Google’s speech recognition has a gender bias

In my last post, I looked at how Google’s automatic speech recognition worked with different dialects. To get this data, I hand-checked annotations  more than 1500 words from fifty different accent tag videos .

Now, because I’m a sociolinguist and I know that it’s important to stratify your samples, I made sure I had an equal number of male and female speakers for each dialect. And when I compared performance on male and female talkers, I found something deeply disturbing: YouTube’s auto captions consistently performed better on male voices than female voice (t(47) = -2.7, p < 0.01.) . (You can see my data and analysis here.)

accuarcyByGender

On average, for each female speaker less than half (47%) her words were captioned correctly. The average male speaker, on the other hand, was captioned correctly 60% of the time.

It’s not that there’s a consistent but small effect size, either, 13% is a pretty big effect. The Cohen’s d was 0.7 which means, in non-math-speak, that if you pick a random man and random woman from my sample, there’s an almost 70% chance the transcriptions will be more accurate for the man. That’s pretty striking.

What it is not, unfortunately, is shocking. There’s a long history of speech recognition technology performing better for men than women:

This is a real problem with real impacts on people’s lives. Sure, a few incorrect Youtube captions aren’t a matter of life and death. But some of these applications have a lot higher stakes. Take the medical dictation software study. The fact that men enjoy better performance than women with these technologies means that it’s harder for women to do their jobs. Even if it only takes a second to correct an error, those seconds add up over the days and weeks to a major time sink, time your male colleagues aren’t wasting messing with technology. And that’s not even touching on the safety implications of voice recognition in cars.

 

So where is this imbalance coming from? First, let me make one thing clear: the problem is not with how women talk. The suggestion that, for example, “women could be taught to speak louder, and direct their voices towards the microphone” is ridiculous. In fact, women use speech strategies that should make it easier for voice recognition technology to work on women’s voices.  Women tend to be more intelligible (for people without high-frequency hearing loss), and to talk slightly more slowly. In general, women also favor more standard forms and make less use of stigmatized variants. Women’s vowels, in particular, lend themselves to classification: women produce longer vowels which are more distinct from each other than men’s are. (Edit 7/28/2016: I have since found two papers by Sharon Goldwater, Dan Jurafsky and Christopher D. Manning where they found better performance for women than men–due to the above factors and different rates of filler words like “um” and “uh”.) One thing that may be making a difference is that women also tend not to be as loud, partly as a function of just being smaller, and cepstrals (the fancy math thing what’s under the hood of most automatic voice recognition) are sensitive to differences in intensity. This all doesn’t mean that women’s voices are more difficult; I’ve trained classifiers on speech data from women and they worked just fine, thank you very much. What it does mean is that women’s voices are different from men’s voices, though, so a system designed around men’s voices just won’t work as well for women’s.

Which leads right into where I think this bias is coming from: unbalanced training sets. Like car crash dummies, voice recognition systems were designed for (and largely by) men. Over two thirds of the authors in the  Association for Computational Linguistics Anthology Network are male, for example. Which is not to say that there aren’t truly excellent female researchers working in speech technology (Mari Ostendorf and Gina-Anne Levow here at the UW and Karen Livescu at TTI-Chicago spring immediately to mind) but they’re outnumbered. And that unbalance seems to extend to the training sets, the annotated speech that’s used to teach automatic speech recognition systems what things should sound like. Voxforge, for example, is a popular open source speech dataset that “suffers from major gender and per speaker duration imbalances.” I had to get that info from another paper, since Voxforge doesn’t have speaker demographics available on their website. And it’s not the only popular corpus that doesn’t include speaker demographics: neither does the AMI meeting corpus, nor the Numbers corpus.  And when I could find the numbers, they weren’t balanced for gender. TIMIT, which is the single most popular speech corpus in the Linguistic Data Consortium, is just over 69% male. I don’t know what speech database the Google speech recognizer is trained on, but based on the speech recognition rates by gender I’m willing to bet that it’s not balanced for gender either.

Why does this matter? It matters because there are systematic differences between men’s and women’s speech. (I’m not going to touch on the speech of other genders here, since that’s a very young research area. If you’re interested, the Journal of Language and Sexuality is a good jumping-off point.) And machine learning works by making computers really good at dealing with things they’ve already seen a lot of. If they get a lot of speech from men, they’ll be really good at identifying speech from men. If they don’t get a lot of speech from women, they won’t be that good at identifying speech from women. And it looks like that’s the case. Based on my data from fifty different speakers, Google’s speech recognition (which, if you remember, is probably the best-performing proprietary automatic speech recognition system on the market) just doesn’t work as well for women as it does for men.

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The Acoustic Theory of Speech Perception

So, quick review: understanding speech is hard to model and the first model we discussed, motor theory, while it does address some problems, leaves something to be desired. The big one is that it doesn’t suggest that the main fodder for perception is the acoustic speech signal. And that strikes me as odd. I mean, we’re really used to thinking about hearing speech as a audio-only thing. Telephones and radios work perfectly well, after all, and the information you’re getting there is completely audio. That’s not to say that we don’t use visual, or, heck, even tactile data in speech perception. The McGurk effect, where a voice saying “ba” dubbed over someone saying “ga” will be perceived as “da” or “tha”, is strong evidence that we can and do use our eyes during speech perception. And there’s even evidence that a puff of air on the skin will change our perception of speech sounds. But we seem to be able to get along perfectly well without these extra sensory inputs, relying on acoustic data alone.

CPT-sound-physical-manifestation

This theory sounds good to me. Sorry, I’ll stop.

Ok, so… how do we extract information from acoustic data? Well, like I’ve said a couple time before, it’s actually a pretty complex problem. There’s no such thing as “invariance” in the speech signal and that makes speech recognition monumentally hard. We tend not to think about it because humans are really, really good at figuring out what people are saying, but it’s really very, very complex.

You can think about it like this: imagine that you’re looking for information online about platypuses. Except, for some reason, there is no standard spelling of platypus. People spell it “platipus”, “pladdypuss”, “plaidypus”, “plaeddypus” or any of thirty or forty other variations. Even worse, one person will use many different spellings and may never spell it precisely the same way twice. Now, a search engine that worked like our speech recognition works would not only find every instance of the word platypus–regardless of how it was spelled–but would also recognize that every spelling referred to the same animal. Pretty impressive, huh? Now imagine that every word have a very variable spelling, oh, and there are no spaces between words–everythingisjustruntogetherlikethisinonelongspeechstream. Still not difficult enough for you? Well, there is also the fact that there are ambiguities. The search algorithm would need to treat “pladypuss” (in the sense of  a plaid-patterned cat) and “palattypus” (in the sense of the venomous monotreme) as separate things. Ok, ok, you’re right, it still seems pretty solvable. So let’s add the stipulation that the program needs to be self-training and have an accuracy rate that’s incredibly close to 100%. If you can build a program to these specifications, congratulations: you’ve just revolutionized speech recognition technology. But we already have a working example of a system that looks a heck of a lot like this: the human brain.

So how does the brain deal with the “different spellings” when we say words? Well, it turns out that there are certain parts of a word that are pretty static, even if a lot of other things move around. It’s like a superhero reboot: Spiderman is still going to be Peter Parker and get bitten by a spider at some point and then get all moody and whine for a while. A lot of other things might change, but if you’re only looking for those criteria to figure out whether or not you’re reading a Spiderman comic you have a pretty good chance of getting it right. Those parts that are relatively stable and easy to look for we call “cues”. Since they’re cues in the acoustic signal, we can be even more specific and call them “acoustic cues”.

If you think of words (or maybe sounds, it’s a point of some contention) as being made up of certain cues, then it’s basically like a list of things a house-buyer is looking for in a house. If a house has all, or at least most, of the things they’re looking for, than it’s probably the right house and they’ll select that one. In the same way, having a lot of cues pointing towards a specific word makes it really likely that that word is going to be selected. When I say “selected”, I mean that the brain will connect the acoustic signal it just heard to the knowledge you have about a specific thing or concept in your head. We can think of a “word” as both this knowledge and the acoustic representation. So in the “platypuss” example above, all the spellings started with “p” and had an “l” no more than one letter away. That looks like a  pretty robust cue. And all of the words had a second “p” in them and ended with one or two tokens of “s”. So that also looks like a pretty robust queue. Add to that the fact that all the spellings had at least one of either a “d” or “t” in between the first and second “p” and you have a pretty strong template that would help you to correctly identify all those spellings as being the same word.

Which all seems to be well and good and fits pretty well with our intuitions (or mine at any rate). But that leaves us with a bit of a problem: those pesky parts of Motor Theory that are really strongly experimentally supported. And this model works just as well for motor theory too, just replace  the “letters” with specific gestures rather than acoustic cues. There seems to be more to the story than either the acoustic model or the motor theory model can offer us, though both have led to useful insights.

Why speech is different from other types of sounds

Ok, so, a couple weeks ago I talked about why speech perception was hard to  model. Really, though, what I talked about was why building linguistic models is a hard task. There’s a couple other thorny problems that plague people who work with speech perception, and they have to do with the weirdness of the speech signal itself. It’s important to talk about because it’s on account of dealing with these weirdnesses that some theories of speech perception themselves can start to look pretty strange. (Motor theory, in particular, tends to sound pretty messed-up the first time you encounter it.)

The speech signal and the way we deal with it is really strange in two main ways.

  1. The speech signal doesn’t contain invariant units.
  2. We both perceive and produce speech in ways that are surprisingly non-linear.

So what are “invariant units” and why should we expect to have them? Well, pretty much everyone agrees that we store words as larger chunks made up of smaller chunks. Like, you know that the word “beet” is going to be made with the lips together at the beginning for the “b” and your tongue behind your teeth at the end for the “t”. And you also know that it will have certain acoustic properties; a short  break in the signal followed by a small burst of white noise in a certain frequency range (that’s a the “b” again) and then a long steady state for the vowel and then another sudden break in the signal for the “t”. So people make those gestures and you listen for those sounds and everything’s pretty straightforwards  right? Weeellllll… not really.

It turns out that you can’t really be grabbing onto certain types of acoustic queues because they’re not always reliably there. There are a bunch of different ways to produce “t”, for example, that run the gamut from the way you’d say it by itself to something that sound more like a “w” crossed with an “r”. When you’re speaking quickly in an informal setting, there’s no telling where on that continuum you’re going to fall. Even with this huge array of possible ways to produce a sound, however, you still somehow hear is at as “t”.

And even those queues that are almost always reliably there vary drastically from person to person. Just think about it: about half the population has a fundamental frequency, or pitch, that’s pretty radically different from the other half. The old interplay of biological sex and voice quality thing. But you can easily, effortlessly even, correct for the speaker’s gender and understand the speech produced by men and women equally well. And if a man and woman both say “beet”, you have no trouble telling that they’re saying the same word, even though the signal is quite different in both situations. And that’s not a trivial task. Voice recognition technology, for example, which is overwhelmingly trained on male voices, often has a hard time understanding women’s voices. (Not to mention different accents. What that says about regional and sex-based discrimination is a  topic for another time.)

And yet. And yet humans are very, very good a recognizing speech. How? Well linguists have made some striking progress in answering that question, though we haven’t yet arrived at an answer that makes everyone happy. And the variance in the signal isn’t the only hurdle facing humans as the recognize the vocal signal: there’s also the fact that the fact that we are humans has effects on what we can hear.

Akustik db2phon

Ooo, pretty rainbow. Thorny problem, though: this shows how we hear various frequencies better or worse. The sweet spot is right around 300 kHz or so. Which, coincidentally, just so happens to be where we produce most of the noise in the speech signal. But we do still produce information at other frequencies and we do use that in speech perception: particularly for sounds like “s” and “f”.


We can think of the information available in the world as a sheet of cookie dough. This includes things like UV light and sounds below 0 dB in intensity. Now imagine a cookie-cutter. Heck, make it a gingerbread man. The cookie-cutter represents the ways in which the human body limits our access to this information. There are just certain things that even a normal, healthy human isn’t capable of perceiving. We can only hear the information that falls inside the cookie cutter. And the older we get, the smaller the cookie-cutter becomes, as we slowly lose sensitivity in our auditory and visual systems. This makes it even more difficult to perceive speech. Even though it seems likely that we’ve evolved our vocal system to take advantage of the way our perceptual system works, it still makes the task of modelling speech perception even more complex.

Why is it so hard for computers to recognize speech?

This is a problem that’s plagued me for quite a while. I’m not a computational linguist  myself, but one of the reasons that theoretical linguistics is important is that it allows us to create robust concpetional models of language… which is basically what voice recognition (or synthesis) programs are. But, you may say to yourself, if it’s your job to create and test robust models, you’re clearly not doing very well. I mean, just listen to this guy. Or this guy. Or this person, whose patience in detailing errors borders on obsession. Or, heck, this person, who isn’t so sure that voice recognition is even a thing we need.

Electronic eye

You mean you wouldn’t want to be able to have pleasant little chats with your computer? I mean, how could that possibly go wrong?

Now, to be fair to linguists, we’ve kinda been out of the loop for a while. Fred Jelinek, a very famous researcher in speech recognition, once said “Every time we fire a phonetician/linguist, the performance of our system goes up”. Oof, right in the career prospects. There was, however, a very good reason for that, and it had to do with the pressures on computer scientists and linguists respectively. (Also a bunch of historical stuff that we’re not going to get into.)

Basically, in the past (and currently to a certain extent) there was this divide in linguistics. Linguists wanted to model speaker’s competence, not their performance. Basically, there’s this idea that there is some sort of place in your brain where you knew all the rules of language and  have them all perfectly mapped out and described. Not in a consious way, but there nonetheless. But somewhere between the magical garden of language and your mouth and/or ears you trip up and mistakes happen. You say a word wrong or mishear it or switch bits around… all sorts of things can go wrong. Plus, of course, even if we don’t make a recognizable mistake, there’s a incredible amount of variation that we can decipher without a problem. That got pushed over to the performance side, though, and wasn’t looked at as much. Linguistics was all about what was happening in the language mind-garden (the competence) and not the messy sorts of things you say in everyday life (the performance). You can also think of it like what celebrities actually say in an interview vs. what gets into the newspaper; all the “um”s and “uh”s are taken out, little stutters or repetitions are erased and if the sentence structure came out a little wonky the reporter pats it back into shape. It was pretty clear what they meant to say, after all.

So you’ve got linguists with their competence models explaining them to the computer folks and computer folks being all clever and mathy and coming up with algorithms that seem to accurately model our knowledge of human linguistic competency… and getting terrible results. Everyone’s working hard and doing their best and it’s just not working.

I think you can probably figure out why: if you’re a computer and just sitting there with very little knowledge of language (consider that this was before any of the big corpora were published, so there wasn’t a whole lot of raw data) and someone hands you a model that’s supposed to handle only perfect data and also actual speech data, which even under ideal conditions is far from perfect, you’re going to spit out spaghetti and call it a day. It’s a bit like telling someone to make you a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and just expecting them to do it. Which is fine if they already know what peanut butter and jelly are, and where you keep the bread, and how to open jars, and that food is something humans eat, so you shouldn’t rub it on anything too covered with bacteria or they’ll get sick and die. Probably not the best way to go about it.

So the linguists got the boot and they and the computational people pretty much did their own things for a bit. The model that most speech recognition programs use today is mostly statistical, based on things like how often a word shows up in whichever corpus they’re using currently. Which works pretty well. In a quiet room. When you speak clearly. And slowly. And don’t use any super-exotic words. And aren’t having a conversation. And have trained the system on your voice. And have enough processing power in whatever device you’re using. And don’t get all wild and crazy with your intonation. See the problem?

Language is incredibly complex and speech recognition technology, particularly when it’s based on a purely statistical model, is not terrific at dealing with all that complexity. Which is not to say that I’m knocking statistical models! Statistical phonology is mind-blowing and I think we in linguistics will get a lot of mileage from it. But there’s a difference. We’re not looking to conserve processing power: we’re looking to model what humans are actually doing. There’s been a shift away from the competency/performance divide (though it does still exist) and more interest in modelling the messy stuff that we actually see: conversational speech, connected speech, variation within speakers. And the models that we come up with are complex. Really complex. People working in Exemplar Theory, for example, have found quite a bit of evidence that you remember everything you’ve ever heard and use all of it to help parse incoming signals. Yeah, it’s crazy. And it’s not something that our current computers can do. Which is fine; it give linguists time to further refine our models. When computers are ready, we will be too, and in the meantime computer people and linguistic people are showing more and more overlap again, and using each other’s work more and more. And, you know, singing Kumbayah and roasting marshmallows together. It’s pretty friendly.

So what’s the take-away? Well, at least for the moment, in order to get speech recognition to a better place than it is now, we need  to build models that work for a system that is less complex than the human brain. Linguistics research, particularly into statistical models, is helping with this. For the future? We need to build systems that are as complex at the human brain. (Bonus: we’ll finally be able to test models of child language acquisition without doing deeply unethical things! Not that we would do deeply unethical things.) Overall, I’m very optimistic that computers will eventually be able to recognize speech as well as humans can.

TL;DR version:

  • Speech recognition has been light on linguists because they weren’t modeling what was useful for computational tasks.
  • Now linguists are building and testing useful models. Yay!
  • Language is super complex and treating it like it’s not will get you hit in the face with an error-ridden fish.
  • Linguists know language is complex and are working diligently at accurately describing how and why. Yay!
  • In order to get perfect speech recognition down, we’re going to need to have computers that are similar to our brains.
  • I’m pretty optimistic that this will happen.

 

 

Indiscreet words, Part II: Son of Sounds

Ok, so in my last post about how the speech stream is far from discrete, I talked about how difficult it is to pick apart words. But I didn’t really talk that much about phonemes, and since I promised you phonetics and phonology and phun, I thought I should cover that. Besides, it’s super interesting.

It’s not just that language is continuous, it’s that language that’s discrete is actually impossible to understand. I ran across this Youtube video a while back that’s a great example of this phenomenon.

What the balls of yarn is he saying? It’s actually the preamble to the constitution, but it took me well over half the video to pick up on it, and I spend a dumb amount of time listening to phonemes in isolation.

You probably find this troubling on some level. After all, you’re a literate person, and as a literate person you’re really, really used to thinking about words as being easy to break down into “letter sounds”. If you’ve ever tried to fiddle around with learning Mandarin or Cantonese, you know just how table-flippingly frustrating it is to memorize a writing system where the graphemes (smallest unit of writing, just as morpheme is the smallest unit of meaning, phoneme is the small unit of sound and dormeme is the smallest amount of space you can legally house a person in) have no relation to the series of sounds they represent.

Fun fact: It’s actually pretty easy to learn to speak Mandarin or Cantonese once you get past the tones. They’re syntactically a lot like English, don’t have a lot of fussy agreement markers or grammatical gender and have a pretty small core vocabulary. It’s the characters that will make you tear your hair out.

Hm. Well, it kinda looks me sitting on a chair hunched over my laptop while wearing a little hat and ARGH WHAT AM I DOING THAT LOOKS NOTHING LIKE A BIRD.

But. Um. Sorry, got a little off track there. Point was, you’re really used to thinking about words as being further segmented. Like oranges. Each orange is an individual, and then there are neat little segments inside the orange so you don’t get your hands sticky. And, because you’re already familiar with the spelling system of your language, (which is, let’s face it, probably English) you probably have a fond idea that it’s pretty easy to divide words that way. But it’s not. If it were, things like instantaneous computational voice to voice translation would be common.

It’s hard because the edges of our sounds blur together like your aunt’s watercolor painting that you accidently spilled lemonade on. So let’s say you’re saying “round”. Well, for the “n” you’re going to close off your nasal passages and put your tongue against the little ridge right behind your teeth. But wait! That’s where you tongue needs to be to make the “d” sound! To make it super clear, you should stop open up your nasal passages before you flick your tongue down and release that little packet of air that you were storing behind it. You’re totally not going to, though. I mean, your tongue’s already where you need it to be; why would you take the extra time to make sure your nasal passages are fully clear before releasing the “d”? That’s just a waste of time. And if you did it, you’d sound weird. So the “d” gets some of that nasally goodness and neither you or your listener give a flying Fluco.

But, if you’re a computer who’s been told, “If it’s got this nasal sound, it’s an ‘n'”, then you’re going to be super confused. Maybe you’ll be all like, “Um, ok. It kinda sounds like an ‘n’, but then it’s got that little pop of air coming out that I’ve been told to look for with the ‘p’, ‘b’, ‘t’ ‘d’, ‘k’, ‘g’ set… so… let’s go with ‘rounp’. That’s a word, right?” Obviously, this is a vast over-simplification, but you get my point; computers are easily confused by the smearing around of sounds in words. They’re getting better, but humans are still the best.

So just remember: when you’re around the robot overlords, be sure to run your phonemes together as much as possible. It might confuse them enough for you to have time to run away.