Sound waves are pressure variations in the physical atmosphere. When I speak, the sound I make creates a series of compressions and expansions in the air immediately around me. These travel away at about 300 metres per second (700 mph) in the form of waves which spread out like ripples on a pond. If I’m talking to myself – a pastime hardly to be recommended – these waves collide with the walls, chairs, tables – whatever – and make them move ever so slightly. The waves are thus turned into heat and ‘disappear’. If there is anyone there to hear me, that part of the wave which impinges on their external ear will travel down their auditory canal and cause their eardrum to move slightly. What happens after that is a subject we’ll look at later in the chapter. All that matters now is that the sound, once received, is heard by the listener. When we hear a voice of a friend, we recognise it instantly. Similarly if we’re musical, we can recognise the sound of a particular musical instrument. (Some people are even able to recognise the identity of an instrumentalist by the sound alone.) So it’s clear that the sound of these people and instruments must be different. There are plenty of lay terms to describe the tone of someone’s voice: rich, reedy, discordant, syrupy, seductive and so on. Musicians too have their adjectives, but these are poetic rather than precise. Fortunately for the engineer, physicists and mathematicians have provided a precise way of characterising any sound – whenever or however it is produced. It is a demonstrable property of all musical sound sources that they oscillate: an oboe reed vibrates minutely back and forth when it is blown; the air inside a flute swells and compresses by an equal and opposite amount as it is played; a guitar string twangs back and forth. Each vibration is termed a cycle. Any repeating pattern can be thought