The Aural Diversity conference is fast approaching. This includes the second Aural Diversity concert, which is being curated by Duncan Chapman. I have been asked to contribute a performance on the diplacusis piano. The idea is that my performance should be done as an installation in the intervals between the more formal sections (three of them) of the concert. I like this format very much. The audience may come and go as they please, and there is less pressure on me and my hearing to deliver a typical concert performance.
Which brings me to the composition itself. Previous blog entries have detailed just how hard it is for me to compose for this instrument. The ‘diplacusis piano’ is a digital instrument that reproduces what I actually hear when I play a normal piano. In the low to mid register, notes are unevenly ‘split’ between the actual pitch and a detuned pitch, which may be anything up to a minor third flat. In the low register, I cannot hear fundamentals, which means that the overtone structures that I do hear are similarly pitch-distorted. High register is not too bad, although the top two octaves sound increasingly harsh. And the whole thing is unbalanced by the fact that my right ear has much less hearing than my left, and everything is heard through a wall of ever-changing tinnitus (which I do not reproduce on the instrument).
Not surprisingly, therefore, composing for this instrument is hard because it sounds like endlessly self-reflecting mirrors. It is psychologically and acoustically distressing. My objective is to make something beautiful out of this, so I persist. But it is very hard to do.
My solution this time is to compose thirty one-minute pieces that may be played in any order. This way, I only need to listen for short periods, and I can vary the range of listening required, which makes it easier for me. I am forcing the music (and the instrument) to adjust to what I can do, rather than trying to push myself to meet the demands of the instrument. I hope that this kinder, gentler approach will reflect in music that is more approachable for another listener. At any rate, if someone does not like a particular piece, they only have to wait one minute for something different. That’s aural diversity!
As before, I am using a visual composition method, involving a scrolling spectrogram (see below). However, I have also included now a Lissajous vectorscope, which shows the behaviour of the various notes within the stereo field. You can get the idea from this video.
The music is very diverse: everything from Feldman-esque pianissimo minimalism to textural builds, pretty melodies, tintinnabulations and even the occasional silent piece. The visual display will be projected throughout and a poster will explain what is going on to the audience.
This was an extraordinary and unique event of musical performances by aurally diverse people for an aurally diverse audience. The audiences included people who are deaf/blind, profoundly deaf, hearing impaired, autistic, tinnitus sufferers, and many other hearing types. The concert offered ways for all of them to access the music, including video and BSL signing, vibrating floors and haptic interaction, and streaming to radio headphones.
The concert was “relaxed”, meaning that people could sit anywhere, move about during performances, listen outside (the weather was great), or adopt any other listening mode that suited them. Our audiences for the two concerts took full advantage of these opportunities. For some individuals, it was a very powerful experience. One deaf/blind person said that, for the first time in his life, his cochlea had responded to music, as a result of combining the vibrating floor with the input stream.
My personal feelings are one of great pride that we managed to pull off such an extraordinary event, and great excitement about the possibilities of Aural Diversity as a project for the future. The next event is the conference and concert in November.
Here is a picture of some of the musicians and me rehearsing in the barn. In the background you can see our terrific BSL interpreter, Elizabeth Oliver.
The musical programme offered an enormous diversity of music that reflected the diversity of hearing approaches of the composers and musicians. I have severe hearing loss, tinnitus and diplacusis due to Meniere’s Disease. Anya experiences hyperacusis. John has notch losses and tinnitus. Matthew’s hearing was severely damaged by childhood meningitis and has worsened over time. Simon has lost much upper frequency hearing due to head trauma. Sam has a notch loss in the higher register. Ruth was deaf from birth and wears cochlear implants.
The concert began with Arbometallurgism by Anya Ustaszewski. This is an electroacoustic piece featuring some exquisitely delicate sounds. I listened on the roving headphones and it worked brilliantly outdoors.
Ruth Mallalieu and her husband Jonathan performed some jazz standards on clarinet and piano. Ruth’s profound deafness and cochlear implants mean that she has to transpose the music within a range that works for her limited hearing, and the accompaniment must be pared down. It was quite moving to witness her performance.
I played my own piece “Where two rivers meet, the water is never calm” for my specially constructed “diplacusis piano” (see previous postings). This used a rolling spectrogram to convey, both to myself and the audience, what I cannot hear. The sound of the instrument is quite disturbing, so this was a very minimal piece. The virtuosity was in the listening. It was extremely hard to compose and perform this piece.
Matthew then sang some lovely and sad Cornish folksongs that he had composed, accompanying himself on banjo and guitar and with lyrics signed by Elizabeth.
Simon Allen’s ‘Map Fragments’ introduced a fascinating range of sounds, including two home-built instruments, rubbed fishbowls, gongs, rustling leaves, rubbed surfaces, viol, piano, and percussion. Elizabeth also signed a poem which was understood only by those who could read BSL. There was a video accompaniment too. The piece had a memorable and lasting impression.
John Drever had recorded the musicians imitating hand-dryers, which then played back while the musicians made further imitations of the imitations through radio microphones, allowing them to wander around the performance space and outside. The result was partly comical and partly mysterious, but underpinned by a powerful message about the way hand dryers are damaging the hearing of children, in particular.
‘Meditations on Hildegard’ by Matthew Spring comprised himself singing, playing hardy-gurdy and handbells. The piece evokes the 12th Century music of Hildegard von Bingen, but adds a new interpretation. It worked brilliantly in an environment made largely of stone, and seemed to connect with ancient history of Kelston Roundhill.
Anya Ustaszewski’s Vox Random is another electroacoustic piece, this time using vocal sounds. It evoked very effectively an attempt at communication across hearing limitations.
The matinée performance had continued for so long that I was obliged to drop the next piece, my “St. George’s Island Revisited”, but I was able to include it in the evening performance, when we had speeded up a bit. This little chorale has sentimental value for me and Matthew Spring, whose parents loved it. It evokes Looe Island. It was also the hardest piece to perform well, because it relied on quite conventional musical abilities which are normally taken for granted: the ability to hear in tune, to stay in time, to produce good tone. These are always challenged by hearing impairment. Nevertheless, it sounded good!
My own “Kelston Birdsong” gave people the opportunity to listen outside, or to watch a slideshow of the featured birds. Each bird triggers a particular musician who plays a call. Hearing the call, the other musicians play a response. This process repeats. All the birds, calls and responses sit within the comfortable hearing range of a particular musician. The piece feels quite profound and beautiful as it meditatively pays homage to these creatures that are steadily disappearing.
The final event was Sensonic by Sam Sturtivant. This is a low-frequency/sub bass installation that gets the most out of the vibrating floors. This was very popular with those who enjoy vibrations and ‘feeling’, rather than ‘hearing’ music and sound.
All in all this was a very successful first concert. There were things that went wrong or were less effective, of course. We had a couple of moments of feedback with the roving mikes in John’s piece which were disturbing, and an unexpected crash of an object falling over during the final rendition of Kelston birdsong. The “silent disco” headphones worked very well, but unfortunately the ear pieces were not big enough to sit around hearing aids. “Streaming to hearing aids” was advertised but did not work (nobody asked for it, in fact). We really needed a loop system and some dedicated devices for other forms of streaming.
No doubt there will be more issues raised when we read the feedback forms from the audiences, but that was part of the purpose of this event: to learn and develop.
Here’s to many more Aural Diversity concerts! I very much hope that other people will get involved and start staging similar events elsewhere.
“Where two rivers meet, the water is never calm” is written for my diplacusis piano and reflects my hearing without aids.
“St. George’s Island Revisited” and “Kelston Birdsong”, on the other hand, show what I can do when I wear my GNResound Linx Quattro hearing aids.
This video explains the Aural Diversity concept, but I wanted to reflect on the composition of the three pieces and the challenges they involved in this blog post.
The main challenge for me as a composer with severe hearing impairment is whether to compose ‘normal’ music whose sound I can imagine (if not hear), or to compose music that reflects my hearing as it actually is.
“Where two rivers meet, the water is never calm” adopts the latter path and was extremely difficult to compose. First I had to build an instrument that accurately reproduces my hearing. This includes severe hearing loss, fluctuating tinnitus, and diplacusis (wherein you hear two different pitches when a single note is played). Composing for such an instrument is laborious and painful, because I hear my own diplacusis with diplacusis! It’s like endlessly receding mirrors. I developed a visual method using a scrolling spectrogram to enable me to match frequencies from the overtone structures of each sound. What I found was that very minimal music works best, because otherwise the results get muddy very quickly and sound simply like an out-of-tune piano. I have tried to make something beautiful out of what is quite a distressing flow of two different information streams, hence the title.
“Kelston Birdsong” is written with the hearing aids, which reduce the diplacusis and increase the audibility of the sounds as far as the Ménière’s will allow (lower pitches are still lost). I composed the piece to theatricalise the listening of the great musicians who are taking part in the concert: Simon Allen (percussion), John Drever (digital sound), Ruth Mallalieu (clarinet), Matthew Spring (viol), Anya Ustaszewski (flute). The way the piece works is that a birdsong is played from a pool of 35 songs. Each birdsong is assigned to one of the musicians and sits within their comfortable hearing range. On hearing the song, they play a ‘call’ from a sheet. When the rest of the band hear that musician’s call, they play a response from a menu that is geared to each individual’s hearing range. The process then repeats until all 35 birds have been heard.
The idea is that the audience can go for a walk outside during the piece, wearing radio controlled heaphones which stream the music to them. They can then hear the sounds the kind of birds encountered on Kelston Roundhill.
Finally, “St. George’s Island Revisited” features Matthew Spring on viol. It is a simple but lovely tune for the entire ensemble to play. Matthew and I go back a long way together and I have always admired his great musicality and his cheerful disregard of his own hearing limitations, which he has had for much longer than I.
Anyway, I do hope we have a good audience for the concerts. There will be two performances, one at 2.30 and one at 6 pm. Do come along!
In previous posts I have discussed the construction of a “diplacusis piano”, a digital instrument that reproduces accurately what I actually hear. Diplacusis is a phenomenon in which you hear two different pitches, one in each ear. In my case, the left ear is mostly in tune, whereas the right ear is mostly out of tune, by fairly random amounts.
The problem with composing for the resulting instrument is twofold: firstly, because of my hearing loss I cannot hear the (quiet) sounds it produces very well; secondly, what I do hear I hear with diplacusis, so diplacusis on diplacusis!
How then to compose for this instrument, given that I have only a poor idea of what a person with normal hearing would hear? My solution is to develop a visual language based on the spectrograms of each note. I have been steadily learning about the character of each spectrogram as I go.
Here are some stills of most of the keyboard. The image quality has been reduced for speed of upload, but they are clear enough for you to be able to see how they vary. It’s really intriguing. My idea now is to start to connect together the various overtones to begin to create some kind of “harmony”. You’ll see that I have put gridlines on each image to help with this.
These are static images (generated with Pierre Couprie’s wonderful EAnalysis software). In the live performance, I will work with spectrograms that continuously evolve over time. This, I hope, will act both as a kind of score but also, for listeners who have even less hearing than myself, a visual version of the music that can be enjoyed without necessarily hearing everything.
So, here is a selection of the keyboard, just to give you an idea:
And here are just two notes for comparison at higher quality. You can see how different they are in terms of both structure and behaviour over time. This gives me a starting point for composition.
In the last two posts (here and here) I have described the process of building a digital “piano” that reproduces my diplacusis. Having constructed the instrument with the help of Professor Craig Vear, I have begun to muse on the creative possibilities that this has revealed.
It is immediately clear that this is not really a piano at all, despite having piano sounds as its raw material. If I play a common chord, or attempt to play some classical piano music, all one hears is an out-of-tune piano. It’s a bit like a honky-tonk but worse – some kind of abandoned instrument. Interestingly, the brain filters out the “rubbish” from the signal and quickly the out-of-tuneness recedes into a normal piano.
So, to avoid sounding like I’m just trying to write piano music for a bad instrument, I must find a new way of thinking about composing for this diplacusis piano. This echoes my experience with diplacusis and hearing loss generally. I need to find new ways of listening if I am to appreciate and enjoy music now. My aim is to create something beautiful, despite the supposed limitations imposed by my condition.
Craig was keen to describe how each note, each adjusted sample, made a different sonic journey lasting 10 seconds. What he could hear was a fascinating mixture of rhythmical beats, emerging harmonics, clusters of partials, percussive noise, all evolving over time. Every single note has its own character, which he was able to describe to me in some detail, waving his arms expressively as he did so. So this is not a piano, but rather an 88-note composition with a total duration of just under 15 minutes!
The problem is, of course, that I cannot hear them! To me, each sample lasts about 3 seconds, and I do not trust what I hear even within that time frame. So, how can I possibly write music for this instrument if I cannot hear it properly?
Once again, new digital technologies come to my aid. Firstly, there are my wonderful GNResound Linx Quattro hearing aids. During the building of the instrument, I removed the hearing aids, so as to capture as accurately as possible my diplacusis. Now, by reinserting them, I can gain a much better impression of the sounds of the instrument. I can hear them for longer and understand the complex shifting interactions between the higher partials. However, the hearing aids alone are insufficient, especially in the lower registers. Even with my unvented mould, which prevents sound escaping from my right ear, the low end response is not enough.
As we worked on the instrument, we used a spectrogram to understand what was happening in each sample. This was fascinating, because it conveyed rich information about each note’s “story”, showing the strange rhythmic pulsations that arise from beats, the emergence and withdrawal of various overtones, the intensity of different registers, and so on.
So, my way of composing is becoming clear: I must familiarise myself with the story that each of my 88 mini compositions tells. Then I can string these together in ways which create a convincing musical narrative. There may be many such narratives – that remains to be seen – but each will have its own unique and engaging storyline that listeners can perceive.
To help them in this, I plan to add a video component to the performance, showing the spectrograms as they change, any musical descriptions (in text) or notations that are relevant, and perhaps a more imaginative interpretative layer. Multiple windows on a single screen, conveying the story of the piece.
This will help people in the Aural Diversity concert (where this will be premiered) whose hearing diverges from my own. They will be able to experience the composition in several ways at once. My performance will not resemble a traditional piano recital much. The keys on the keyboard are merely triggers for sonic navigations to begin. But it will hopefully prove engaging as I convey the emotional nature of the discoveries described in these posts and combine that with an informative and stimulating visual display.
In the previous post I described the background to this project to construct a digital piano that renders my diplacusis audible to others. This post describes my studio session with Craig Vear, during which we assembled the entire instrument.
We worked in the Courtyard Studio at De Montfort University, which was the very first space I constructed when I started up the Music Technology programme back in 1997. Craig Vear is a former student of mine who is now a Professor. I’ve known him from the days of the BA Performing Arts (Music) degree at Leicester Polytechnic, where I started my academic career in 1986. It seems that past investments are repaying me handsomely! Here’s Craig in the studio, attempting to describe to me how one of the notes unfolds:
First we created middle C (C4) using Bosendorfer samples. This was something I had already done in my previous attempt, but the difference this time is that Craig’s ears were able to hear the interesting journey the difference tones take as the edited and filtered sample unfolds. This is the first clue about the creative possibilities that will subsequently emerge.
We matched the extent of my hearing loss in the right channel, in particular, and panned the stereo channels hard left and hard right. We introduced some filters to take out the lower frequencies as appropriate (it gets much more extreme in the lower registers) and some high ones too, using my audiogram as a guide. Finally, we detuned the samples. In most cases this was an adjustment only to the right channel, but sometimes it also entailed adjusting the left. Detuning meant converting frequency information in Hertz into cents (i.e. hundredths of a semitone). It’s a bit hard to make out in this photo, but the two high screens show an online hertz/cents converter on the left and my original diplacusis chart on the right. The desktop screens show the samples on the left and the filters and tuning information on the right.
I had already decided that none of the sounds will rise above piano (i.e. soft). This is because my hyperacusis also means that I find any loud sounds distressing nowadays. Having tried to play a conventional piano recently, I realised that the mechanical sound of hammers hitting strings is too painful for me, regardless of the diplacusis. So this will be a soft and gentle instrument.
So, to give an idea what this sounds like, here is the original sample plus its “diplacusis” version:
We repeated this process across the entire 88-note range of the piano, following the findings described in the previous post. Here are some more C-diplacusis notes, to give an idea of the sheer range and variety of sounds that resulted:
The final step in the building process is to create an instrument in Logic (my sequencer of choice) using the ESX24 sampler. This maps the various samples across the whole instrument. In the range that I had specified using my singing method, we made individual samples for each note. In the other ranges we transposed samples up or down across a minor 3rd.
In a previous post I described my struggles with diplacusis and my intention to build a “piano” that could reproduce the sounds that I actually hear for the benefit (?) of others. This series of posts will document the progress I have made so far and the exciting compositional possibilities that are opening up as a result.
Diplacusis is a disturbing phenomenon in which the two ears hear a given musical note at two different pitches. It is yet one more from the smorgasbord of symptoms associated with Ménière’s Disease (see this post for a detailed account of my Ménière’s experiences), alongside vertigo, hearing loss, tinnitus and aural fullness.
I decided to try to build a musical instrument that would convey to others what this sounds like. I wanted this to offer me a creative opportunity to make some beautiful music. What it is in fact providing is not just that, but a whole new direction for my composition.
This post is a detailed account of the first steps in building this instrument. It is necessarily a digital instrument: there is no way this could be done using traditional technologies. I have been greatly helped by my GNResound Linx Quattro hearing aids and by my friend, the composer and Professor Craig Vear, who provided not just technical fluency in the studio and an otologically “normal” pair of ears, but also the ability to describe each sound to me as it emerged from this new instrument.
I decided to start with a piano simply because that is the instrument I used to play back in the days when I regularly made music. Piano sounds also have a pleasing decay which I instinctively felt would work well with this phenomenon. Nobody wants to listen to sustained diplacusis!
In my previous scientific study of my own diplacusis, I mapped the differences in pitch across my own singing range by laboriously stopping the good ear and singing the pitch I heard in Hertz, then comparing it with the correct pitch. This gave me a verified chart from F#2 (~92Hz) to C4 (~261Hz). To understand what comes next, you need to see my audiogram:
This one is a little bit out of date, but my hearing has not changed much since then. Observe that (as is usual in audiology) the right and left ears are reversed in the image. You will also notice that audiology takes no interest in frequencies below 125Hz or above 8kHz. This is because audiology is mainly interested in speech and, frustratingly, takes little account of music.
Anyway, you will see quite clearly that my right ear (in red) is way below my left ear. This is what severe hearing loss looks like. My left ear has normal hearing (above 10dB) in the region between 1500 Hz and 4000 Hz. This is my salvation in speech situations. But there is quite a lot of hearing loss around that. Nevertheless, my pitch perception in that ear is tolerable.
One other thing to notice is that the lower frequencies show a marked decline in both ears. This is typical of Ménière’s Disease, where the bass disappears first. By contrast, in age-related hearing loss (presbycusis) the high frequencies deteriorate first, which is why so many hearing aids concentrate on the high end.
Now you can see why the next step in preparing for the instrument was so daunting and has taken me many months of struggle to figure out. I could no longer rely on either my audiogram or my singing voice to help me understand my own pitch perception, because the rest of the piano keyboard is simply out of range. To make matters worse, every time I tried it was like working in a hall of endlessly reflecting mirrors. I would listen to my diplacusis with my diplacusis… it was very uncomfortable and very tiring.
So with considerable effort, I worked on trying to understand my own hearing by feeling my way with trial and error. Gradually a number of key features emerged:
There is an octave between F#5 (~698Hz) and F#6 (~1397Hz) where there is no diplacusis at all. In other words, I hear a piano just like a normal piano, as anyone else would, albeit with greatly reduced hearing in one ear.
In the range above that, the diplacusis gradually reappears, getting worse the higher up you go. However, since the piano sounds pretty metallic in that register anyway the effect is not as disturbing as you might expect.
The range from C4 (~261Hz) down to F2 (~87Hz) is affected by random amounts of diplacusis as per the chart from the earlier study.
Below E2 (~82Hz) this random diplacusis effect continues, but now a new phenomenon enters, presumably resulting from the general loss in low frequency hearing. The fundamental frequencies of each note and then the first and second partials, gradually disappear, leaving a thudding sound and a collection of higher overtone frequencies. This complex spectrum is then subject to precisely the same diplacusis that affects the higher register, resulting in a perceptible shift in spectrum but no discernible change in pitch.
And this is, I think, a novel finding: every diplacusis induced detuning is flat! This seems to contradict the received wisdom that diplacusis notes are sharp. I need to do more research into this.
Given the difficulties of translating the above into any kind of instrument, I eventually had to admit defeat and seek help. This is where Craig Vear enters the picture and the account of our building session yesterday will be the subject of my next post.