave (2, 10, 14, 22, 26 semitones) and the tritone (6 semitones)

    We can use these distinctions to come up with an assessment of the general harmonic complexity of a constellation’s intervals.

    PURE — containing no intervals except perfect consonances

    SIMPLE — containing no mild or strong dissonances

     MODERATE COMPLEXITY — containing at least one mild dissonance but no strong dissonance

    STRONGLY COMPLEX — containing at least one strong dissonance

    Examples of increasing complexity:

    It is important to note that strongly complex does not mean “unpleasantly dissonant.” The Major-Major 7th chord in this category (C E G B) is quite a beautiful harmony. And the last two complex examples, quartal and quintal chords, are the sturdy mainstay of 20th-century American composers such as Copland.

    In a recorded excerpt of Tyshawn Sorey’s Pulitzer Prize-winning Adagio (2023) for saxophone and orchestra, beautiful sonorities are quietly complex, tensely dissonant, dark and mysterious in their lyric unfolding. Like dark clouds, some morph to reveal brighter sounds, even simple triads. While there is no sense of any “chord progression,” there is a feeling of impending change in the air.

    Listen:

    Tyshawn Sorey – Adagio

    [YouTube]

    Tonal color

    In notes on a recent composition, Frost Serenade, I described “changing tonal temperature.” Here is a deep dive into what that meant.

    The metaphor of tonal color and temperature has to do with what we normally call consonance and dissonance in a chord or other harmonic entity. Centuries-old tradition classified musical pitch-intervals as pure, perfect consonances (“Perfect Fifth” and “Perfect Octave” for example); major or minor (exp. “Major Third” or “minor Sixth”); or problematic (“Augmented Fourth” and “diminished Fifth”). Some major and minor intervals (thirds and sixths) were considered imperfect consonances; the others (seconds and sevenths) were considered dissonant. Every music student learns these categories while studying 16th-century model counterpoint.

    Using the color spectrum in temperature order:

    harmonic color spectrum

    Let’s convert the consonance/dissonance concept, going back to a pitch-interval’s acoustic complexity. Reviewing what was explained above: every musical tone has a fundamental pitch, plus faint overtones that give the sound its color. They are of fading intensity and felt (as color) more than actually heard as distinct pitches. Discovered by Pythagoras as partial vibrations in whole-number fractions, the overtones are always in a fixed interval ladder, rising from the fundamental: Up an octave, then a Perfect Fifth, then a Perfect Fourth, a Major third, minor third, then to the eccentric seventh partial, which is out of tune by our scale-trained pitch perception (and shown a pale gray below), and on to the eighth partial, which is three octaves above the fundamental. (An octave is a multiply-by-2 operator, so partials 2, 4, 8, and 16 of the C overtone series are also the pitch-class C. Likewise, partials 3, 6, and 12 are all octave related.)

    Two different fundamental pitches sounding together each bring into the acoustical mix their distinct overtones. The overtones from one either match (simple) or clash with (complex) overtones of the other. This is what makes the sonic complexity or perceived purity of the interval between two fundamental pitches. Using this relationship, we theorize that the higher we need to go to start finding matching overtones between the two pitches, the more complex is the interval. Following this logic, here is an overtone-match analysis of all harmonic intervals smaller than an octave. (We’ll show these horizontally to fit better what would otherwise be very tall slender graphics!) Each interval is shown from a fundamental pitch C up to a higher pitch.

    PERFECT CONSONANCES

    overtone match for perfect consonances

    The rather pure Perfect Fifth interval between fundamental pitches, C up to G, matches overtones at G’s partial 2, a low level in the series, matching the C’s partial 3. The interval makes four such matches in this lowest-two-octaves span. The pitch match up of the G’s 2nd partial with the C’s 3rd partial (both are the same pitch, G) will be duplicated in all higher octaves, making this an acoustically simple interval. The two pitches’ overtones mostly match and don’t interfere with each other much.

    IMPERFECT CONSONANCES

    overtone match for imperfect consonances

    The triadic consonant Major 3rd interval between fundamental pitches, C up to E, matches overtones at a somewhat higher level in the series, partial 4, and makes two matches in this lowest-two-octaves comparison.

    DISSONANCES

    overtone match for dissonances

    The dissonant minor 7th interval between fundamental pitches, C up to Bb, matches overtones makes only one match in this lowest-two-octaves comparison, at partial 5. That means its harmonic quality is more complex, with most of the lower overtones interfering, not matching. Not a strong dissonance, but more complex than the others.

    By contrast, with the more complex Major Seventh interval (ex. C up to B), you have to go all the way up three octaves to the B’s 8th partial (matching the C’s 15th partial!) to find an overtone that matches and doesn’t conflict/interfere. The Major 7th interval can be considered much more complex at a rating of 8 than a Perfect 5th at rating 2.

    The most complex interval analyzed, the minor 2nd, clashes all the way up until the 15th partial.

    A colorful summary depiction of this Pythagorean analysis of harmonic intervals looks rather like a modern-day sound mixing board.

    overtone matching for 13 intervals

    Summarizing the analysis with a complexity rating number for each interval:

    interval complexity ratings

    Now we can add up the ratings of each interval in a chord and take an average complexity quotient. And we can think of complex as darker than simple, or we can invoke the color spectrum. In digital photo imaging, we use a temperature metaphor, seeing red as warmest (infrared heat) down through orange, yellow, green, down to blue, the coolest. The “hottest,” most complex harmonic interval is the minor 2nd. The “coolest,” purest (other than the octave) is the Perfect 5th.

    The intervals in the following example are shown in semitones. Each chord has four pitch classes and six intervals between them. The Blue chord has an average complexity rating of 3.8. Green chord is slightly more complex, at 4.3. Yellow, which includes the more complex 11-semitone Major 7ths, rates 5.5. And Orange, with the only minor 2nd 1-semitone hot dissonance, is warmest at 6.2. Try to hear the differences. (No attempt here to demonstrate the red-hot complexity of 10 or higher for a cluster chord!)

    examples of four temperatures

    The following demonstration phrase uses hose four chord types to build a progression of tonal temperature colors. Again, as you listen, try to feel the temperature warm up then cool back down.

    color change demonstration

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    Thomas S. Clark

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    Continue reading Mapping the Music Universe:

    8. TONALITY

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  • Mapping Music 6. CHORDS

    Pursuing our grand space metaphor, here is an important new term:

    CONSTELLATION — a group of pitches occurring in a perceived relationship, either vertical (a chord simultaneity), horizontal (a segment of a melodic line), or diagonal, a combined collection of pitches from various lines sounding in temporal proximity.

    This is intentionally a broadly inclusive concept. Larry Austin and I first coined the term in our 1989 book, Learning to Compose. A constellation can be any number of pitches, but those of three to six pitches are most manageable to analyze, categorize, and manipulate.

    In Mapping Music 5. SCALES, we explored pitch classes (all the D’s in any octave, for example). For now, let’s not go there. A constellation can be very tall, spanning even five octaves, or very narrow, as in three or four close-together pitches well within one octave. (As a chord, we might call these a “cluster.”)

    Common names for types of pitch grouping, “sonority,” “chord,” “harmony,” “melodic motive,” “arpeggio,” or “chord voicing” will all be considered manifestations of a pitch constellation.

    Jennifer Higdon’s 2007 work, Percussion Concerto, driven by rhythmic vitality, romps through a dazzling variety of pitch constellations. Most are more complex sonorities consisting of 4 different pitches, drawn from diatonic scales but extending beyond the basic triads of the scale’s traditional harmony.

    Jennifer Higdon – Percussion Concerto (2007)

     

    Interval arrays

    NOTE: In place of traditional interval names, which literally don’t add up, we will consistently measure every interval by how many chromatic semitones (half-steps) it spans.

    When pitches of a constellation are considered out of time, like a chord, and rearranged from lowest to highest, we can study their harmonic structure. The stack of intervals makes a successive interval array of semitones from lowest to next, on up to the top.

    For example, the following line of four pitches, in order E – B – C – D, rearranged lowest to highest, yields C  –  D  –  B  –  E. Its interval stack =  2  9  5. (Going back to 5. SCALES, the four pitch classes can be derived from the set / diatonic scale-pattern 1 2 2.)

    sample constellation 2 9 5

    This constellation’s particular pitch-pattern shape shows a stack of successive intervals from lowest to highest: 2 9 5.

    INTERVAL ARRAY — stack of intervals that identifies the constellation’s particular intervallic shape in vertical pitch space, listing the successive, additive upward intervals from lowest to highest pitch

    Note: I tend to use “interval stack” and “successive upward interval array” interchangeably. If we wanted an acronym, how about Successive Upward Interval Series Stack — SUISS? No, maybe Vertical Interval Array — VIA? But vertical is not quite right, as the pitches might occur in musical context diagonally in 2-D pitch-time space and only be vertical when theoretically aligned as a chord stack. So let’s stick with interval array — and since conventional music theory doesn’t use the word for anything else, let’s just call it an ARRAY.

    The constellation above also contains a “Major 7th” 11-semitone interval (+2+9=11), C up to B; a 14-semitone Major 9th, D up to E; and one very large interval of 16 semitones, C up to E in the next higher octave.

    sample constellation 2 9 5

    Below is a sample etude made with just this one 4-pitch constellation and its transpositions (bars 4-6 two semitones down), all with the same interval stack, 2 9 5, or its upside-down inversion, 5 9 2 (bars 12-14 bass clef).

    Pisces etude

    The etude is based on this 2 9 5 array. Bars 11 through 14 in the right hand are a constellation with a slightly altered array: ascending F# G# E A = interval stack 2 8 5, transformed from 2 9 5 by shrinking the middle interval of the stack by one semitone. Why? Sticking with 2 9 5 would have made e# or f and then b-flat on the top, not such great counterpoint against the b-natural in the lower line. And why not? The minor-9th interval A up to B-flat, 13 semitones, is a particularly gritty, unpleasant dissonance.

    One example with pitch classes would be [F B E], in which F up to B is 6 semitones, B up to E is 5 semitones, and F up to E is 11 semitones. This example with all three pitch classes drawn from a C major scale illustrates that [6 5] is correctly shown in white as a diatonic pattern, despite the fact that it is not commonly used as a harmony in common-practice tonal music other than as a Mahler-style suspension.

    In the table below, each column groups stacks of the same height – each stack also forms a larger interval (not shown) that is the sum of the adjacency intervals shown.    For example, reading bottom up, the stack 6 5 also forms an 11-semitone interval, the stack’s total height. All 3-pitch-class interval stacks:

    3-pitch interval-stack arrays

    It may be helpful to see example pitches on a staff illustrating all these possibilities. Each line below shows a family, one Forte set class: first Forte’s “best normal order” with example pitches, then their chord voicings with stacked-interval sizes; then the set’s inverse, if there is a unique one.

    Here the color shadings denote special degrees of interval complexity: RED = sharply dissonant; ORANGE and YELLOW = mildly dissonant; GREEN = minor and major triads; BLUE = quartal/quintal chords of P4 and P5 intervals.

    3-pitch arrays, families 1-6

    3-pitch arrays, families 7-12

    As with scale-pattern maps, these maps and their notated lists represent the entire chromatic universe of possible constellations within a two-octave range. Each could be expanded by adding an octave to any stacked interval. And of course, each can become a line, a chord, or a temporal proximity of pitches in a texture.

    © 2026 – All Rights Reserved

    Thomas S. Clark

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    Continue reading Mapping the Music Universe:

    6. CHORDS

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  • Mapping Music 5. SCALES

    What is a scale? Its essence is an interval pattern, selecting which pitches out of the entire chromatic possibilities become scale steps. Successive interval arrays are a vivid way to describe its pattern:

    SCALE PATTERN — periodic interval pattern that cycles through each octave, defining which pitch-classes from the 12 possibilities are degrees of the scale

    In that sense, it is a theoretical circle, starting over in each octave — or more imaginatively, a spiral. Let’s visualize the natural-note white keys on the keyboard, a prime example of the ubiquitous diatonic scale, as a circle.

    diatonic scale circle

    Now an unlooped visualization as stair steps, rungs on a spiral ladder:

    diatonic scale cycling through three octaves

    Anyone familiar with the white and black keys of a piano will recognize this pattern!

    Chroma

    Almost all scales in both Western music and other art-music traditions are built on the framework of octave equivalence, the close affinity of two pitches that are one or more octaves apart. We give them the same pitch name – all called “C” or “F#” for example. This makes the circular nature of a scale, that its pitch names and the intervals between them start over at the octave and repeat.

    We also have the feature on an equal-tempered piano that one black key produces a pitch with two possible names depending on the scale in which they appear. For example, the D# seventh scale degree in an E Major scale is the same piano key as an Eb, the fourth scale degree in a Bb Major scale. The two pitch names are said to be “enharmonic.”

    When a melodic line in an all-white-key C major scale introduces an F# for color or to temporarily alter the interval terrain, we call it a chromatic tone, after the Greek word for color, chroma. Now we have a comprehensive scale of all possible pitches. Going further, theorist Allen Forte defined  a way to reduce all the pitches in an entire eight-octave chromatic pitch space into just twelve categories:

    PITCH CLASS — a set of all pitches that are octave and/or enharmonically related

    He gave them pitch-class numbers 0 through 11.

    chromatic scale

    In the advent of computer systems to produce, edit, and analyze musical sound, a sound’s identified pitch class is termed its chroma.  

    Synesthesia – some people, such as the composer Scriabin, actually see a color when they hear a pitch or a tonal key. In his variant of synesthesia, C is red, G is orange, D yellow, and A green. Scriabin’s Promethius: The Poem of Fire (1910) includes a part for “clavier à lumières,” a color organ that emitted light of what he deemed the appropriate color for a pitch instead of sound.  

    Scale prototypes

    When we describe a scale, we name the pitches in order within an octave. Better yet, we name the successive intervals going up within the octave. The classic description of the ubiquitous diatonic scale, in whole-steps or half-steps, in its major mode starting on the tonic pitch, is:

    whole / whole / half / whole / whole / whole / half

    [octave repeats the cycle]

    Or in British terms:

    tone / tone / semitone / tone / tone / tone / semitone

    In the chromatic 12-tone universe, that scale pattern measuring the intervals in semitone sizes would be:

    2 2 1 2 2 2 1

    That is what I would call a scale pattern . . . a Successive Upward Interval Sequence in Semitones (SUISS!). But let’s call it a scale pattern array, working exactly like the arrays describing constellations.

    Now we can particularize our scale pattern definition to apply to any smaller set of pitch classes, even if they don’t look like a scale:

    SCALE ARRAY — successive interval array describing the pitches of a constellation condensed by octave equivalence to their most compact pitch-class-equivalent arrangement within an octave, ordered lowest-to-highest (Forte’s “normal order”)

    In this sense, the array of a smaller set or scale fragment is just like a scale pattern.

    Successive Interval array is a versatile tool that can apply to any pitch collection, to a linear, scalar pitch pattern as well as to a vertical chord sonority or even an arpeggiated diagonal collection of pitches I call a constellation.

    Modes

    Most of our familiar scales are actually a different mode of the same 7-note diatonic scale, with a different starting and ending point called a tonic establishing the mode.

    scale modes

    Scale patterns / set classes

    We can describe a set of pitches as an octave-compressed abstraction of 3 or 4 pitches as a lowest-to-highest ordering of pitch classes. It doesn’t produce anything like the 7 or so notes per octave we’re used to thinking of as a scale, as those shown above. It is conceptually powerful, nonetheless, to call the successive interval array of this compressed abstraction a scale pattern, even though it’s a scale fragment with no name. Its name can simply be the successive interval array, such as 2 4 2, the array describing a symmetrical pitch-class set called the French Augmented Sixth chord.

    [Theoretical aside] In establishing set theory, Forte described these compact arrangements by naming the pitch-classes in order using a mod-12 number system shown above, C=0, C#/Db=1, D=2, etc. He identified twelve 3-note classes, including upside-down inversions reversing the scale pattern, as members of the same class. (Lewin kept these inversions separate, defining instead nineteen 3-note set classes. We’ll use Forte’s; the set classes as generalities are not as crucial to composing as to theoretical analysis.) Forte used cumbersome descriptions employing pitch-class numbers and “normal order.” In the Journal of Music Theory 15 (1971), Richard Chrisman defined and proposed successive interval arrays as a better, more revealing way to characterize the commonality of a family of pitch-class sets that are all related by transposition and/or inversion.

    Relating to Forte’s concept of a set class, any set grouping three pitch-classes can be analyzed as an interval array or partial scale pattern.  

    scale patterns of all 3-pitch-class sets

    Sets forming triads (or seventh chords below) are highlighted in BLUE; those that are atonal (cannot be found in a diatonic scale) are highlighted in GOLD.

    While the number of possible interval arrays for constellations of four pitches is enormous — even if limited to interval stack sizes less than two octaves, there are more than 12,000 possibilities — we can use this scale-pattern abstraction tool to categorize them into forty-three 4-pitch-class families. 

    scale patterns of all 4-pitch-class sets

    The blue-highlighted scale patterns have common triadic chord names:

    • 1 4 3 = “Major Major 7th chord” (in any chord inversion)
    • 3 2 3 = “minor minor 7th chord” (in any chord inversion)
    • 3 3 2 = “dominant 7th chord” (in any chord inversion)
    • 3 3 3 = “fully diminished 7th chord”

    The scale pattern 2 4 2 is an interesting symmetrical, non-diatonic pattern called a “French augmented 6th chord”.

    Vocabulary

    These maps collecting 62 scale-patterns summarize all possible constellations of 3 or 4 unique pitches, our total harmonic vocabulary in the chromatic universe.

    © 2026 – All Rights Reserved

    Thomas S. Clark

    TClarkArtMusic.com 

  • Mapping Music 4. TUNING

    “To understand the Universe,

    you must understand the language in which it’s written,

    the language of Mathematics.”

    — Stephen Hawking

    Galileo revolutionized astronomy, in part by using a new tool: the telescope.

    Schoenberg revolutionized harmony by evolving an existing concept, the chromatic scale, into a new tool: the 12-tone scale, and devised a new compositional tool of the 12-tone row.

    Allen Forte took Schoenberg’s ideas to another level of abstraction: defining Pitch Class and applying basic math to the 12-tone universe.

    Chrisman focused on the interval essence of pitch patterns: defining the “successive interval array.”

    I am merely another explorer using their maps but choosing my own creative path. In doing so, I will define some of my own terms, while adapting and clarifying some established terms that fit what I’m thinking and expressing.

    From Tuning to Tonality

    We think of traditional common-practice Tonality of the 17th through 19th centuries being synonymous with the major and minor scales. But there’s more to traditional common-practice Tonality than just the scale. Here are the four basic factors that determine any tonal design:

    SOURCE SCALEHARMONIC TYPETONAL CENTER
    ancient modeperfect intervalsfixed by mode
    Major / minortriadmodulatory shifting
    extended chromaticextended triadpolytonal centers
    exotic / syntheticnon-triadestablished contextually
    12-tonediversenone

    tonal design factors

    As you can see, there is much to explore: scales, modes, intervals, consonance . . .

    Tuning

    Taking the overtone series and partial vibrations as a natural acoustical model, Pythagoras identified pitch intervals as simple integer ratios of lengths of a vibrating string. The same ratios describe frequency ratios.

    fundamental pitch C and overtones

    For example, what we call a Perfect Fifth, the interval of the Third Partial to the Second Partial of a natural overtone series, is a 3:2 ratio. Such natural tuning is always employed by orchestras, bands, and a cappella choirs.

    • Octave = 2:1
    • Perfect 5th = 3:2
    • Perfect 4th = 4:3
    • Major 3rd = 5:4
    • Minor 3rd = 6:5
    • Major 6th = 5:3
    • Minor 6th = 8:5
    • Major 2nd = 9:8

    This approach requires, however, that intonation be constantly adjusted as the key changes or tonal context shifts. For a keyboard that can’t make those adjustments, the fixed tuning devised in the 18th century, called Equal Temperament, compromises the Perfect Fifth, shrinking it from a 1.5 ratio to 1.498307 so that it and all other intervals are very slightly but equally mis-tuned in every possible key or tonal context. The ratio for a semitone is derived mathematically from the 12th root of 2: 1.059643094. That ratio, multiplied by itself 12 times, results in 2.000, the ratio of the octave.

    comparing tuning systems

    While “chromatic” historically meant extending a key with accidentals — temporary extra sharps or flats — now we refer to the 12-half-step scale as the chromatic scale. Two pitch names for the same piano key — C-sharp or D-flat — are said to be enharmonic and considered equivalent, almost interchangeable.

    Equal Temperament became the basis for the 20th-century system of 12 equal semitones per octave, the basis not only for all keyboard instruments but also for harmonic theory in the post-tonal world of 12-tone music. We should not forget, however, that choirs, orchestras and bands still use the purer natural tuning, even with music that has no key signature.

    Other tuning systems

    Long before equal temperament, the Chinese culture developed several systems. A fascinating history is described in Gene Jinsiong Cho’s monograph, LU-LU: A study of Its Historical, Acoustical and Symbolic Signification (Caves Books, Ltd., Taipei, 1989). Cho (a music theory professor colleague at the University of North Texas) explains the LU system from the Chin Dynasty, which extended beyond 12 increments in an octave as far as to the arcane realm of Jing fang’s sixty LU series.

    In the West and into the 20th century, two American composers experimented with microtonal tunings splitting the octave into finer increments than our 12 semitones.

    Working with American Lou Harrison, California composer Harry Partch (1901-1974) devised his own tuning system with 43 increments, described in Genesis of a Music (1947). The system necessitated invention of specialized percussion and string instruments to precisely intone the sounds, which felt exotic both in tuning and sound quality.

    Harry Partch – Castor & Pollux (1952)

    University of Illinois professor Ben Johnston (1926-2019) wrote music for standard orchestral string instruments using the ancient just intonations of Pythagorus. This involved specifying pitches microtonally slightly higher or lower than the equal-tempered standard pitch classes – a notational challenge of pitch-adjustment symbols.  

    Ben Johnston – String Quartet No. 7 (1984)

    In the 21st century, Japanese composer norokusi has produced a broad catalog of microtonal music, apparently using a 17-increment division of the octave.

    norokusi – Piano Sonata n.718 (2018) 17EDO/TET

    Such complex systems as described above never became mainstream. The vast bulk of 20th-century and now 21st-century music is based on the equal-tempered 12-increment system found on a well-tuned piano, with subtle adjustments by orchestral strings, wind bands and a cappella choirs to momentarily purify some sonorities.

    © 2026 – All Rights Reserved

    Thomas S. Clark

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    Continue reading Mapping the Music Universe:

    5. SCALES

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  • Mapping Music 3. CHANGE

    Harmonic rhythm is the pace at which chords change in common-practice tonal music. Often in songs or simpler instrumental music, the harmony changes periodically, like once every measure or every half-note or every beat. Even when the rate of chord change is this uniform, it often accelerates approaching a cadence at the end of a phrase or other sectional unit. Calculus suggests that there can be a change in the rate of change, a second-order differential. Beethoven offers something like this in his very late work, the String Quartet No. 16 Opus 135. Here is an excerpt from the Allegretto first movement:

    String Quartet Op. 135 Allegretto, mm. 25-48

    An analytic sketch of the harmonic-root-foundation bass line reveals that F major gives way in the first four bars to a tonicization of the dominant, C major, starting with its dominant, G major:

    The rate of chord change starts as every 4 beats, eventually quickening toward the end of the excerpt to a different chord every 8th-note — an eight-fold quickening of harmonic pace! As you listen again, notice if you feel this intensifying compression of events.

    Going deeper into the tonal groupings of these harmonies, the starting key of F Major gives way to various tonicizations of G, then C. Here is a reductive sketch showing the durations of these tonicizations.

    Op.135 excerpt harmonic reduction

    Since this section is 24 measures long, it could have been composed as three equal 8-measure periods. Instead, the middle-ground tonal rhythm is surprisingly non-periodic, an irregular durational stream consisting of 8, 10, 10, 4, 7, 1, 1, 5, and 2 quarter-notes.

    Beethoven was beyond eccentric at this late point in his career; Op. 135 was the last work he ever completed. Yet the elasticity of harmonic rhythm found in it is a hallmark of his earlier styles as well.

    Beyond meter

    Arising in the middle of the 20th century, highly complex, elastic rhythms began to be composed, in which every durational value was different and notes or events do not group into periodic measures or phrases. An example composed in 1971 is an elegy that makes a conscious effort to avoid articulating periodic beats or falling into groups of notes of periodic duration.

    Meter signatures are present only for notational purposes and change four times in the passage. Only four of the 22 notes fall “on the beat” and only three of those articulate a downbeat.

    Since the note values are so slightly or drastically different, we can measure each duration from the start of a note to the start of the next note as a multiple of fine “time particles” each one-twelfth of a quarter-note. The durational stream is blatantly non-periodic: 30, 12, 44, 8, 14, 6, 21, 9, 31, etc. The rhythmic range of the first four measures is higher than 7, rhythmic variety at 9. The next three measures have a higher rhythmic range of more than 11 and rhythmic variety of 8 (due to the 9-particle dotted 8th-notes that occur five times).

    Beyond a mathematical comparison, a time graph mapping the durations reveals to the eye no periodicity, no perceived meter or regular conforming rhythmic pattern.

    Elegy rhythm graphed

    The rhythm floats above or beyond meter or pulse in a dreamlike, elastic stream. [From Night Songs (1971)]

    Free time

    Defeating the notated meter in this way, by avoiding beats and periodic, conforming note values, was developed to free a stream of events from periodic pulse, thus freeing the listener’s sense of time flow – free time itself. The logical next step, developed concurrently in mid-20th century, was to remove meter entirely as even a notational necessity. Just like the time graphs we have been using to visualize timing of events, a horizontal, proportional scale (such as one half-inch equals one second of time) enables the horizontal placement and spacing of notes on a staff to suggest visually subtly different durations, both of sustained sounds and the time spacing from one event to another.

    Spatial notation

    Spatial notation — non-metric representation of time by proportional horizontal spacing of notes

    After “Elegy,” the first movement of the unaccompanied trombone piece Night Songs, the third movement, “Somniloquy,” was originally notated in this manner – what came to be known as “spatial time.”

    Somniloquy notated spatially

    In his one partially preserved manuscript, On Time, the Greek philosopher Heraclitus wrote about “the unity of opposites” and “flux,” meaning change. “It is not possible to step into the same river twice.” He also imagined that the cosmos is shaped as an enormous vortex of fire.

    That image ignited musical sparks in my imagination for the third movement of my early solo piano work, Geography of the Chronosphere (1975), subtitled “Heraclitean Vortex.”

    The score, in non-metric spatial notation, articulates explosive bursts of notes separated by irregular spans of reverberation.

    Heraclitean Vortex excerpt

    An analytic graph of loudness shows these bursts occurring at unpredictable time intervals, in moments (not so much phrases) of varying length, from 3 to 11 seconds.

    time graph of 11 moments in Heraclitean Vortex excerpt

    Prime time

    Meter, as a periodic grouping of beats, almost always involves groups of two, three, or multiples of these factors. We call them duple meters if the groups are multiples of two, triple meter if multiples of three. Likewise, subdivisions of beats are usually subdivided into twos, threes, or multiples. Sixteenth-notes divide by two to the fourth power.

    A prime number is defined as having no integer (whole number) factors other than one and itself. In metric structure, prime numbers, with no sub-grouping factors of two or three, are more complex – 5 8 or 7 4 time for example. A musical stream that avoids metric regularity can be built with the interaction of prime number series. When repeated periodic streams of note values equivalent to 5, 7, 11 or 13 smaller time values (such as eighth-notes or sixteenth-notes) interact in time, layers of rhythm will seldom strike notes together to make a contrapuntal accent that feels like a downbeat.

    Here is a map illustrating this potential for non-metric independence:

    repeating prime numbers interact

    The bottom row of numbers shows rhythmic values of the composite rhythm, time points marked by an attack of a sound in one strand. If the streams start together as shown, they don’t all come together again until after 5,005 time-units. If each time-unit were a sixteenth-note duration, that would be after 312 four-four measures!

    This is the hidden rhythmic scheme for Night Sky, layers of pitched sounds that don’t synchronize into any meter or composite periodicity. Though not regular and certainly not metric with a pulse, time points are not at all random. Listening to it while not looking at the score’s notational details, pay attention to the way in which the sounds mark points in the flow of time – as stars mark light points in the night sky.

    Night Sky score

    A direct photographic rendering of the middle system of the score illustrates the non-metric, asynchronous timing of note events in a broad texture of sounds. 

    Night Sky score abstracted

    Do stars make spatial patterns? Of course, that’s what our fanciful constellation names are all about. But are those patterns regular, metric, periodic, symmetrical? No – that is part of their magic, a magic that can be metaphorically translated into floating musical time. 

    Beyond Time

    From the classical tradition of Beethoven’s accelerating harmonic rhythm, we jump finally to the very modern stretching of time itself. Einstein explained gravity as the stretching of “Space/Time.” From composers such as Cage and Feldman in the ‘50s, we experience isolated events, moments of sound separated by extended pause. No pulse drives the clockwork of time; it stretches immeasurably into contemplation. Listen.

    Lei Liang, My Windows (2007)

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  • Mapping Music 2. RHYTHM

    Rhythm is a stream of event durations. Often repetitive but potentially elastic, rhythm can be steady, as a simple march, or volatile, as a melody that hovers, trots, then suddenly starts running.

    Defining some basic terms:

    TIME POINT — a precise moment in time marking the beginning of a span of time extending until a comparable event marks the next time point

     TIME SPAN — the duration of time from one point to the next point marking a comparable event

     STREAM — a series of events formed by the elements of consecutive groups

     PERIODIC — a stream of events whose elements exhibit equivalent time spans

     PULSE — ungrouped periodic time marking in a speed of about 48 to 1,000 per minute (above 1000 per minute becomes pitch)

     METER — a nested hierarchy of periodic streams of of time points

    Nested means that two or more time-spans at a quicker level are synchronized with the next longer durational level. Two eighth-notes “fit” within the metric time-span of one quarter-note, for example. Meter creates the perception/expectation of events happening at periodic time points on more than one level of speed/duration.

    BEAT — pulse that constitutes the primary level of a meter’s hierarchy, the connector between both quicker subdivided and slower grouped levels

    PACE — general quickness / slowness of rhythmic activity in a line or whole fabric

    HYPERMEASURE — extension of metric hierarchy grouping measures, typically in two- or three-measure units

    PHRASE — grouping of molecules, shapes, motives, chord changes, etc. in a coherent stream, typically the length of the human breath

     PERIOD — grouping of phrases, typically concluded with a significant harmonic cadence and/or melodic sense of arrival

    Pulse and Beat

    Underneath the sense of a beat, pulse is primordial periodicity – clapping hands, stomping feet, banging rocks, running strides – features we inherit from our primitive musical ancestry and still use to organize our musical actions.

    Susie Ibarra – Sky Islands (2025)

    A rapid pulse can drive music with frenetic motion. Much of jazz relies on this power source. The tension between a fast, steady pulse vs. unpredictable accents (syncopations) and other turbulence generates energy and excitement.

    SYNCOPATION — an accent not synchronized with the beats, or a note length shifted from its regular metric starting point

    Listen to how a relentless, fast pulse drives this music.

    Julia Wolfe – Believing (2012)

    Rhythm makes meter, Meter drives rhythm

    Rhythm first generates meter by marking periodic time points at different levels of speed. The marking is just the moment of initiation of each note but also accents, chord changes, etc. at broader time levels. As a great example, let’s use a famous theme from a piece nicknamed for a planet:

    Jupiter Symphony theme

    This melody first establishes periodicity of half-notes but nothing shorter for a while. This could be any duple meter. Once we hear these first four equal notes, we tend to perceive them as two pairs, establishing the whole-note measure-level meter. We feel the time point that begins the third measure on two levels of periodicity even though no note happens to mark it. In this third measure, eighth-notes then divide those half-note time spans into four parts. In the middle of measure 3, a quarter-note fills in the missing level of meter. Finally, in the last beat of the measure, a burst of sixteenth-notes establishes the fourth, quickest periodicity of the nested hierarchy. This example extends the hierarchy to show 2-bar hypermeasures in a 4-bar phrase.

    Once the tune repeats, our sense of that nested hierarchy of speeds is in full cognitive play. While jumping from metric level to level, half-notes to eighth-notes to quarter-notes then 16th-notes, the melodic rhythm undergoes a compression of pace, moving from longer rhythmic values to quicker and quickest, while the Allegro tempo does not change.

    More definitions

     

    CYCLE — the duration of equivalent time spans in a periodic stream of events

     ELEMENT — a point and following time span of an event or group of events, relating to other consecutive elements to form a group at a broader (slower) level of time

    COMPRESSION — an element of a group or stream is a shorter span than the previous element

    Example: rhythm changing from half-notes to quarter-notes to eighth-notes, compression of pace.

     EXPANSION — opposite of compression, elements of a group or stream are longer spans than previous elements

     ACCELERATION — consistent successive small compressions of beat or pulse

    PROPORTION — relationship of time spans expressed as a ratio, reduced to smallest-possible integers (whole numbers)

     RHYTHMIC GROUP — consecutive related elements, with a point of initiation and accumulated durational span

     RHYTHMIC RANGE — ratio of longest duration to the shortest

    In the Mozart Jupiter example above, the rhythmic range is 1:1 conformity for the first two bars, then 4:1 with three different note values in the third and fourth bars.)

    RHYTHMIC VARIETY — number of different note values in a stream of notes

    In the Mozart Jupiter example above, the rhythmic variety is 4 (halfs, quarters, eighths, sixteenths).

    Stress and accent

    Classic poetry classifies each syllable grouping (a “foot”) in a line of poetry according to which syllable in the grouping is stressed or longer length (agogic stress). (The last, a “reversibrach,” is my addition to complete the set of possibilities for musical purposes.)

    Metric “feet” in poetry

    Rhythmic molecules, groupings of two or more notes, can be similarly characterized, though with more stress possibilities:

    • Strength (accent) stress
    • Length (agogic) stress
    • Metric stress (strong beat vs. weak beat; on the beat vs. off-beat)

    A molecule can have one stress pattern in accent contradicting a different stress pattern in length or metric placement. Another familiar Mozart example: the opening themes of the first movement of Mozart’s Symphony No. 40 in G Minor. The first theme is fast (allegro) but steady (low elasticity).

    Symphony No.40 1st theme

    Analyzed as three rhythmic molecules:

    Three quick, predictable anapests, in which the longer, metrically-accented note is precisely the same length as the pair of shorter notes that lead to it. It also shows a narrow rhythmic range, 2:1, and little rhythmic variety, with only two rhythmic values, the eighth-note and quarter-note.

    Now the contrasting second theme, a soaring oboe line, highly elastic in rhythm.

    Symphony No.40 2nd theme

    This phrase launches with a long trochee, beginning-stressed in both length and metric placement. This rhythm uses four different note values, the longest of which is 12 times the length of the shortest. The first note sounds stretched, like an elastic band that is then released after the third note, unleashing the quick notes that scamper to the last.

    This is just a glimpse on the micro-level of rhythmic contrasts and a temporal elasticity that propels the exciting roller-coaster allegro opening of this great symphony. All our perceptual and gestalt faculties are engaged in a grand game of play with time.

    Molecules

    Here are the opening notes of three famous 20th-century unaccompanied flute pieces, by Debussy, Varese, and Berio, respectively.

    Each uses a three-pitch motive that, when analyzed as a pitch-class set, is a segment of the chromatic scale.

    • Syrinx: A Bb B = +1 +1 semitones chromatic scale pattern
    • Density 21.5: E F F# = +1 +1 semitones, same scale pattern
    • Sequenza: G G# A = same +1 +1 chromatic scale pattern (G displaced by an octave)

    Shown above in their chronological order of writing, it is likely that one influenced the next, and it the next in a chain of evolving variation. While this shared pitch-class-set characteristic is the usual basis for comparison, it is also interesting to compare the rhythmic molecules of their generating motives.

    Syrinx starts with a clear front-stressed dactyl, repeated then echoed in bar 2.

    The Density 21.5 motive is more complicated. Its opening three notes, from a short/long durational standpoint, is an end-stressed anapest. But the first note, though short, has the metric accent, being the only note of the three written on a beat. That first note is also emphasized by the tenuto mark. Those accent factors point toward a front-stressed dactyl like Syrinx. The next three notes starting with the C# are a more ambiguous stress shape.

    The opening three notes of Sequenza have no clear metric or dynamic accent difference; they are all strong. But by duration, the third note is “longer” in effect in the time stream (agogic stress), as the silent time after it, before the next note comes along,is longer. Also the third pitch, G, is much higher, giving it a registral or contour accent. This 3-note molecule is an end-stressed anapest.

    In all three pieces, however, the sense of simple repetition of matching poetic feet is not established or maintained. It is more productive to understand throughout each piece how rhythmic range and variety expand and contract and pace intensifies or subsides.

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    Thomas S. Clark

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  • Mapping Music 1. TIME

    “If you want to find the secrets of the universe,

    think in terms of energy, frequency, and vibration.”

    (Nikola Tesla)

    We start with time. Everything in music involves time, is of time, sound events occurring in our perceived flow of time.

    Sound itself is periodic vibration, a repetition of compression waves of energy in air (or water). Repetition of an event or series of events establishes a frequency of repetition and the period or cycle length, the elapsed time duration from each event’s starting time point (moment) to the starting point (moment) of its repetition.

    We perceive the frequency of air-compression waves as pitch if they are faster than 20 per second and slower than about 4,000. Frequency is typically measured in cycles per second, called Hertz. Non-periodic waves faster than about 20 Hz are perceived as noise. Events or time cycles slower than 20 Hz are perceived as pulses, tempo, rhythm, phrase structure, etc. At these slower sub-sonic event speeds, it is more convenient to identify the duration of the cycle, its period, than the frequency.

    Periodicity, this repetitive aspect of sound events in time, gives us a dimension to map all the possibilities, from extremely fast to almost frozen slowness, and from simple, highly regular repetitions to a very complex succession of variants.

    the periodic time/sound universe

    In this illustration, the Y-axis is speed/frequency (slowest at bottom, fastest on top), the X-axis is regularity of repetition (perfectly regular at left, randomly sporadic time spans at right). The blocks have sharp rectangular edges; if I were a better artist, the boundaries between descriptive categories would actually be curving and very blurred. Though the graph shows firm straight lines separating pitch and noise, there is actually a fuzzy, curving grayscale continuum from pure, simple pitch through complex, colorful pitched timbres to noise.

    Defining time

    What is time and how does it work in our lives and in the rhythms that are the fundamental “substance” of music? I say substance metaphorically, because time does not exist as any physical matter. It is a perceptual construct, a complex quilt stitched out of human experience.

    Discover magazine ran an article in June of 2007 titled, “Time May Not Exist”.

    “Efforts to understand time below the Planck scale have led to an exceedingly strange juncture in physics. The problem, in brief, is that time may not exist at the most fundamental level of physical reality. If so, then what is time? And why is it so obviously and tyrannically omnipresent in our own experience? ‘The meaning of time has become terribly problematic in contemporary physics,’ says Simon Saunders, a philosopher of physics at the University of Oxford. ‘The situation is so uncomfortable that by far the best thing to do is declare oneself an agnostic.’”

    The mysteries of time were explored as early as sixteen hundred years ago by the great Saint Augustine of Hippo, in Book XI of his deeply philosophical work, Confessions.

    “. . . What is time? Who can give that a brief or easy answer? Who can even form a conception of it to be put in words? Yet what do we mention more often or familiarly in our conversation than time? We must therefore know what we are talking about when we refer to it, or when we hear someone else doing so. But what, exactly, is that? [Book XI, Section 17]

    Nicholas Stratas’ thought-provoking article in the July 2007 issue of Wake County Physician, “Time – Continuous Yet Bidimensional” asserts that most of us have a firm concept of Past, Present, and Future. But defining them is challenging, and sorting out how these constructs interact in our consciousness even more so. Michael Spitzer, in The Musical Human (Bloomsbury Publishing, 2021), wrote:

    “Musical time is a window into time consciousness in general. We listen to music in the moment, sitting in the saddle of an ever-shifting Now, as the past whizzes by to become memory, and the present anticipates what is just around the corner. Music’s present tense is really a bundle of memories and anticipations . . .”

    Many years ago, I first read an article translated from Die Reihe, written by a preeminent avant-garde experimental composer, Karlheinz Stockhausen. “Structure and Experiential Time” described Stockhausen’s view that time does not flow uniformly through the experience of a serious musical composition. It ebbs and surges as the composer shapes not just the tempo but the flow of information in the form of repeated or new musical events, simple or complex musical structures.

    “When we hear a piece of music, processes of alteration follow each other at varying speeds; we have now more time to grasp alterations, now less.”

    Even tempo, a supposedly steady clock in most music, ebbs and flows. Computer music composers in synthesizing musical sounds have found that a mechanistically rigid clock tempo sounds artificial. Human musicians are constantly flexing tempo in subtle ways to convey almost subliminally where the music is “going” (another metaphor, that of travel through space).

    Saint Augustine recognizes the slippery challenge of measuring time:

    “ . . . We observe the different ways times lapse, and compare them, and call some longer and some shorter. . . . It is passing time we measure, as we experience it. . . . Time can only be measured as it passes. Once past, it is no longer there to be measured.” [Book XI, Section 21]

    “We measure time as it passes . . . . But how can we measure the present, when it has no extent of its own? . . . Time must be measured in something with extent . . . But in what extended thing do we measure time as it passes?” [Book XI, Section 27]

    “So time is measured, my mind, in you. Raise no clamor against me—I mean against yourself—out of your jostling reactions. I measure time in you . . . because I measure the reactions that things caused in you by their passage, reactions that remain when the things that occasioned them have passed on. . . . Time has to be these reactions for me to be able to measure it.” [Book XI, Section 36]

    Time perception

    Pulling all this together, I’d like to suggest several things about time in classical music.

    • Time is perceptual.
    • Time is multidimensional.
    • Time is elastic.
    • Time is experienced in complex ways as the fundamental basis of music’s richness.

    In LEARNING TO COMPOSE, co-author Larry Austin and I begin the chapter titled “Time Streams” with a quote from a philosopher, and then express in our own words the fundamental nature of time.

    “ ‘Music makes time audible and its form and continuity sensible.’
    —Suzanne Langer

    Music exists in time. Time exists as we sense it, articulated on many levels by changing and cyclically recurring events.

    As beautiful, colorful and essential as sound is in making music, musical sounds are the means to an end, building blocks for events that primarily mark articulations of time.

    We sometimes like to think of music as having two fundamental dimensions, like a graph. The horizontal dimension is the parameter of time. The vertical dimension is the parameter of pitch. But pitch is actually a temporal phenomenon – the frequency (periodic change over time) of sound waves. How amazing are the human ear and human mind to perceive waves of air coming at us a thousand times a second or much faster and distinguish the small differences that make a pitch “in tune” (or not) and the even subtler differences that identify an oboe instead of a violin producing that pitch. All of this from a perception simply of periodic rates in time!

    Stockhausen pointed out that in mentally processing all of these sonic distinctions, we are forced to pay more attention to changes in their qualities, combinations, and “spacing” in time. These are his “alterations”.

    “The greater the temporal density of unexpected alterations . . . the more time we need to grasp events, and the less time we have for reflection, the quicker time passes; the lower the effective density of alteration (not reduced by recollection or the fact that the alterations coincide with our expectation), the less time the senses need to react, so the greater intervals of experiential time lie between the processes, and the slower time passes.”

    The concepts of expectation and information help make some sense of things. “Information” is perceptual data that is similar to what you just heard or logically confirms what you were expecting next. “Entropy” is the opposite perception – surprise, contrast, noticeable change. In musical listening, though we don’t do so consciously, we are constantly “computing,” assessing, retaining, and predicting.

    Saint Augustine connects Past, Present, and Future with memory, experience, and expectation:

    “What should be clear and obvious by now is that we cannot properly say that the future or the past exist, or that there are three times, past, present, and future. Perhaps we can say that there are three tenses, but that they are the present of the past, the present of the present, and the present of the future. This would correspond, in some sense, with a triad I find in the soul and nowhere else, where the past is present to memory, the present is present to observation, and the future is present to anticipation.” [Confessions, Book XI, Section 26]

    And to make matters more complicated, it is not at all a linear process. Let’s take a metaphor. I can’t resist one that Einstein was very fond of in his thought experiments.

    As listeners, we’d like to imagine ourselves as a train riding on tracks through time, a train that keeps moving forward and doesn’t back up. The clickety-clack of our wheels is a steady tempo measuring time. We only remember back to the tracks the locomotive has passed but still lie under the wheels of our caboose at the end. And we only look ahead a little bit, as the tree-bordered tracks curve, preventing a longer straight view.

    That’s way too simple, a two-dimensional time frame in which we either recall a little of what we just heard or maybe guess a little what might happen next. As Meyers, Stockhausen, Spitzer, and Dr. Stratas all observe, in keen listening to music our minds are filled with memories of not just the previous measure or phrase, but the very beginning of the piece, its theme or launching impetus (Grundgestalt as Schoenberg named it) and, in a more diffuse sense, all that has “happened” up to the present moment. The present moment is not one single phenomenon in time either. Melody, countermelody, bass line, chordal texture, and punctuating sounds are simultaneously tracing distinct paths, each with its own pace through time. At the same time, we are constantly expecting what’s coming, or at least “feeling” where the music might be going. And, as if that weren’t complicated enough, we are busy reevaluating what we just heard in relation to what we had been expecting. Saint Augustine describes it more succinctly:

    “Only in the mind can this [the experience of time] be accomplished, because of three activities there—the acts of anticipating, of observing, and of remembering.” [Book XI, Section 37]

    None of this is conscious, but in describing it in concrete terms, we recognize the dizzying multidimensionality, time arrows pointing in all directions and curling back on themselves. This is what I believe constitutes deep listening, “getting lost in the music”.

    Just one more idea – elasticity. Stockhausen recognizes that in music the sense of time passing changes, stretches or compresses, depending on how much “alteration” is being encountered. This is why music can seem “steady” or “surging ahead” or dissipating and almost “frozen”. It is not at all the tempo that causes this, but rather the rate of change, sharp contrast or subtle evolution, in the harmonies, the melodic character, or the rhythm.

    A rhythmic playfulness in modern music stretches our sense of timing. Tempos change, are interrupted, break down, tumble into avalanches, come to rest. Time itself stretches and becomes the titled thematic element in pieces such as Time Cycles (1960) by Lukas Foss. Here is another example titled about time, written at the starting gun of the new millennium.

    Fred Lerdahl – Time After Time (2000)

    Awe

    In his book When (Riverhead Books, 2018) Daniel H. Pink writes,

    “I used to believe that timing was everything. Now I believe that timing is everything. . . . The experience of awe changes our perception of time. When we experience awe, time slows down. It expands. We feel like we have more of it. And that sensation lifts our well-being.”

    He quotes researchers Rudd, Vohs, and Aaker in Psychological Science 23 No. 10 (2012):

    “Experiences of awe bring people into the present moment, and being in the present moment underlies awe’s capacity to adjust time perception.”

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