lamb-flavoured ice cream

It is striking that Japanese users of English have difficulty not only in hearing and making the differences between the sounds r and l and between the sounds æ and ʌ, but also in distinguishing the corresponding spellings. They tend to confuse not only the sounds but also the letters r and l, a and u.
Because Japanese has only one liquid and only one open vowel, lamb, ram, and rum are all mapped onto Japanese ラム ramu. And we get confusions like this.It’s meant to be rum and raisin.

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The inspiration for the book with the Russian sunflower illustration that I reproduced a few days ago was John Trim’s English Pronunciation Illustrated (CUP 1975), with illustrations by Peter Kneebone. Here are some of their items for practising æ and ʌ. Surprisingly, they offer none for practising r and l.
It was John Trim who first initiated me into phonetics at Cambridge University, and he is someone whom I have always held in great admiration. I think it’s a little sad that the main thing he is known for in the wider world is this perfectly respectable but, alas, not very deeply intellectual book. Relatively few people know of his work as Director of CILT (the UK’s Centre for Information on Language Teaching) or on defining threshold levels in language teaching for the Council of Europe.

bunched/molar r

When I was still a schoolboy I found Daniel Jones’s Outline of English Phonetics in the local public library and devoured it with great interest and excitement.
It all made perfect sense to me, with one exception. That concerned the English r sound. I couldn’t square Daniel Jones’s description with what I could feel myself doing when I pronounced this consonant.
Obviously I was not using a “rolled” r (trill) or a “flapped” ɾ (tap). And I wasn’t making any kind of uvular sound. So I must be using the “most usual English r”, the “fricative lingual sound” ɹ (which we would today call a postalveolar approximant).
But I didn’t seem to be articulating it with the tip of my tongue so much as with the body. And the combinations kr (as in crown) and ɡr (as in green seemed to have some sort of affricated pronunciation.
My puzzlement was resolved only several years later when John Trim explained to me that I use a “molar r”. The strange thing is that it doesn’t sound any different from the postalveolar r sounds that other people use. People don’t react by saying “that’s a funny kind of r”.
The VASTA listserv has been having a discussion about “bunched r” recently (another name for the same thing), and I said I would write something about it here.
Here’s Catford, talking about the AmE NURSE vowel:

This vowel was formerly described as ‘retroflexed’ but this is not a correct description. It does not usually have the upward curling of the tongue that is characteristic of retrofexion. Instead, the main body of the tongue is bunched up into a kind of half-close-central position, but with two peculiar modifications: one modification is a moderate degree of deep pharyngalization: the root of the tongue
is drawn back into the pharynx just above the larynx. The second modification is a fairly deep depression in the surface of the tongue opposite the uvular zone. This sub-uvular concavity can be acquired as follows. Produce a uvular trill. Note that in order to do this you have to form a longitudinal furrow in the tongue within which the uvula vibrates. Now move the whole body of the tongue slightly forward, while retaining precisely that deeply furrowed configuration. The result should be a close approximation to the typical American ‘bird vowel’, for which the phonetic symbols [ɜ˞] and [ə˞] have been used — both representing a central vowel with an r-like modification.
As we saw, this very strange American vowel involves not only a concavity — or ‘sulcalization’ (from the Latin sulcus `a furrow, or trench') — of the tongue in the neighborhood of the uvula, but also some slight degree of pharyngalization. It is because of this that a series of vowel-sounds with modification of this rhotacized type in some languages spoken in the Caucasus area of Russia, notably Tsakhur and Udi, are known as ‘pharyngalized’ vowels.

Like Erik Singer, who found this quote from Catford, I'm not sure I agree with the claim of pharyngalization. It can be there, no doubt, but I don’t think it's a necessary accompaniment.
My own r is consonantal, of course, while the American vowel is syllabic (a vowel). But the articulation used appears to be the same.
In my experience, when someone has claimed that there is an audible difference between the molar and the postalveolar kinds, I find that there is also some kind of difference in secondary articulations (pharyngalization, labialization etc), but no audible difference when this is stripped out. That’s why I have some sympathy with the argument that if we can’t hear the difference we don’t need a special IPA symbol for the molar r. It will be sufficient to symbolize the secondary articulation(s), e.g. ɹ^ʕ or ɚˁ.
But the consensus on the VASTA list seems to be that we need a special symbol. Erik Singer said

I very much agree that we need a symbol for the “bunched,” “braced,” or “molar” /r/. If it has to go in the set of IPA extensions for disordered speech, so be it. At least we’ll have a symbol. I wonder, though, should there be separate symbols for the vowel and consonant? It’s really a single physical action (varying only, I think, in the degree of the bracing), and according to the rules of the IPA, there should therefore be only one symbol corresponding to it. […] There simply must be a unique symbol. This is my awkwardly bitmapped attempt to create a symbol that takes the turned-r and adds a another wing to it, stretching out to the right. We can recognize this as r-ish, but it is sufficiently different from the alveolar-approximant symbol to avoid confusion with that placement. This symbol could also be modified to specify degree of bracing, with one or two additional “wings” stretching to the right, at mid-level and at the top.

Amy Stoller says she associates this sound (a "hard-R" sound) particularly with an Oklahoma or Texas accent, though it is also found elsewhere. ‘Michael’ added

It is not impossible to make a "lighter" sound with this placement —though it becomes a bit more of a mid-tongue bunching rather than the hard retraction of Oklahoma.

Can people actually hear a difference based purely on place of articulation? Or is there always something else involved? Let’s have some sound files.

Russian illustrated

No time for a proper blog today, but here are scans of the two pictures mentioned yesterday by David Crosbie, taken from Dennis Ward's Russian Pronunciation Illustrated (CUP 1966), p. 81. The drawings are by George Him.

affricates

Dominik Lukeš writes

I've always assumed that [ts] is one of the lesser affricates of English on the cusp of phoneme status given the single minimal pair in pizza/Pisa. I've never studied English phonetics (only general [phonetics] having Czech as the starting point) so when I started preparing some talks on pronunciation for literacy teachers, I was amazed to find out that [tr] and [dr] are considered affricates and [ts] is at best affricate-like. All the samples on the pronouncing dictionaries' CD-ROMs are distinctly pronounced as affricates and yet the Cambridge one even splits the syllables of pizza as /piːt.sə/.
Is there a phonetic reason for this? Am I being misled by my Central European ears? Or is this just a result of convention? I've asked a few non-expert native speakers to contrast pizza/Pisa and Nazi/*nasi and they were all able to do so effortlessly. When asked to reflect on what sound they were pronouncing, one speaker said: 'it's a sort of squished soft sound' - surely a folk definition of an affricate.

The definition of “affricate” has always been a bit tricky when we are discussing English phonetics. (That’s why we set it as a topic for student essays.) Do we define it in purely articulatory terms, interested only in the manner of articulation? Or are we concerned with English-specific phonology? (E.g., do these entities have phonemic status?)
I don’t understand why Dominik adduces Pisa to go with pizza: the consonant(s) in the middle of the latter are voiceless (ˈpiːtsə), while that in the former is voiced (ˈpiːzə). If we’re looking for minimal or near-minimal pairs, there’s more mileage in blitz blɪts vs bliss blɪs, curtsey ˈkɜːtsi vs cursing ˈkɜːsɪŋ, Betsy ˈbetsi vs Bessie ˈbesi. But then who has ever doubted that ts was in contrast to s in English?

Except for a handful of proper names and recent loanwords and the single item curtsey (derived from trisyllabic courtesy), English ts always involves a morpheme boundary between the plosive and the fricative: cat#s, put#s, hint#s, drift#s, list#s, bat#s#man, eight#some. (Please don’t start quibbling about flotsam.) No word begins with ts (ditto: no quibbling about zeitgeist or tsetse). No single-morpheme word ends with ts (except recent loanwords).

In this respect ts is like tθ, just an adventitious consonant sequence straddling a morpheme boundary. On the other hand tʃ occurs readily in initial, medial, and final position in single-morpheme words: chin, kitchen, touch. It even contrasts with the corresponding plosive-fricative sequence: ratchet vs rat shit. The same is true of tr, at least in initial and medial position.

I would even say that to English ears (or brains) ks is probably more of a single unit than ts (because of box, six, exit etc). (Articulatorily, of course, ks is obviously not an affricate, because the articulation is not homorganic.)

glottal opera

An interesting YouTube video has been going the rounds recently, marrying a choral performance of a song with laryngoscopic shots of the singers’ glottises.
See each glottis opening, closing, and vibrating! Admire those arytenoids! Marvel how the epiglottis swings back and forth, sometimes obscuring the view of the vocal folds!
Once upon a time (such as when I was a postgraduate) there were only rare and specialized occasions to view a laryngosocopic film clip and view the vocal folds directly. Now here it is for everyone to enjoy (if that is the word).
I think we have to take it on trust that the film clips are properly synchronized with the sound.
I don’t know anything about “the all-girl vocal group Kaya” — does anyone? I have to say, though, that when they sing lips it sounds remarkably like leaps liːps. It must be because they’re Australian, with raised KIT (and diphthongal FLEECE).
Thanks, anyhow, Australian colleagues.

mnemonic rhymes

Nowadays we tend to have a low opinion of learning by rote. But I have to say that for language learning it has its uses. Things we learn off by heart at a tender age tend to remain in our memory for ever.
When I was being taught Latin (from age 9 onwards) we were encouraged to learn various little rhymes intended to help us remember the gender of nouns.

Many nouns in is we find
to the masculine assigned:
amnis, axis, caulis, collis,
clūnis, crīnis, fascis, follis,
fūstis, ignis, orbis, ēnsis,
pānis, piscis, postis, mēnsis…

Latin nouns that fluctuate between masculine and feminine are said to be of ‘common’ gender.

Diēs in the singular
common we define:
but its plural cases are
always masculine.

Aequor, marmor, cor decline
neuter; arbor feminine.

(It didn’t worry us to pronounce ˈmæskjulaɪn and ˈfemɪnaɪn here for the sake of the rhyme, instead of the usual ˈmæskjʊlɪn and ˈfemənɪn. Sometimes we said ˈsɪŋɡjulɑː for the same reason.)

We had our little parodies, of course. We were supposed to recite

Common are: sacerdōs, dux,
vātēs, parēns, et coniūnx…

but we actually took delight in saying

Common are: sacerdōs, dux,
Hoover and Electrolux.

You’ll find these and other “memorial lines” in an appendix at the end of Kennedy’s Revised Latin Primer.

Do today’s language learners ever memorize mnemonic verses? Here’s one I’ve just made up.

Come and go, but came and went;
tend and tended, bend and bent.
Try and tried, but buy and bought;
reach and reached, but teach and taught.

lexical sets

Amy Stoller writes

I use your lexical sets in preparing my materials […] and I do give you credit for them (albeit obliquely in some cases). I don't publish my materials, but I do distribute them to clients, and there may be publication in the not-too-distant future. Am I going to run into copyright difficulties? […] I don't want to infringe on your rights, and I don't want to get into trouble with Cambridge University Press!

Don’t worry, Amy: I claim no copyright in lexical sets. Everyone is free to make whatever use of them they wish. I am delighted that they have been taken up by many other authors.
Of course it’s nice to be acknowledged from time to time as their originator, but even that’s not necessary.
I sometimes think that a century from now my lexical sets will be the one thing I shall be remembered for. Yet I dreamt them up over a weekend, frustrated with the incoherent mess of symbols used in such contemporary publications as Weinreich’s ‘Is a structural dialectology possible?’. I did not try them out anywhere before publishing them in Accents of English, vol. 1.
For the uninitiated, in my 1982 book I proposed a system of “standard lexical sets”,

a set of keywords, each of which […] stands for a large number of words which behave in the same way in respect of the incidence of vowels in different accents.

Thus KIT is the lexical set associated with the (strong) vowel ɪ of RP and GenAm, DRESS the set containing e (or, if you prefer, ɛ), TRAP the set containing æ, etc.
I called them “standard” lexical sets because they were based on my two ‘reference’ accents of English, RP and GenAm. The sets were defined by the intersection of vowel incidence in these two varieties (conservatively defined).
So NURSE is treated as a single set, because the reference accents have merged the formerly distinct vowels of verse, serve etc as against nurse, curve etc. If the sets had been defined by a wider range of accents, it would have been necessary to split the NURSE set to take account of the speakers of Scottish and Irish English who make the distinction. People dealing with varieties that make such further distinctions in other sets have quite rightly proposed and defined further lexical sets or subsets.
On the other hand FORCE and NORTH are distinct sets in my system, because of the fact that GenAm (at least as set out in then current reference books) allows for the contrast of vowels in sport vs short, hoarse vs horse etc. It is then a bonus that we can use these keywords to discuss the corresponding contrast in Scottish English, West Indian English etc.
I took great care in the choice of suitable keywords. I wanted words that could never be mistaken for other words, no matter what accent you pronounced them in.

Although FLEECE is not the commonest of words, it cannot be mistaken for a word with some other vowel; whereas beat, say, if we had chosen it instead, would have been subject to the drawback that one man’s pronunciation of beat may sound like another’s pronunciation of bait or bit. As far as possible the keywords have been chosen so as to end in a voiceless alveolar or dental consonant…

though that was not always possible.
The least satisfactory keyword is PALM, and its set is also fairly incoherent. Amy says she prefers to replace it with FATHER, which is fine up to a point: but not if we are discussing Hiberno-English, where father often has not the expected aː of Armagh, Karachi, Java etc but the ɔː of THOUGHT.
The choice of the keyword DRESS has proved awkward for people dealing with New Zealand English, where the upward shifting of the vowel in question has led them to have to refer to DRESS Raising.