"Art demands of us that we do not stand still."
~Ludwig van Beethoven (translated)
Most musicians, if they read music, spend a lot of time "interpreting" what's on the page by attempting to translate the notes on the page into a performance practice or theory. This written language didn't appear suddenly. It evolved over time until it reached its present incarnation, and will presumably continue to evolve unless and until the forces of technology render it obsolete.
Like most things that evolved, it is not perfectly designed. Some relatively small changes could probably make music notation more intuitive. This might be worthwhile, because more intuitive sheet music is probably conducive to better performance and better theory. In this post, I'll spend some time proposing one such change. (Heads up: some basic knowledge about notation is assumed.)
Although the bottom number determines the beat-measurements of each note value, the relationships between the note values stay the same. A quarter note is still twice the length of an eighth note, a half note is still half the length of a whole note, etc.
To illustrate: If one was writing music using this "4/4" time signature and wanted, for instance, to fill a measure using only quarter notes, one would simply draw a measure with four quarter notes in it. But there are many other rhythmic options to fill each measure if the composer should feel so inclined--one could use two half notes (since each half note is still worth two quarter notes, and the total number of beats in the measure would still add up to four) or eight eighth notes (since an eighth note is still half a quarter note, and the total number of beats in the measure would still add up to four), or another of many variations of note combinations relying on similar arithmetic. Summarily: in every measure following this time signature, there are four beats, and these four beats are filled with the equivalent of four quarter notes.
Are you lost yet? Don't feel alone--I find time signatures almost unbearably difficult to explain, and I suspect many other musicians feel similarly uncomfortable. When I was a child, the bottom number of a time signature was quickly dismissed by my piano teacher as an indication of "which note gets the beat". Later, when I asked for what amounted to a clarification of this riddle, I was told not to worry about the number for the time being because we would "get to it later". Unfortunately, we didn't. I switched to another teacher, who innocently and unwisely assumed that I comprehended music fundamentals. For a long time afterwards as a result of this poor communication the number remained mysterious to me.
Visually, the trouble with putting one number on top of another, like "4/4" or "6/8", is that it doesn't tell the whole story. Without explanation, it's impossible to infer what it might mean. In effect, the bottom number really refers to an oft-unmentioned and almost never-drawn chart (seen below) which draws unobvious correlations between certain numbers and note values. This basic information is probably key to "reading" the time signature.
One may see that the bottom number is essentially a glyph. The number 4, for example, does not mean or necessarily translate to anything to do with the number "4". It translates, as it turns out, to "quarter note". If the bottom number is a 4, then every quarter note is worth one beat. If it is an 8, then every eighth note is worth one beat. And so on.
As if this didn't appear arbitrary enough, things can then get even weirder. Once the student has internalized that information, he or she must then deal with the fact that the time signature often doesn't accurately describe the music. This is because there are further traditions, also often inferred rather than explained, which dictate that certain time signatures are not interpreted in the same way as they are notated. For instance, generally the 6/8 time signature is "felt" in 2--in performance, it sounds like there are two beats in every measure, where each beat is notated using three eighth notes (or the equivalent of one dotted quarter note). Another example may be a piece written in 3/4 which is meant to be "felt" in 1--in performance, it sounds like there is one beat in every measure, where each beat is notated using three quarter notes (or the equivalent of one dotted half note). These traditions are numerous and sometimes contradictory or dependent upon historical context.
There seem to be several unnecessary steps here. If it is accurate to say that the time signature has evolved, than this incarnation of its bottom half may be regarded as a byproduct of evolutionary processes not unlike, say, an appendix. In its current form, it appears to be more trouble than it's worth.
If on the other hand this aspect of the time signature was more self-explanatory, then a host of issues could be avoided--the common confusion of time signatures with fractions, the myriad practices which are only inferred by somebody else's demonstration or research, the challenge of sight-reading music with changing time signatures, etc.
Although there are probably many other solutions, a more intuitive time signature might look something like this:
Here are five potential time signatures using an alternative method. The bottom number has been discarded, and in its place the composer simply drew whatever note value he or she wished to have represent a single beat. The first time signature, in practice resembling 4/4, uses the image of a quarter note to indicate what the musician ultimately needs to know: that every measure is filled by the equivalent of four quarter notes. The second time signature, this time bearing resemblance to 2/2, indicates that every measure is filled by the equivalent of two half notes. The third time signature might be described as a descendant of the traditional 2-beat 6/8--it indicates that every measure is filled by the equivalent of two dotted quarter notes. And so on. Notice how much simpler this would be.
This is just an improvised improvement, offered up as an example. Although it seems better than the traditional model, it may still not be the most intuitive way of communicating the concepts behind the time signature. There may be ways of experimentally determining music notation methods which are optimally designed and easily understood after a quick perusal. Such experiments might incidentally reveal interesting things about how the human mind operates, and would almost surely come up with some better solutions than I could invent on the spot. But the fact that one can easily "dream up" such improvements in a few minutes suggests that the traditional system isn't all it might be.
Now you may think I seem overexcited about this apparently small detail. I should mention that I don't think this is just an academic issue. Confusion and differences of opinion on the interpretation of certain time signatures can affect professional as well as amateur musicians. And, even if every trained musician miraculously knew by osmosis how to interpret time signatures, the sheer factor of intimidation might still be doing damage to the musical community. The challenge of learning to read music might still be preventing some children and adults alike from entering the field and reaching their potential creative heights. Taken in the proper context, this is a fairly depressing thought. Who knows what music we never get to hear, or what blossoming of musical personality we never get to witness, when the challenges of notation scare a would-be artist out of exploring his or her natural talents?
Only slightly less depressing is the relatively obvious observation that many successful musicians manage without reading so much as a single note on paper. Might their careers be further improved by knowledge of music fundamentals? The impression I've gotten from talking to some people in this situation is that music notation presents a forbidding challenge. Hopeless about their chances of taking on this other "language", and motivated by the impression that their ignorance may encourage certain kinds of creative or artistic excellence, they continue to make music without taking the time to learn how to read it.
If we care about the problem of musical illiteracy, than we should consider addressing flaws in our notation methods. Of course, we don't know whether such a project, even if spearheaded by professors and public musicians, could ever be practical. Would it be possible, if enough loud, confident, influential voices spoke up, to incrementally but deliberately improve the written language of music?
The global exchange of information on the Internet might suggest that such gigantic collaboration could someday be plausible. But, the same sorts of technologies that could enable this innovation may also be contributing to its ultimate demise. Probably, the writing was on the wall for music notation as soon as recorded audio became a reality. Maybe it's a waste of time to talk about improving it for the same reasons we don't talk about changing the grammar of Latin or improving the Egyptian pyramids.
And yet...I'm tempted to say that the process of identifying these inefficiencies is worthwhile for its own sake. Why should we ever stop questioning whether the systems we use are optimally designed? Even in the arts, where I think one can sometimes sense a tendency towards hero-worshiping, we must admit that there's no rational reason to assume our creative predecessors were infallible, or that their methods of communicating their visions necessarily expressed the pinnacle of human efficiency and elegance. Why shouldn't we at least daydream about what better methods we might design? We could begin with the details.
