Tonality and Accents

When discussing languages, we distinguish between those that are tonal, such as Chinese, and those that aren't, like German. In tonal languages, one word can have multiple meanings depending upon its inflection: whether the sound is clipped or drawn out, rising or falling, glottal or rounded. To non-tonal speakers, the prospect of learning such a dialect is often intimidating - not rationally so, but in the way of the unfamiliar, like a new alphabet or backwards-reading script.

In the case of English, however, I wonder how applicable this distinction really is.

A weekly sketch on the Armstrong and Miller Show features two WWI flying aces. All their scenes are shot in black and white; their mode of speech is upper-class British. There is only one glaring (and deliberate) anachronism to spoil the historicity and source the humour: despite their accents, the pair speak in current teenage slang. So when the pilots are berated for cowardice, and one replies in his Eton-voice, 'That's, like, racism, but against cowards!', it's hilarious. And part of the reason has to do with tonality: the meaning of the words hasn't changed, but the context is incorrect. Properly, such phrasing belongs to the youth of a different class and generation: said with the wrong accent, it becomes absurd. The same can also be said of black American slang - it doesn't sound right unless spoken with its originating inflection, and for a middle-aged white man to attempt a 'what up, homie?' would either be deliberately ironic or appallingly incorrect.

Think of something as simple as repeating a joke you've heard. Hit the wrong emphasis, muddle the voices, and the humour is lost. If the original teller had a different accent to you, prepare to find the process harder. Commedians as diverse as Corinne Grant, Kenneth Williams, Stephen Fry, John Cleese, Dave Hughes, Rowan Atkinson, Sascha Baren-Cohen, Judith Lucy, Woody Allen and Arj Barker all generate a large part of their humour through their distinctive tones.

In conversational English, a rising or falling inflection makes the difference between asking a question and stating a fact, if it comes at the end of a sentance, or the topic under discussion, if in the middle. To cite subcultural precedent for both points: in Friends, Rachael mistakes Monica's question 'got the keys?' for a statement. Result: the pair are locked outside, as each assumes the other has the keys. Similarly, on Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Anya brings Spike to an Initiative party. On realising where he is, Spike protests, 'You brought me here?', just as Xander accuses, 'You brought him here?' To which Spike replies, 'I just said that! Only I hit the 'here' part.' Result: inflection and emphasis make the characters concerned about two different things: Spike with being near the Initiative, and Xander with Spike being there at all.

English isn't tonal; not in the deliberate and structured way of other languages. But our multitunious slang forms, jokes, emphases and accents all contribute to certain normalities of speech, phraseologies that, beyond being merely social, cultural or geographic, have the power to change the meaning of words. And that, I think, is often overlooked.