Enlarge/ Chinguetti slice at the National Museum of Natural History. A larger meteorite reported in 1916 hasn’t been spotted since.
In 1916, a French consular official reported finding a giant “iron hill” deep in the Sahara desert, roughly 45 kilometers (28 miles) from Chinguetti, Mauritania—purportedly a meteorite (technically a mesosiderite) some 40 meters (130 feet) tall and 100 meters (330 feet) long. He brought back a small fragment, but the meteorite hasn’t been found again since, despite the efforts of multiple expeditions, calling its very existence into question.
Three British researchers have conducted their own analysis and proposed a means of determining once and for all whether the Chinguetti meteorite really exists, detailing their findings in a new preprint posted to the physics arXiv. They contend that they have narrowed down the likely locations where the meteorite might be buried under high sand dunes and are currently awaiting access to data from a magnetometer survey of the region in hopes of either finding the mysterious missing meteorite or confirming that it likely never existed.
Captain Gaston Ripert was in charge of the Chinguetti camel corps. One day he overheard a conversation among the chameliers (camel drivers) about an unusual iron hill in the desert. He convinced a local chief to guide him there one night, taking Ripert on a 10-hour camel ride along a “disorienting” route, making a few detours along the way. He may even have been literally blindfolded, depending on how one interprets the French phrase en aveugle, which can mean either “blind” (i.e. without a compass) or “blindfolded.” The 4-kilogram fragment Ripert collected was later analyzed by noted geologist Alfred Lacroix, who considered it a significant discovery. But when others failed to locate the larger Chinguetti meteorite, people started to doubt Ripert’s story.
“I know that the general opinion is that the stone does not exist; that to some, I am purely and simply an imposter who picked up a metallic specimen,” Ripert wrote to French naturalist Theodore Monod in 1934. “That to others, I am a simpleton who mistook a sandstone outcrop for an enormous meteorite. I shall do nothing to disabuse them, I know only what I saw.”
Encouraged by a separate report of local blacksmiths claiming to recover iron from a giant block somewhere east or southeast of Chinguetti, Monod intermittently searched for the meteorite several times over the ensuing decades, to no avail. A pilot named Jacques Gallouédec thought he spotted a dark silhouette in the Saharan dunes in the 1980s. But neither Monod nor a second expedition in the late 1990s—documented by the UK’s Channel 4—could find anything. Monod concluded in 1989 that Ripert had likely mistakenly identified a sedimentary rock “with no trace of metal” as a meteorite.
Still, as Rutgers University physicist Matt Buckley noted on Bluesky, “This story has everything: giant unexplained meteorites, sand dunes, a guy named Gaston, ductile nickel needles, secret aeromagnetic surveys, and camel drivers.” So naturally, it intrigued Stephen Warren of Imperial College London, Oxford University’s Ekaterini Protopapa, and Robert Warren, who began their own search for the mysterious missing meteorite in 2020.
There’s a general consensus that performing any sort of complex algorithm on quantum hardware will have to wait for the arrival of error-corrected qubits. Individual qubits are too error-prone to be trusted for complex calculations, so quantum information will need to be distributed across multiple qubits, allowing monitoring for errors and intervention when they occur.
But most ways of making these “logical qubits” needed for error correction require anywhere from dozens to over a hundred individual hardware qubits. This means we’ll need anywhere from tens of thousands to millions of hardware qubits to do calculations. Existing hardware has only cleared the 1,000-qubit mark within the last month, so that future appears to be several years off at best.
But on Thursday, a company called Nord Quantique announced that it had demonstrated error correction using a single qubit with a distinct hardware design. While this has the potential to greatly reduce the number of hardware qubits needed for useful error correction, the demonstration involved a single qubit—the company doesn’t even expect to demonstrate operations on pairs of qubits until later this year.
Meet the bosonic qubit
The technology underlying this work is termed a bosonic qubit, and they’re not anything new; an optical instrument company even has a product listing for them that notes their potential for use in error correction. But while the concepts behind using them in this manner were well established, demonstrations were lagging. Nord Quantique has now posted a paper in the arXiv that details a demonstration of them actually lowering error rates.
The devices are structured much like a transmon, the form of qubit favored by tech heavyweights like IBM and Google. There, the quantum information is stored in a loop of superconducting wire and is controlled by what’s called a microwave resonator—a small bit of material where microwave photons will reflect back and forth for a while before being lost.
A bosonic qubit turns that situation on its head. In this hardware, the quantum information is held in the photons, while the superconducting wire and resonator control the system. These are both hooked up to a coaxial cavity (think of a structure that, while microscopic, looks a bit like the end of a cable connector).
Massively simplified, the quantum information is stored in the manner in which the photons in the cavity interact. The state of the photons can be monitored by the linked resonator/superconducting wire. If something appears to be off, the resonator/superconducting wire allows interventions to be made to restore the original state. Additional qubits are not needed. “A very simple and basic idea behind quantum error correction is redundancy,” co-founder and CTO Julien Camirand Lemyre told Ars. “One thing about resonators and oscillators in superconducting circuits is that you can put a lot of photons inside the resonators. And for us, the redundancy comes from there.”
This process doesn’t correct all possible errors, so it doesn’t eliminate the need for logical qubits made from multiple underlying hardware qubits. In theory, though, you can catch the two most common forms of errors that qubits are prone to (bit flips and changes in phase).
In the arXiv preprint, the team at Nord Quantique demonstrated that the system works. Using a single qubit and simply measuring whether it holds onto its original state, the error correction system can reduce problems by 14 percent. Unfortunately, overall fidelity is also low, starting at about 85 percent, which is significantly below what’s seen in other systems that have been through years of development work. Some qubits have been demonstrated with a fidelity of over 99 percent.
Getting competitive
So there’s no question that Nord Quantique is well behind a number of the leaders in quantum computing that can perform (error-prone) calculations with dozens of qubits and have far lower error rates. Again, Nord Quantique’s work was done using a single qubit—and without doing any of the operations needed to perform a calculation.
Lemyre told Ars that while the company is small, it benefits from being a spin-out of the Institut Quantique at Canada’s Sherbrooke University, one of Canada’s leading quantum research centers. In addition to having access to the expertise there, Nord Quantique uses a fabrication facility at Sherbrooke to make its hardware.
Over the next year, the company expects to demonstrate that the error correction scheme can function while pairs of qubits are used to perform gate operations, the fundamental units of calculations. Another high priority is to combine this hardware-based error correction with more traditional logical qubit schemes, which would allow additional types of errors to be caught and corrected. This would involve operations with a dozen or more of these bosonic qubits at a time.
But the real challenge will be in the longer term. The company is counting on its hardware’s ability to handle error correction to reduce the number of qubits needed for useful calculations. But if its competitors can scale up the number of qubits fast enough while maintaining the control and error rates needed, that may not ultimately matter. Put differently, if Nord Quantique is still in the hundreds of qubit range by the time other companies are in the hundreds of thousands, its technology might not succeed even if it has some inherent advantages.
But that’s the fun part about the field as things stand: We don’t really know. A handful of very different technologies are already well into development and show some promise. And there are other sets that are still early in the development process but are thought to have a smoother path to scaling to useful numbers of qubits. All of them will have to scale to a minimum of tens of thousands of qubits while enabling the ability to perform quantum manipulations that were cutting-edge science just a few decades ago.
Looming in the background is the simple fact that we’ve never tried to scale anything like this to the extent that will be needed. Unforeseen technical hurdles might limit progress at some point in the future.
Despite all this, there are people backing each of these technologies who know far more about quantum mechanics than I ever will. It’s a fun time.
Light-scattering microparticles reveal the flow pattern for the reverse (sucking) mode of a sprinkler, showing vortices and complex flow patterns forming inside the central chamber. Credit: K. Wang et al., 2024
A typical lawn sprinkler features various nozzles arranged at angles on a rotating wheel; when water is pumped in, they release jets that cause the wheel to rotate. But what would happen if the water were sucked into the sprinkler instead? In which direction would the wheel turn then, or would it even turn at all? That’s the essence of the “reverse sprinkler” problem that physicists like Richard Feynman, among others, have grappled with since the 1940s. Now, applied mathematicians at New York University think they’ve cracked the conundrum, per a recent paper published in the journal Physical Review Letters—and the answer challenges conventional wisdom on the matter.
“Our study solves the problem by combining precision lab experiments with mathematical modeling that explains how a reverse sprinkler operates,” said co-author Leif Ristroph of NYU’s Courant Institute. “We found that the reverse sprinkler spins in the ‘reverse’ or opposite direction when taking in water as it does when ejecting it, and the cause is subtle and surprising.”
Ristroph’s lab frequently addresses these kinds of colorful real-world puzzles. For instance, back in 2018, Ristroph and colleagues fine-tuned the recipe for the perfect bubble based on experiments with soapy thin films. (You want a circular wand with a 1.5-inch perimeter, and you should gently blow at a consistent 6.9 cm/s.) In 2021, the Ristroph lab looked into the formation processes underlying so-called “stone forests” common in certain regions of China and Madagascar. These pointed rock formations, like the famed Stone Forest in China’s Yunnan Province, are the result of solids dissolving into liquids in the presence of gravity, which produces natural convective flows.
In 2021, his lab built a working Tesla valve, in accordance with the inventor’s design, and measured the flow of water through the valve in both directions at various pressures. They found the water flowed about two times slower in the nonpreferred direction. And in 2022, Ristroph studied the surpassingly complex aerodynamics of what makes a good paper airplane—specifically what is needed for smooth gliding. They found that paper airplane aerodynamics differ substantially from conventional aircraft, which rely on airfoils to generate lift.
Enlarge/ Illustration of a “reaction wheel” from Ernst Mach’s Mechanik (1883).
Public domain
The reverse sprinkler problem is associated with Feynman because he popularized the concept, but it actually dates back to a chapter in Ernst Mach’s 1883 textbook The Science of Mechanics (Die Mechanik in Ihrer Entwicklung Historisch-Kritisch Dargerstellt). Mach’s thought experiment languished in relative obscurity until a group of Princeton University physicists began debating the issue in the 1940s.
Feynman was a graduate student there at the time and threw himself into the debate with gusto, even devising an experiment in the cyclotron laboratory to test his hypothesis. (In true Feynman fashion, that experiment culminated with the explosion of a glass carboy used in the apparatus because of the high internal pressure.)
One might intuit that a reverse sprinkler would work just like a regular sprinkler, merely played backward, so to speak. But the physics turns out to be more complicated. “The answer is perfectly clear at first sight,” Feynman wrote in Surely You’re Joking, Mr. Feynman (1985). “The trouble was, some guy would think it was perfectly clear [that the rotation would be] one way, and another guy would think it was perfectly clear the other way.”
Enlarge/ Like Kepler-10 b, illustrated above, newly discovered exoplanet HD 63433 d is a small, rocky planet in a tight orbit of its star.
NASA/Ames/JPL-Caltech/T. Pyle
Astronomers have discovered an unusual Earth-sized exoplanet they believe has a hemisphere of molten lava, with its other hemisphere tidally locked in perpetual darkness. Co-authors and study leaders Benjamin Capistrant (University of Florida) and Melinda Soares-Furtado (University of Wisconsin-Madison) presented the details yesterday at a meeting of the American Astronomical Society in New Orleans. An associated paper has just been published in The Astronomical Journal. Another paper published today in the journal Astronomy and Astrophysics by a different group described the discovery of a rare small, cold exoplanet with a massive outer companion 100 times the mass of Jupiter.
As previously reported, thanks to the massive trove of exoplanets discovered by the Kepler mission, we now have a good idea of what kinds of planets are out there, where they orbit, and how common the different types are. What we lack is a good sense of what that implies in terms of the conditions on the planets themselves. Kepler can tell us how big a planet is, but it doesn’t know what the planet is made of. And planets in the “habitable zone” around stars could be consistent with anything from a blazing hell to a frozen rock.
The Transiting Exoplanet Survey Satellite (TESS) was launched with the intention of helping us figure out what exoplanets are actually like. TESS is designed to identify planets orbiting bright stars relatively close to Earth, conditions that should allow follow-up observations to figure out their compositions and potentially those of their atmospheres.
Both Kepler and TESS identify planets using what’s called the transit method. This works for systems in which the planets orbit in a plane that takes them between their host star and Earth. As this occurs, the planet blocks a small fraction of the starlight that we see from Earth (or nearby orbits). If these dips in light occur with regularity, they’re diagnostic of something orbiting the star.
This tells us something about the planet. The frequency of the dips in the star’s light tells us how long an orbit takes, which tells us how far the planet is from its host star. That, combined with the host star’s brightness, tells us how much incoming light the planet receives, which will influence its temperature. (The range of distances at which temperatures are consistent with liquid water is called the habitable zone.) And we can use that, along with how much light is being blocked, to figure out how big the planet is.
But to really understand other planets and their potential to support life, we have to understand what they’re made of and what their atmosphere looks like. While TESS doesn’t answer those questions, it’s designed to find planets with other instruments that could answer them.
Enlarge/ Odd radio circles are large enough to contain galaxies in their centers and reach hundreds of thousands of light years across.
Jayanne English / University of Manitoba
The discovery of so-called “odd radio circles” several years ago had astronomers scrambling to find an explanation for these enormous regions of radio waves so far-reaching that they have galaxies at their centers. Scientists at the University of California, San Diego, think they have found the answer: outflowing galactic winds from exploding stars in so-called “starburst” galaxies. They described their findings in a new paper published in the journal Nature.
“These galaxies are really interesting,” said Alison Coil of the University of California, San Diego. “They occur when two big galaxies collide. The merger pushes all the gas into a very small region, which causes an intense burst of star formation. Massive stars burn out quickly, and when they die, they expel their gas as outflowing winds.”
As reported previously, the discovery arose from the Evolutionary Map of the Universe (EMU) project, which aims to take a census of radio sources in the sky. Several years ago, Ray Norris, an astronomer at Western Sydney University and CSIRO in Australia, predicted the EMU project would make unexpected discoveries. He dubbed them “WTFs.” Anna Kapinska, an astronomer at the National Radio Astronomy Observatory (NRAO) was browsing through radio astronomy data collected by CSIRO’s Australian Square Kilometer Array Pathfinder (ASKAP) telescope when she noticed several strange shapes that didn’t seem to resemble any known type of object. Following Norris’ nomenclature, she labeled them as possible WTFs. One of those was a picture of a ghostly circle of radio emission, “hanging out in space like a cosmic smoke ring.”
Other team members soon found two more weird round blobs, which they dubbed “odd radio circles” (ORCs). A fourth ORC was identified in archival data from India’s Giant MetreWave Radio Telescope, and a fifth was discovered in fresh ASKAP data in 2021. There are several more objects that might also be ORCs. Based on this, the team estimates there could be as many as 1,000 ORCs in all.
While Norris et al. initially assumed the blobs were just imaging artifacts, data from other radio telescopes confirmed they were a new class of astronomical object. They don’t show up in standard optical telescopes or in infrared and X-ray telescopes—only in the radio spectrum. Astronomers suspect the radio emissions are due to clouds of electrons. But that wouldn’t explain why ORCs don’t show up in other wavelengths. All of the confirmed ORCs thus far have a galaxy at the center, suggesting this might be a relevant factor in how they form. And they are enormous, measuring about a million light-years across, which is larger than our Milky Way.
As for what caused the explosions that led to the formation of ORCs, new data reported in 2022 was sufficient to rule out all but three possibilities. The first is that ORCs are the result of a shockwave from the center of a galaxy, perhaps arising from the merging of two supermassive black holes. Alternatively, they could be the result of radio jets spewing particles from active galactic nuclei. Finally, ORCs may be shells caused by starburst events (“termination shock”), which would produce a spherical shock wave as hot gas blasted out from a galactic center.
Enlarge/ A simulation of starburst-driven winds at three different time periods, starting at 181 million years. The top half of each image shows gas temperature, while the lower half shows the radial velocity.
Cassandra Lochhaas / Space Telescope Science Institute
Coil et al. were intrigued by the discovery of ORCs. They had been studying starburst galaxies, which are noteworthy for their very high rate of star formation, making them appear bright blue. The team thought the later stages of those starburst galaxies might explain the origin of ORCs, but they needed more than radio data to prove it. So the team used the integral field spectrograph at the W.M. Keck Observatory in Hawaii to take a closer look at ORC 4, the first radio circle observable from the Northern Hemisphere. That revealed a much higher amount of bright, heated, compressed gas than one would see in an average galaxy. Additional optical and infrared imaging data revealed that the stars in the ORC 4 galaxy are about 6 billion years old. New star formation seems to have ended some billion years ago.
The next step was to run computer simulations of the odd radio circle itself spanning the course of 750 million years. Those simulations showed an initial 200-million-year period with powerful outflowing galactic winds, followed by a shock wave that propelled very hot gas out of the galaxy to create a radio ring. Meanwhile, a reverse shock wave sent cooler gas back into the central galaxy.
“To make this work, you need a high-mass outflow rate, meaning it’s ejecting a lot of material very quickly. And the surrounding gas just outside the galaxy has to be low density, otherwise the shock stalls. These are the two key factors,” said Coil. “It turns out the galaxies we’ve been studying have these high-mass outflow rates. They’re rare, but they do exist. I really do think this points to ORCs originating from some kind of outflowing galactic winds.” She also thinks that ORCs could help astronomers understand more about galactic outflowing winds since it enables them to “see” those winds through radio data and spectrometry.
There’s rarely time to write about every cool science-y story that comes our way. So this year, we’re once again running a special Twelve Days of Christmas series of posts, highlighting one science story that fell through the cracks in 2020, each day from December 25 through January 5. Today: Using markerless motion capture technology to determine what makes the best free throw shooters in basketball.
Markerless motion-capture technology shows the biomechanics of free-throw shooters. Credit: Jayhawk Athletic Peformance Laboratory.
Basketball season is in full swing, and in a close game, the team that makes the highest percentage of free throws can often eke out the win. A better understanding of the precise biomechanics of the best free-throw shooters could translate into critical player-performance improvement. Researchers at the University of Kansas in Lawrence used markerless motion-capture technology to do just that, reporting their findings in an August paper published in the journal Frontiers in Sports and Active Living.
“We’re very interested in analyzing basketball shooting mechanics and what performance parameters differentiate proficient from nonproficient shooters,” said co-author Dimitrije Cabarkapa, director of the Jayhawk Athletic Performance Laboratory at the University of Kansas. “High-speed video analysis is one way that we can do that, but innovative technological tools such as markerless motion capture systems can allow us to dig even deeper into that. In my opinion, the future of sports science is founded on using noninvasive and time-efficient testing methodologies.”
Scientists are sports fans like everyone else, so it’s not surprising that a fair amount of prior research has gone into various aspects of basketball. For instance, there has been considerable debate on whether the “hot hand” phenomenon in basketball is a fallacy or not—that is, when players make more shots in a row than statistics suggest they should. A 1985 study proclaimed it a fallacy, but more recent mathematical analysis (including a 2015 study examining the finer points of the law of small numbers) from other researchers has provided some vindication that such streaks might indeed be a real thing, although it might only apply to certain players.
Some 20 years ago, Larry Silverberg and Chia Tran of North Carolina State University developed a method to computationally simulate the trajectories of millions of basketballs on the computer and used it to examine the mathematics of the free throw. Per their work, in a perfect free throw, the basketball has a 3 hertz backspin as it leaves the player’s fingertips, the launch is about 52 degrees, and the launch speed is fairly slow, ensuring the greatest probability of making the basket. Of those variables launch speed is the most difficult for players to control. The aim point also matters: Players should aim at the back of the rim, which is more forgiving than the front.
There was also a 2021 study by Malaysian scientists that analyzed the optimal angle of a basketball free throw, based on data gleaned from 30 NBA players. They concluded that a player’s height is inversely proportional to the initial velocity and optimal throwing angle, and that the latter is directly proportional to the time taken for a ball to reach its maximum height.
Enlarge/ Graphic showing the contrast in release angles between proficient and nonproficient shooters.
Jayhawk Athletic Performance Laboratory.
Cabarkapa’s lab has been studying basketball players’ performance for several years now, including how eating breakfast (or not) impacts shooting performance, and what happens to muscles when players overtrain. They published a series of studies in 2022 assessing the effectiveness of the most common coaching cues, like “bend your knees,” “tuck your elbow in,” or “release the ball as high as possible.” For one study, Cabarkapa et al. analyzed high-definition video of free-throw shooters for kinematic differences between players who excel at free throws and those who don’t. The results pointed to greater flexion in hip, knee, and angle joints resulting in lower elbow placement when shooting.
Yet they found no kinematic differences in shots that proficient players made and those they missed, so the team conducted a follow-up study employing a 3D motion-capture system. This confirmed that greater knee and elbow flexion and lower elbow placement were critical factors. There was only one significant difference between made and missed free-throw shots: positioning the forearm almost parallel with an imaginary lateral axis.
Enlarge/ The bundengan (left) began as a combined shelter/instrument for duck hunters but it is now often played onstage.
There’s rarely time to write about every cool science-y story that comes our way. So this year, we’re once again running a special Twelve Days of Christmas series of posts, highlighting one science story that fell through the cracks in 2020, each day from December 25 through January 5. Today: the surprisingly complex physics of two simply constructed instruments: the Indonesian bundengan and the Australian Aboriginal didgeridoo (or didjeridu).
The bundengan is a rare, endangered instrument from Indonesia that can imitate the sound of metallic gongs and cow-hide drums (kendangs) in a traditional gamelan ensemble. The didgeridoo is an iconic instrument associated with Australian Aboriginal culture that produces a single, low-pitched droning note that can be continuously sustained by skilled players. Both instruments are a topic of scientific interest because their relatively simple construction produces some surprisingly complicated physics. Two recent studies into their acoustical properties were featured at an early December meeting of the Acoustical Society of America, held in Sydney, Australia, in conjunction with the Australian Acoustical Society.
The bundengan originated with Indonesian duck hunters as protection from rain and other adverse conditions while in the field, doubling as a musical instrument to pass the time. It’s a half-dome structure woven out of bamboo splits to form a lattice grid, crisscrossed at the top to form the dome. That dome is then coated with layers of bamboo sheaths held in place with sugar palm fibers. Musicians typically sit cross-legged inside the dome-shaped resonator and pluck the strings and bars to play. The strings produce metallic sounds while the plates inside generate percussive drum-like sounds.
Gea Oswah Fatah Parikesit of Universitas Gadja Mada in Indonesia has been studying the physics and acoustics of the bundengan for several years now. And yes, he can play the instrument. “I needed to learn to do the research,” he said during a conference press briefing. “It’s very difficult because you have two different blocking styles for the right and left hand sides. The right hand is for the melody, for the string, and the left is for the rhythm, to pluck the chords.”
Much of Parikesit’s prior research on the bundengan focused on the unusual metal/percussive sound of the strings, especially the critical role played by the placement of bamboo clips. He used computational simulations of the string vibrations to glean insight on how the specific gong-like sound was produced, and how those vibrations change with the addition of bamboo clips located at different sections of the string. He found that adding the clips produces two vibrations of different frequencies at different locations on the string, with the longer section having a high frequency vibration compared to the lower frequency vibration of the shorter part of the string. This is the key to making the gong-like sound.
This time around, Parikesit was intrigued by the fact many bundengan musicians have noted the instrument sounds better wet. In fact, several years ago, Parikesit attended a bundengan concert in Melbourne during the summer when it was very hot and dry—so much so that the musicians brought their own water spray bottles to ensure the instruments stayed (preferably) fully wet.
Enlarge/ A bundengan is a portable shelter woven from bamboo, worn by Indonesian duck herders who often outfit it to double as a musical instrument.
Gea Oswah Fatah Parikesit
“A key element between the dry and wet versions of the bundengan is the bamboo sheaths—the material used to layer the wall of the instrument,” Parokesit said. “When the bundengan is dry, the bamboo sheaths open and that results in looser connections between neighboring sheaths. When the bundengan is wet, the sheaths tend to form a curling shape, but because they are held by ropes, they form tight connections between the neighboring sheaths.”
The resulting tension allows the sheaths to vibrate together. That has a significant impact on the instrument’s sound, taking on a “twangier” quality when dry and a more of metallic gong sound when it is wet. Parikesit has tried making bundengans with other materials: paper, leaves, even plastics. But none of those produce the same sound quality as the bamboo sheaths. He next plans to investigate other musical instruments made from bamboo sheaths.“As an Indonesian, I have extra motivation because the bundengan is a piece of our cultural heritage,” Parikesit said. “I am trying my best to support the conservation and documentation of the bundengan and other Indonesian endangered instruments.”
Coupling with the human vocal tract
Meanwhile, John Smith of the University of New South Wales is equally intrigued by the physics and acoustics of the didgeridoo. The instrument is constructed from the trunk or large branches of the eucalyptus tree. The trick is to find a live tree with lots of termite activity, such that the trunk has been hollowed out leaving just the living sapwood shell. A suitably hollow trunk is then cut down, cleaned out, the bark removed, the ends trimmed, and the exterior shaped into a long cylinder or cone to produce the final instrument. The longer the instrument, the lower the pitch or key.
Players will vibrate their lips to play the didgeridoo in a manner similar to lip valve instruments like trumpets or trombones, except those use a small mouthpiece attached to the instrument as an interface. (Sometimes a beeswax rim is added to a didgeridoo mouthpiece end.) Players typically use circular breathing to maintain that continuous low-pitched drone for several minutes, basically inhaling through the nose and using air stored in the puffed cheeks to keep producing the sound. It’s the coupling of the instrument with the human vocal tract that makes the physics so complex, per Smith.
Smith was interested in investigating how changes in the configuration of the vocal tract produced timbral changes in the rhythmic pattern of the sounds produced. To do so, “We needed to develop a technique that could measure the acoustic properties of the player’s vocal tract while playing,” Smith said during the same press briefing. “This involved injecting a broadband signal into the corner of the player’s mouth and using a microphone to record the response.” That enabled Smith and his cohorts to record the vocal tract impedance in different configurations in the mouth.
Enlarge/ Producing complex sounds with the didjeridu requires creating and manipulating resonances inside the vocal tract.
Kate Callas
The results: “We showed that strong resonances in the vocal tract can suppress bands of frequencies in the output sound,” said Smith. “The remaining strong bands of frequencies, called formants, are noticed by our hearing because they fall in the same ranges as the formants we use in speech. It’s a bit like a sculptor removing marble, and we observe the bits that are left behind.”
Smith et al. also noted that the variations in timbre arise from the player singing while playing, or imitating animal sounds (such as the dingo or the kookaburra), which produces many new frequencies in the output sound. To measure the contact between vocal folds, they placed electrodes on either side of a player’s throat and zapped them with a small high frequency electric current. They simultaneously measured lip movement with another pair of electrics above and below the lips. Both types of vibrations affect the flow of air to produce the new frequencies.
As for what makes a desirable didgeridoo that appeals to players, acoustic measurements on a set of 38 such instruments—with the quality of each rated by seven experts in seven different subjective categories—produced a rather surprising result. One might think players would prefer instruments with very strong resonances but the opposite turned out to be true. Instruments with stronger resonances were ranked the worst, while those with weaker resonances rated more highly. Smith, for one, thinks this makes sense. “This means that their own vocal tract resonance can dominate the timbre of the notes,” he said.
There’s rarely time to write about every cool science-y story that comes our way. So this year, we’re once again running a special Twelve Days of Christmas series of posts, highlighting one science story that fell through the cracks in 2023, each day from December 25 through January 5. Today: how applying magnetic forces to individual “micro-roller” particles spurs collective motion, producing some pretty counter-intuitive results.
Enlarge/ Engineering researchers at Lehigh University have discovered that sometimes sand can actually flow uphill.
Lehigh University
We intuitively understand that the sand pouring through an hourglass, for example, forms a neat roughly pyramid-shaped pile at the bottom, in which the grains near the surface flow over an underlying base of stationary particles. Avalanches and sand dunes exhibit similar dynamics. But scientists at Lehigh University in Pennsylvania have discovered that applying a magnetic torque can actually cause sand-like particles to collectively flow uphill in seeming defiance of gravity, according to a September paper published in the journal Nature Communications.
Sand is pretty fascinating stuff from a physics standpoint. It’s an example of a granular material, since it acts both like a liquid and a solid. Dry sand collected in a bucket pours like a fluid, yet it can support the weight of a rock placed on top of it, like a solid, even though the rock is technically denser than the sand. So sand defies all those tidy equations describing various phases of matter, and the transition from flowing “liquid” to a rigid “solid” happens quite rapidly. It’s as if the grains act as individuals in the fluid form, but are capable of suddenly banding together when solidarity is needed, achieving a weird kind of “strength in numbers” effect.
Nor can physicists precisely predict an avalanche. That’s partly because of the sheer number of grains of sand in even a small pile, each of which will interact with several of its immediate neighboring grains simultaneously—and those neighbors shift from one moment to the next. Not even a supercomputer can track the movements of individual grains over time, so the physics of flow in granular media remains a vital area of research.
But grains of sand that collectively flow uphill? That is simply bizarre behavior. Lehigh University engineer James Gilchrist manages the Laboratory for Particle Mixing and Self-Organization and stumbled upon this odd phenomenon while experimenting with “micro-rollers”: polymer particles coated in iron oxide (a process called micro-encapsulation). He was rotating a magnet under a vial of micro-rollers one day and noticed they started to pile uphill. Naturally he and his colleagues had to investigate further.
For their experiments, Gilchrist et al. attached neodymium magnets to a motorized wheel at 90-degree intervals, alternating the outward facing poles. The apparatus also included a sample holder and a USB microscope in a fixed position. The micro-rollers were prepared by suspending them in a glass vial containing ethanol and using a magnet to separate them from dust or any uncoated particles. Once the micro-rollers were clean, they were dried, suspended in fresh ethanol, and loaded onto the sample holder. A vibrating motor agitated the samples to produce flattened granular beds, and the motorized wheel was set in motion to apply magnetic torque. A gaussmeter measured the magnetic field strength relative to orientation.
Uphill granular flow of microrobotic microrollers. Credit: Lehigh University.
The results: each micro-roller began to rotate in response to the magnetic torque, creating pairs that briefly formed and then split, and increasing the magnetic force increased the particle cohesion. This in turn gave the micro-rollers more traction and enabled them to move more quickly, working in concert to counterintuitively flow uphill. In the absence of that magnetic torque, the miro-rollers flowed downhill normally. The torque-induced action was so unexpected that the researchers coined a new term to describe it: a “negative angle of repose” caused by a negative coefficient of friction.
“Up until now, no one would have used these terms,” said Gilchrist. “They didn’t exist. But to understand how these grains are flowing uphill, we calculated what the stresses are that cause them to move in that direction. If you have a negative angle of repose, then you must have cohesion to give a negative coefficient of friction. These granular flow equations were never derived to consider these things, but after calculating it, what came out is an apparent coefficient of friction that is negative.”
It’s an intriguing proof of principle that could one day lead to new ways to control how substances mix or separate, as well as potential swarming microrobotics applications. The scientists have already started building tiny staircases with laser cutters and videotaping the micro-rollers climbing up and down the other. One micro-roller can’t overcome the height of each step, but many working collectively can do so, per Gilchrist.
Enlarge/ The Royal Institution was founded in 1799 and is still located in the same historic building at 21 Albermarle Street in London.
If you’re a fan of science, and especially science history, no trip to London is complete without visiting the Royal Institution, browsing the extensive collection of artifacts housed in the Faraday Museum and perhaps taking in an evening lecture by one of the many esteemed scientists routinely featured—including the hugely popular annual Christmas lectures. (The lecture theater may have been overhauled to meet the needs of the 21st century but walking inside still feels a bit like stepping back through time.) So what better time than the Christmas season to offer a virtual tour of some of the highlights contained within the historic walls of 21 Albemarle Street?
The Royal Institution was founded in 1799 by a group of leading British scientists. This is where Thomas Young explored the wave theory of light (at a time when the question of whether light was a particle or wave was hotly debated); John Tyndall conducted experiments in radiant heat; Lord Rayleigh discovered argon; James Dewar liquified hydrogen and invented the forerunner of the thermos; and father-and-son duo William Henry and William Lawrence Bragg invented x-ray crystallography.
No less than 14 Nobel laureates have conducted ground-breaking research at the Institution over the ensuing centuries, but the 19th century physicist Michael Faraday is a major focus. In fact, there is a full-sized replica of Faraday’s magnetic laboratory—where he made so many of his seminal discoveries—in the original basement room where he worked, complete with an old dumbwaiter from when the room was used as a servant’s hall. Its arrangement is based on an 1850s painting by one of Faraday’s friends and the room is filled with objects used by Faraday over the course of his scientific career.
The son of an English blacksmith, Faraday was apprenticed to a bookbinder at 14, a choice of profession that enabled him to read voraciously, particularly about the natural sciences. In 1813, a friend gave Faraday a ticket to hear the eminent scientist Humphry Davy lecture on electrochemistry at the Royal Institution. He was so taken by the presentation that he asked Davy to hire him. Davy initially declined, but shortly afterwards sacked his assistant for brawling, and hired Faraday to replace him. Faraday helped discover two new compounds of chlorine and carbon in those early days, learned how to make his own glass, and also invented an early version of the Bunsen burner, among other accomplishments.
Painting of the Royal Institution circa 1838, by Thomas Hosmer Shepherd.
Public domain
Michael Faraday giving one of his famous Christmas lectures.
Royal Institution
A Friday Evening Discourse at the Royal Institution; Sir James Dewar on Liquid Hydrogen, by Henry Jamyn Brooks, 1904
Public domain
The Lecture Theatre as it looks today
Faraday’s magnetic laboratory in the basement of the Royal Institution
Royal Institution
A page from one of Faraday’s notebooks
Royal Institution
Faraday was particularly interested in the new science of electromagnetism, first discovered in 1820 by Hans Christian Ørsted. In 1821, Faraday discovered electromagnetic rotation—which converts electricity into mechanical motion via a magnet—and used that underlying principle to build the first electric motor. The Royal Institution’s collection includes the only surviving electric motor that Faraday built: a wire hanging down into a glass vessel with a bar magnet at the bottom. Faraday would fill the glass with mercury (an excellent conductor), then connect his apparatus to a battery, which sent electricity through the wire in turn. This created a magnetic field around the wire, and that field’s interaction with the magnet at the bottom of the glass vessel would cause the wire to rotate in a clockwise direction.
Ten years later, Faraday succeeded in showing that a jiggling magnet could induce an electrical current in a wire. Known as the principle of the dynamo, or electromagnetic induction, it became the basis of electric generators, which convert the energy of a changing magnetic field into an electrical current. One of Faraday’s induction rings is on display, comprised of coils of wire wound on opposites sides of the ring, insulated with cotton. Passing electricity through one would briefly induce a current in the other. Also on display is one of Faraday’s generators: a bar magnet and a simple cotton-insulated tube wound with a coil of wire.
In yet another experiment, Faraday placed a piece of heavy leaded glass on a magnet’s poles to see how light would be affected by a magnet. He passed light through the glass and when he turned on the electromagnet, he found that the polarization of the light had rotated slightly. This is called the magneto-optical effect (or Faraday effect), demonstrating that magnetism is related not just to electricity, but also to light. The Royal Institution has a Faraday magneto-optical apparatus with which he “at last succeeded in… magnetizing a ray of light.” In 1845, Faraday discovered diamagnetism, a property of certain materials that give them a weak repulsion from a magnetic field.
Equipment used by Faraday to make glass
Drawing of Faraday’s electromagnetic rotation experiment.
Public domain
Faraday motor (electric magnetic rotation apparatus), 1822
Royal Institution
Faraday’s dynamo (generator), October 1831
Royal Institution
Faraday’s induction ring
Royal Institution
Faraday’s magneto-optical apparatus
Royal Institution
One of Faraday’s iron filings (1851) showing magnetic lines of force
Royal Institution
Faraday’s original gold colloids are still active well over a century later
Shining a laser light through a gold colloid mixture produces the Faraday-Tyndall Effect.
Royal Institution
Faraday concluded from all those experiments that magnetism was the center of an elaborate system of invisible curved tentacles (electric lines of force) that spread throughout space like the roots of trees branching through the earth. He was able to demonstrate these lines of force by coating sheets of paper with wax and placing them on top of bar magnets. When he sprinkled powdery iron filings on the surface, those iron filings were attracted to the magnets, revealing the lines of force. And by gently heating the waxed paper, he found that the iron filings would set on the page, preserving them.
In the 1850s, Faraday’s interests turned to the properties of light and matter. He made his own gold slides and shone light through them to observe the interactions. But commercial gold leaf, typically made by hammering the metal into thin sheets, was still much too thick for his purposes. So Faraday had to make his own via chemical means, which involved washing gold films. The resulting faint red fluid intrigued Faraday and he kept samples in bottles, shining light though the fluids and noting an intriguing “cone effect” (now known as the Faraday-Tyndall Effect)—the result of particles of gold suspended in the fluid that were much too small to see.
One might consider Faraday an early nanoscientist, since these are now known as metallic nanoparticles. The Institution’s current state-of-the-art nanotechnology lab is appropriately located right across from Faraday’s laboratory in the basement. And even though Faraday’s gold colloids are well over a century old, they remain optically active. There’s no way to figure out why this might be the case without opening the bottles but the bottles are too valuable as artifacts to justify doing that.
Plenty of other scientific luminaries have their work commemorated in the Royal Institution’s collection, including that of Faraday’s mentor, Humphry Davy, who discovered the chemical elements barium, strontium, sodium, potassium, calcium and magnesium. Early in the 19th century, there were several explosions in northern England’s coal mines caused by the lamps used by the miners accidentally igniting pockets of flammable gas. Davy was asked to come up with a safer lighting alternative.
Schematic for the Davy lamp
Public domain
Humphry Davy’s miner’s lamp (left) displayed alongside his rival George Stephenson’s lamps
Royal Institution
Schematic for John Tyndall’s radiant heat apparatus
Royal Institution
Tyndall’s radiant heat tube
Royal Institution
Tyndall’s blue sky tube, 1869
Royal Institution
Title page of Tyndall’s Heat: A Mode of Motion
Paul Wilkinson/Royal Institution
After experimenting with several prototypes, Davy finally settled on a simple design in 1815 consisting of a “chimney” made of wire gauze to enclose the flame. The gauze absorbed heat to prevent igniting flammable gas but still let through sufficient light. The invention significantly reduced fatalities among coal miners. Davy had a rival, however in a mining engineer named George Stephenson who independently developed his own design that was remarkably similar to Davy’s. Samples of both are displayed in the Institution’s lower ground floor “Light Corridor.” Davy’s lamp would ultimately triumph, while Stephenson later invented the first steam-powered railroad locomotive.
Atmospheric physicist John Tyndall was a good friend of Faraday and shared the latter’s gift for public lecture demonstrations. His experiments on radiation and the heat-absorptive power of gases were undertaken with an eye toward developing a better understanding of the physics of molecules. Among the Tyndall artifacts housed in the Royal Institution is his radiant heat tube, part of an elaborate experimental apparatus he used to measure the extent to which infrared radiation was absorbed and emitted by various gases filling its central tube. By this means he concluded that water vapor absorbs more radiant heat than atmospheric gases, and hence that vapor is crucial for moderating Earth’s climate via a natural “greenhouse effect.”
The collection also includes Tyndall’s “blue sky apparatus,” which the scientist used to explain why the sky is blue during the day and takes on red hues at sunset—namely, particles in the Earth’s atmosphere scatter sunlight and blue light is scattered more strongly than red light. (It’s the same Faraday-Tyndall effect observed when shining light through Faraday’s gold colloids.)
James Dewar in the Royal Institution, circa 1900
Public domain
A Dewar flask
Royal Institution
The x-ray spectrometer developed by William Henry Bragg.
Royal Institution
Bragg’s rock salt model
On Christmas Day, 1892, James Dewar exhibited his newly invented Dewar flask at the Royal Institution for the first time, which he used for his cryogenic experiments on liquefying gases. Back in 1872, Dewar and Peter Tait had built a vacuum-insulated vessel to keep things warm, and Dewar adapted that design for his flask, designed to keep things cold—specifically cold enough to maintain the extremely low temperatures at which gases transitioned into liquid form. Dewar failed to patent his invention, however; the patent eventually went to the Thermos company in 1904, which rebranded the product to keep liquids hot as well as cold.
As for William Henry Bragg, he studied alpha, beta, and gamma rays early in his career and hypothesized that both gamma rays and x-rays had particle-like properties. This was bolstered by Max Von Laue‘s Nobel Prize-winning discovery that crystals could diffract x-rays. Bragg and his son, William Lawrence—then a student at Trinity College Cambridge—began conducting their own experiments. Bragg pere invented a special “ionization spectrometer,” in which a crystal could be rotated to precise angles so that the different scattering patterns of x-rays could be measured. The pair used the instrument to determine the structure of crystals and molecules, winning the 1915 Nobel Prize in Physics for their efforts. That spectrometer, the prototype of today’s x-ray diffractometers, is still housed in the Royal Institution, as well as their model of the atomic structure of rock salt.
Enlarge/ Rembrandt’s The Night Watch underwent many chemical and mechanical alterations over the last 400 years.
Public domain
Rembrandt’s The Night Watch, painted in 1642, is the Dutch master’s largest surviving painting, known particularly for its exquisite use of light and shadow. A new X-ray imaging analysis of the masterpiece has revealed an unexpected lead layer, perhaps applied as a protective measure while preparing the canvas, according to a new paper published in the journal Science Advances. The work was part of the Rijksmuseum’s ongoing Operation Night Watch, the largest multidisciplinary research and conservation project for Rembrandt’s famous painting, devoted to its long-term preservation.
The famous scene depicted in The Night Watch—officially called Militia Company of District II under the Command of Captain Frans Banninck Cocq—was not meant to have taken place at night. Rather, the dark appearance is the result of the accumulation of dirt and varnish over four centuries, as the painting was subject to various kinds of chemical and mechanical alterations.
For instance, in 1715, The Night Watch was moved to Amsterdam’s City Hall (now the Royal Palace on Dam Square). It was too large for the new location, so the painting was trimmed on all four sides, and the trimmed pieces were never found (although in 2021, AI was used to re-create the original full painting). The objective of Operation Night Watch is to employ a wide variety of imaging and analytical techniques to better understand the materials Rembrandt used to create his masterpiece and how those materials have changed over time.
As previously reported, past analyses of Rembrandt’s paintings identified many pigments the Dutch master used in his work, including lead white, multiple ochres, bone black, vermilion, madder lake, azurite, ultramarine, yellow lake, and lead-tin yellow, among others. The artist rarely used pure blue or green pigments, with Belshazzar’s Feast being a notable exception. (The Rembrandt Database is the best resource for a comprehensive chronicling of the many different investigative reports.)
Earlier this year, the researchers at Operation Night Watch found rare traces of a compound called lead formate in the painting. They scanned about half a square meter of the painting’s surface with X-ray powder diffraction mapping (among other methods) and analyzed tiny fragments from the painting with synchrotron micro X-ray probes. This revealed the presence of the lead formates—surprising in itself, but the team also identified those formates in areas where there was no lead pigment, white, or yellow. It’s possible that lead formates disappear fairly quickly, which could explain why they have not been detected in paintings by the Dutch Masters until now. But if that is the case, why didn’t the lead formate disappear in The Night Watch? And where did it come from in the first place?
Hoping to answer these questions, the team whipped up a model of “cooked oils” from a 17th century recipe, which called for mixing and heating linseed oil and lead oxide, then adding hot water to the reacting mixture. They analyzed those model oils with synchrotron radiation. The results supported their hypothesis that the oil used for light parts of the painting was treated with an alkaline lead drier. The fact that The Night Watch was revarnished with an oil-based varnish in the 18th century complicates matters, as this may have provided a fresh source of formic acid, such that different regions of the painting rich in lead formates may have formed at different times in the painting’s history.
This latest paper sheds more light on the painting by focusing on the preparatory layers applied to the canvas. It’s known that Rembrandt used a quartz-clay ground for The Night Watch—the first time he had done so, perhaps because the colossal size of the painting “motivated him to look for a cheaper, less heavy and more flexible alternative for the ground layer” than the red earth, lead white, and cerussite he was known to use on earlier paintings, the authors suggested.
Enlarge/ A so far unknown lead-containing impregnation ‘layer’ was discovered in Rembrandt’s The Night Watch via the correlated synchrotron-based X-ray fluorescence and ptychographic tomography of a paint sample, supported by a macroscale X-ray fluorescence scan of the whole painting.
Fréderique Broers
Per the authors, this is the first time that 3D X-ray imaging techniques have been used: X-ray fluorescence and X-ray ptychographic nano-tomography applied to an embedded paint fragment comprised of only the quartz-clay ground. The authors maintain that microscale analysis of historical paintings usually relies on 2D imaging techniques (e.g., light microscopy, scanning electron microscopy, synchrotron radiation spectroscopy), which only yield partial information about the size, shape, and distribution of pigment particles below the visible surface.
The 3D methods capture more detail by comparison, revealing the presence of an unknown (and unexpected) lead-containing layer located just underneath the ground layer. The authors suggest that this could be due to using a lead compound added to the oil used to prepare the canvas as a drying additive—perhaps to protect the painting from the damaging effects of humidity. (Usually a glue sizing was used before applying the ground layer.)
The Night Watch originally hung in the “great hall” of a musketeer shooting range in Amsterdam and faced windows. The authors note that since the Middle Ages, red lead in oil has been used to preserve stone, wood, and metal against humidity, and one contemporary source mentions using lead-rich oil instead of the typical glue to keep the canvas from separating after years of exposure in humid environments. And that newly discovered lead layer could be the reason for the unusual lead protrusions in areas of The Night Watch with no other lead-containing compounds in the paint. It’s possible that lead migrated into the painting’s ground layer from that lead-oil preparatory layer below.
Enlarge/ Harvard University graduate student Yue Sun won a Milton Van Dyke Award for her video on the hydrodynamics of marbled paper.
Y. Sun/Harvard University et al.
Marbled paper is an art form that dates back at least to the 17th century, when European travelers to the Middle East brought back samples and bound them into albums. Its visually striking patterns arise from the complex hydrodynamics of paint interacting with water, inspiring a winning video entry in this year’s Gallery of Fluid Motion.
The American Physical Society’s Division of Fluid Dynamics sponsors the gallery each year as part of its annual meeting, featuring videos and posters submitted by scientists from all over the world. The objective is to highlight “the captivating science and often breathtaking beauty of fluid motion” and to “celebrate and appreciate the remarkable fluid dynamics phenomena unveiled by researchers and physicists.”
The three videos featured here are the winners of the Milton Van Dyke Awards, which also included three winning posters. There were three additional general video winners—on the atomization of impinging jets, the emergent collective motion of condensate droplets, and the swimming motion of a robotic eel—as well as three poster winners. You can view all the 2023 entries (winning and otherwise) here.
The hydrodynamics of marbling art
Harvard University graduate student Yue Sun was fascinated by the process and the resulting patterns of making marbled paper, particularly the randomness. “You don’t really know what you’re going to end up with until you have it printed,” she told Physics Magazine.
Although there are several different methods for marbling paper, the most common involves filling a shallow tray with water, then painstakingly applying different ink or paint colors to the water’s surface with an ink brush to cover the surface with concentric circles. Adding surfactants makes the colors float so that they can be stirred—perhaps with a very fine human hair—or fanned out by blowing on the circles of ink or paint with a straw. The final step is to lay paper on top to capture the colorful floating patterns. (Body marbling relies on a similar process, except the floating patterns are transferred onto a person’s skin.)
Sun was curious about the hydrodynamics at play and explored two key questions in the simulations for the video. Why does the paint or ink float despite being denser than the liquid bath? And why don’t the colors mix together to create new colors when agitated or stirred? The answer to the former is basically “surface tension,” while the latter does not occur because the bath is too viscous, so the diffusion of the paint or ink colors across color boundaries happens too slowly for mixing. Sun hopes to further improve her simulations of marbling in hopes of reverse-engineering some of her favorite patterns to determine which tools and movements were used to create them.
