​I'm re-reading Gardner Read's Music Notation from 1974. I bought my copy in 1977, which makes me 16 at the time – old enough to take it seriously, young enough to believe comprehensive understanding was achievable through diligent study. Later, this book would influence Igor Engraver's formatting decisions, though not always in ways I'd care to defend today.

What strikes me now is what Read doesn't cover. There's nothing about ledger line thicknesses, actual distances in spaces between noteheads and accidentals, sit-straddle-hang rules, slur curvatures, or tie formatting. None of the engraver-level detail that Elaine Gould's Behind Bars (2011) and Ted Ross's The Art of Music Engraving & Processing (1970, but I didn't discover it until much later) document so comprehensively. Read gives you musical orthography – what symbols mean and when to use them – but not typographical execution.

​When Magnus Johansson published examples of Igor's output on NOTATIO recently, I experienced that particular species of discomfort that comes from seeing your 25-year-old work through 2025 eyes. The ledger line thicknesses were wrong. The beam slants were inconsistent. We clearly knew nothing about sit-straddle-hang.

So what made Igor well-received? Not typographical perfection, that's certain.

First, integrated parts. Only Composer's Mosaic had them at the time, and Igor had them long before Finale or Sibelius. This alone solved a workflow problem that cost professional copyists days of manual labour.

Second, the user experience didn't fight the music. After spending years with Finale on The Maids – full score, parts, piano reduction – I ended up hating Finale. I've called it 'as user-friendly as a cactus' more than once. Creating something that didn't actively work against the creative process was evidently a sufficient innovation.

Third, note entry was fast and powerful. The modal Flow Mode interface that would later vanish completely from notation software for 23 years gave professional users substantial note entry and editing speed improvements. When you're saving many hours per score, you'll forgive a few ledger lines being slightly too thin – and there was a setting for that anyway.

Fourth, we had stellar MIDI playback and a semantic model that made things consistent rather than a collection of rules-of-thumb. That alone provided predictability. And everything could be adjusted – the absence of automatic sit-straddle-hang rules just meant more manual interventions.

The landscape in 1996 made these trade-offs reasonable. The streamlined experience outweighed what we today immediately see was missing.

​2025 is not 1996.

The leading programs have improved considerably since 1996. They're genuinely competent at beam placement and formatting – not flawless, but competent enough that egregious errors are rare.

A new program entering this landscape must get the foundations correct from day one. Beam placement, slurs, ties, accidental positioning – these must be flawless, not 'good enough to ship'. The field has progressed, and users' baseline expectations have risen accordingly.

This is as it should be. But there's something deeper that hasn't been solved.

Here's what I've stated repeatedly: Ooloi is not about 'disruption' or market share. The entire motivation is to escape what commercialism leads to and create something modern, scalable, and architecturally correct from the ground up. Why? Because music notation is an extremely messy and difficult field of computation, and it requires correctness to address its long-standing problems of scalability and accuracy.

This starts with internal representation.

The old programs – and many modern ones still in broad use – were all based on a paradigm inherited from MIDI. MIDI was the standard for pitch representation at the time, and all notation software needed MIDI output for playback anyway. This meant pitches were MIDI numbers (0-127) with attachments indicating whether they were sharp or flat. Figuring out musical context – for instance, to determine what accidentals to draw – had to be derived from something with no connection to musical structure whatsoever. It had to be inferred from context each time.
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That's at the root of the problems programs still have with accidentals. The internal representation is designed around the presentation – the visual aspect – not around the meaning, the semantics, of the music.

And of course, MIDI has no concept of microtonality, which is why notation programs struggle with microtonal entry, presentation, and playback.

Furthermore, for duration, these early programs based their rhythmic representation on a raster of 480 subdivisions – ticks – of a quarter note (TPQN: Ticks Per Quarter Note). A quarter note is 480 ticks long in some arbitrary tempo, an eighth is 240, and so forth. This is the equivalent of pixels in a JPEG, which means there's a limit to what the raster can represent.

The number 480 isn't evenly divisible by very many factors. This leads to all the problems we're still seeing in music notation programs. Various kinds of duct tape – rules of thumb, arbitrary rounding, tolerance spans – have to be used. When tuplets are nested, the approximation errors compound. We're still seeing the effects of this unfortunate MIDI heritage in 2025.

A MIDI-derived representation centred on presentation – the visual aspect – will always have difficulty interpreting what the music means. That interpretive layer is essential for presenting it correctly and consistently.

For that, you need a semantic model, which turns this on its head. The representation is 'musically correct' and detached from its presentation. Once this is in place, you can make informed decisions instead of relying on rounding and rules-of-thumb. It also makes things like playback trivial, which in MIDI-based systems is paradoxically complex.
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​Igor Engraver was, I believe, one of the first programs – possibly the very first – to use a fully semantic internal model. It was also the first to model the real world by using Musicians playing Instruments, which allowed new and powerful abstractions.

It's interesting that Dorico also has this arrangement, though they call their Musicians 'Players' – but it's the same thing. I have no idea whether Daniel Spreadbury was inspired by Igor here, but it's not unlikely. On the other hand, introducing Musicians/Players into the representational hierarchy is a logical choice once you commit to semantic modelling.

I'm not certain Dorico has a fully semantic model, though it's closer than any other program I know of. LilyPond doesn't, despite its sophisticated batch nature. One telling diagnostic: look at how they handle remembered accidentals for grace notes, and how they treat them rhythmically. Another: how durations are represented. If they're floating-point numbers, they're approximations. For true accuracy in all situations, you need rational numbers – infinite precision, always correct. Anything else eventually leads to problems.

If a program has problems with edge cases or behaves inconsistently when dragging things cross-staff, check how it represents pitch and duration. If floating-point is involved, or rasters of ticks (480 or otherwise), the representation isn't semantic. The program might still handle 95% of hairy accidental placements competently. But when it starts having problems with tied notes across key changes or grace notes at measure starts, you know rules-of-thumb are involved – which means results can never be fully deterministic.

Ooloi is fully semantic with the explicit intention of making results fully deterministic.

This might not matter if you're satisfied with what capable commercial programs achieve today. That's legitimate – they handle about 95% of cases well. But if you depend on the remaining 5%, or if you spend your days as an engraver adjusting those 5% repeatedly, then you understand what I mean by deterministic results saving considerable time.

Now, on to Gould and Ross – books that weren't available when Igor was created. We'd inevitably have implemented their specifications had we had time. But as you know, I was ousted from my own company by venture capital pop zombies before we could. They thought guitar tablature was more important than correct engraver-level beaming.

This time, there will be no guitar tablature at the expense of correct beaming and orthography. All things in their proper order. Lead sheets are kid's stuff, comparatively speaking, and will be added later as plugins.

​Each stage is pure transformation. Grace notes are repositioned to exact temporal locations based on tempo-dependent duration (85ms default, compressed on collision). Simultaneities group by rhythmic position. Conflicts detect same-letter different-accidentals at the same moment. The reducer threads remembered state through the stream, accumulating decisions.

This pattern will handle dynamics, articulations, phrase marks: any notation requiring temporal context. The abstraction scales because the foundations were right to begin with.

​The algorithm produces semantic decisions about accidental requirements, independent of layout. These decisions are deterministic: same music, same decisions, always. They're layout-independent: work identically across all visual representations. They're configurable: house style settings modify behaviour without code changes. They're correct: edge cases handled through the same mechanism as common cases.

But here's what matters: I didn't design these four systems to work together. I designed each to solve its own problem correctly. The alignment emerged because correct solutions in related domains tend to compose naturally.

This is evidence. Either the domain model reflects musical reality accurately, or I've successfully imposed coherent structure on chaos. Those are different conclusions with different implications, but both suggest the foundations can carry what comes next.

​Why now? Why remembered alterations before any visualisation exists?

Because I needed to know whether the foundations were actually complete. Pitch, rhythm, key signatures, temporal traversal: individually validated, but never tested as a system. Remembered alterations forced that test. If they didn't align naturally, I'd have learned something important about what was missing.

They aligned. Beautifully. With no compromises in existing architecture, no special cases, no friction. Four systems built independently composed into a solution more elegant than any I'd planned.

That's conceptual closure. That's knowing the foundations are right before proceeding to build on them. That's why this work happened now, before technical necessity demanded it.

The next phases (windowing, rendering, note entry) will build on these same primitives. But now I know they're sound. Not because I believe they should be, but because I've seen them work together when they had no reason to unless the underlying model was correct.

The window opens soon. But first, this needed to be right. Now I know that when notes appear on screen, there will be no special cases left to fix, no rules-of-thumb to implement. Accidentals are now correct regardless of staff, voice, cross-staff, or cross-measure situation or house rule preferences.

​Es ist alles eins, as Marie sings in Wozzeck. But in a good way.

​Bärenreiter, Durand, Peters, Schott, Universal Edition. Publishers whose engravers spent ten years learning how to disappear behind their craft.

The copper-plate aesthetic: bold, confident, generous. Staff lines weighty enough to guide the eye, noteheads round enough to feel sung, stems drawn with conviction.

Modern digital engraving forgot this. It grew thin, bloodless — optimised for screens instead of for musicians.

The lineage is clear, and the standard unchanging: those 1920s scores, those shortened ledger lines, that unspoken discipline that still knows how to sing.

We all worship at that shrine.