[Whisper] Refactor forced_decoder_ids & prompt ids #28687
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…to fix_prompt_ids_whisper
…to fix_prompt_ids_whisper
| timestamps = torch.zeros_like(generate_outputs.sequences, dtype=torch.float32) | ||
| # make sure timestamps are as long as weights | ||
| input_length = weight_length or cross_attentions[0].shape[2] | ||
| timestamps = torch.zeros_like(generate_outputs.sequences, dtype=torch.float32)[:, : input_length + 1] |
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Now that we don't use forced_decoder_ids anymore for whisper generate -> we need to potentially cut the length of timestamps according to the actual length of the input
| stopping_criteria=stopping_criteria, | ||
| prefix_allowed_tokens_fn=prefix_allowed_tokens_fn, | ||
| synced_gpus=synced_gpus, | ||
| decoder_input_ids=decoder_input_ids, |
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We now directly pass the prompt tokens also in short-form generate
| # let's make sure we don't pass `None` tokens as prompt tokens | ||
| init_tokens = [t for t in init_tokens if t is not None] | ||
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| return init_tokens |
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this function is heavily rewritten to make sure that forced_decoder_ids + specified task and/or language create the correct init_tokens prompt conditioning.
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| @staticmethod | ||
| def _set_prompt_condition_type(generation_config, prompt_condition_type): | ||
| allowed_cond_types = ["first-segment", "all-segments"] |
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We have to types of prompt_conditioning for long-form:
-
- We condition only the first segment on the prompt
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- We condition all segments on the prompt
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The original OAI whisper codebase only has i., but ii. has some very nice advantages in certain scenarios.
| @@ -1256,11 +1334,12 @@ def _retrieve_logit_processors( | |||
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| if is_shortform and generation_config.forced_decoder_ids is not None: | |||
| forced_tokens_proc = ForceTokensLogitsProcessor(generation_config.forced_decoder_ids) | |||
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We're leaving the ForceTokensLogitsProcessor here for backwards compatibility for short-form. But it should be removed in 4.39.
| out, | ||
| { | ||
| "chunks": [ | ||
| {"text": "", "timestamp": (18.94, 0.02)}, |
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This didn't make sense before as the audio is only 4 seconds long. Seems like changing from forced_decoder_inputs to decoder_input_ids correts this actually.
| config, input_dict = self.model_tester.prepare_config_and_inputs_for_common() | ||
| model = WhisperForConditionalGeneration(config).eval().to(torch_device) | ||
| input_features = input_dict["input_features"] | ||
| prompt_ids = np.arange(5) |
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Previously we allowed passing numpy arrays into model.generate(...) which I think was not intentional and a bug (see here: https://github.com/huggingface/transformers/pull/22496/files#r1467370182).
If people feel strongly I can make it backward compatible though inside generate, but we should definitely not allow passing numpy arrays into a nn.Module
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Good with me - agree that this is a "bug" that we can fix
| def test_whisper_longform_single_batch_prev_cond(self): | ||
| # fmt: off | ||
| EXPECTED_TEXT = [""" Mr. Quilter is the apostle of the middle classes, and we are glad to welcome his gospel. Nor is Mr. Quilter's manner less interesting than his matter. He tells us that at this festive season of the year, with Christmas and roast beef looming before us, similes drawn from eating and its results occur most readily to the mind. He has grieved doubts whether Sir Frederick Layton's work is really Greek after all, and can discover in it but little of rocky Ithaca. Linnell's pictures are a sort of up-gards and atom paintings, and Mason's exquisite itals are as national as a jingo poem. Mr. Birk at Foster's landscapes smile at one much in the same way that Mr. Carker used to flash his teeth. When Mr. John Collier gives his sitter a cheerful slap in the back, before he says like a shampooer and a Turkish bath, next man it is obviously unnecessary for us to point out how luminous these criticisms are, how delicate an expression. On the general principles of art, Mr. Quilter writes with equal lucidity. He tells us is of a different quality to mathematics, and finish in art is adding more effect. As for etchings, there are two kinds, British and foreign. He laments most bitterly the divorce that has been made between decorative art and what we usually call pictures. Makes a customary appeal to the last judgment and reminds us that in the great days of art Michelangelo was the furnishing upholsterer. Near the fire, any ornaments Fred brought home from India on the mental board. In fact, he is quite severe on Mr. Ruskin for not recognizing that a picture should denote the frailty of man, and remarks was pleasing courtesy in felicitous grace that many faces are feeling. Unfortunately his own work never does get good. Mr. Quilter has missed his chance, for he has failed even to make himself the tupper of painting. By Harry Quilter M. A. A man said to the universe, Sir, I exist. Sweat covered Breon's body trickling into the tight-lowing cloth that was the only german he wore. The cut on his chest still dripping blood. The ache of his overstrained eyes, even the soaring arena around him with thousands of spectators, retroveilities not worth thinking about. His instant panic was followed by a small sharp blow high on his chest. One minute, a voice said, and a time buzzer sounded. A minute is not a very large measure of time, and his body needed every fraction of it. The buzzers were triggered as muscles into complete relaxation. Only his heart and lungs worked on at a strong measured rate. He was in reverie, sliding along the borders of consciousness. The contestants in the twenties needed undisturbed rest. Therefore, nights in the dormitories were as quiet as death. Particularly so, on this last night, when only two of the little cubicles were occupied, the thousands of others standing with dark empty doors. The other voice snapped with a harsh urgency, clearly used to command. I'm here because the matter is of utmost importance, and brand is the one I must see. Now stand aside. The twenties, he must have drawn his gun because the intruder said quickly, but that away you're being a fool. But there was silence then, and still wondering, Breon was once more asleep. Ten seconds, he asked the handler who was needing his aching muscles. A red-haired mountain of a man with an apparently inexhaustible store of energy. There could be little art in this last and final round of fencing. Just thrust and parry and victory to the stronger. Your man who entered the twenties had his own training tricks. They were appeared to be an immediate association with the death trauma, as if the two were inextricably linked into one. The strength that enables someone in a trance to hold his body stiff and unsupported except at two points, the head and heels. This is physically impossible when conscious. Breon's death was in some ways easier than defeat. Breon's softly spoke the auto-hypnotic phrases that triggered the process. When the buzzer sounded, he pulled his foil from his second startled grasp and ran forward. Our role looked amazed at the sudden fury of the attack, then smiled. He thought it was the last burst of energy. He knew how close they both were to exhaustion. Breon saw something close to panic on his opponent's face when the man finally recognized his error. A wave of despair rolled out from our rogue. Breon sensed it and knew the fifth point was his. Then the powerful twist that's rested aside, in and under the guard, because he was sleeping instead of conquering, the lovely rose princess has become a fiddle without a bow, while poor Shaggy sits there, accooing dove. He has gone and gone for good, answered Polychrome, who had managed to squeeze into the room beside the dragon, and had witnessed the occurrences with much interest. I have remained a prisoner only because I wished to be one. And with this, he stepped forward and burst the stout chains as easily as if they had been threads. The little girl had been asleep, but she heard the wraps and opened the door. The king has flooded disgrace, and your friends are asking for you. I begged Ruggido long ago to send him away, but he would not do so. I also offered to help your brother to escape, but he would not go. He eats and sleeps very steadily, replied the new king. I hope he doesn't work too hard, since Shaggy. He doesn't work at all. In fact, there's nothing he can do in these dominions, as well as our gnomes, whose numbers are so great that it worries us to keep them all busy. Not exactly, we've turned Calico. Where is my brother now, inquired Shaggy. In the metal forest. Where is that? The metal forest is in the great domed cavern, the largest and all-ard dominions, replied Calico. Calico hesitated. However, if we look sharp, we may be able to discover one of these secret ways. Oh no, I'm quite sure he didn't. That's funny, remarked Betsy thoughtfully. I don't believe Anne knew any magic, or she'd have worked it before. I do not know, confessed Shaggy. True, agreed Calico. Calico went to the big gong, and pounded on it, just as we're good to be used to do. But no one answered the summons. Having returned to the royal cavern, Calico first pounded the gong, and then sat in the throne, wearing Regidos discarded Ruby Crown, and holding in his hand to scepter, which Regidos had so often thrown at his head."""] | ||
| EXPECTED_TEXT = [""" Mr. Quilter is the apostle of the middle classes, and we are glad to welcome his gospel. Nor is Mr. Quilter's manner less interesting than his matter. He tells us that at this festive season of the year, with Christmas and roast beef looming before us, similes drawn from eating and its results occur most readily to the mind. He has grieved doubts whether Sir Frederick Layton's work is really Greek after all, and can discover in it but little of rocky Ithaca. Linnell's pictures are a sort of up-gards and atom paintings, and Mason's exquisite itals are as national as a jingo poem. Mr. Birk at Foster's landscapes smile at one much in the same way that Mr. Carker used to flash his teeth. When Mr. John Collier gives his sitter a cheerful slap in the back, before he says like a shampooer and a Turkish bath, next man it is obviously unnecessary for us to point out how luminous these criticisms are, how delicate an expression. On the general principles of art, Mr. Quilter writes with equal lucidity. He tells us is of a different quality to mathematics, and finish in art is adding more effect. As for etchings, there are two kinds, British and foreign. He laments most bitterly the divorce that has been made between decorative art and what we usually call pictures. Makes a customary appeal to the last judgment and reminds us that in the great days of art Michelangelo was the furnishing upholsterer. Near the fire, any ornaments Fred brought home from India on the mental board. In fact, he is quite severe on Mr. Ruskin for not recognizing that a picture should denote the frailty of man, and remarks was pleasing courtesy in felicitous grace that many faces are feeling. Unfortunately his own work never does get good. Mr. Quilter has missed his chance, for he has failed even to make himself the tupper of painting. By Harry Quilter M. A. A man said to the universe, Sir, I exist. Sweat covered Breon's body trickling into the tight-lowing cloth that was the only german he wore. The cut on his chest still dripping blood. The ache of his overstrained eyes, even the soaring arena around him with thousands of spectators, retroveilities not worth thinking about. His instant panic was followed by a small sharp blow high on his chest. One minute, a voice said, and a time buzzer sounded. A minute is not a very large measure of time, and his body needed every fraction of it. The buzzers were triggered as muscles into complete relaxation. Only his heart and lungs worked on at a strong measured rate. He was in reverie, sliding along the borders of consciousness. The contestants in the twenties needed undisturbed rest. Therefore, nights in the dormitories were as quiet as death. Particularly so, on this last night, when only two of the little cubicles were occupied, the thousands of others standing with dark empty doors. The other voice snapped with a harsh urgency, clearly used to command. I'm here because the matter is of utmost importance, and brand is the one I must see. Now stand aside. The twenties, he must have drawn his gun because the intruder said quickly, but that away you're being a fool. But there was silence then, and still wondering, Breon was once more asleep. Ten seconds, he asked the handler who was needing his aching muscles. A red-haired mountain of a man with an apparently inexhaustible store of energy. There could be little art in this last and final round of fencing. Just thrust and parry and victory to the stronger. Your man who entered the twenties had his own training tricks. They were appeared to be an immediate association with the death trauma, as if the two were inextricably linked into one. The strength that enables someone in a trance to hold his body stiff and unsupported except at two points, the head and heels. This is physically impossible when conscious. Breon's death was in some ways easier than defeat. Breon's softly spoke the auto-hypnotic phrases that triggered the process. When the buzzer sounded, he pulled his foil from his second startled grasp and ran forward. Our role looked amazed at the sudden fury of the attack, then smiled. He thought it was the last burst of energy. He knew how close they both were to exhaustion. Breon saw something close to panic on his opponent's face when the man finally recognized his error. A wave of despair rolled out from our rogue. Breon sensed it and knew the fifth point was his. Then the powerful twist that's rested aside, in and under the guard, because he was sleeping instead of conquering, the lovely rose princess has become a fiddle without a bow, while poor Shaggy sits there, accooing dove. He has gone and gone for good, answered Polychrome, who had managed to squeeze into the room beside the dragon, and had witnessed the occurrences with much interest. I have remained a prisoner only because I wished to be one. And with this, he stepped forward and burst the stout chains as easily as if they had been threads. The little girl had been asleep, but she heard the wraps and opened the door. The king has flooded disgrace, and your friends are asking for you. I begged Ruggido long ago to send him away, but he would not do so. I also offered to help your brother to escape, but he would not go. He eats and sleeps very steadily, replied the new king. I hope he doesn't work too hard, since Shaggy. He doesn't work at all. In fact, there's nothing he can do in these dominions, as well as our gnomes, whose numbers are so great that it worries us to keep them all busy. Not exactly, we've turned Calico. Where is my brother now, inquired Shaggy. In the metal forest. Where is that? The metal forest is in the great domed cavern, the largest and all-ard dominions, replied Calico. Calico hesitated. However, if we look sharp, we may be able to discover one of these secret ways. Oh no, I'm quite sure he didn't. That's funny, remarked Betsy thoughtfully. I don't believe Anne knew any magic, or she'd have worked it before. I do not know, confessed Shaggy. True, agreed Calico. Calico went to the big gong and pounded on it, just as we're good to be used to do, but no one answered the summons. Having returned to the royal cavern, Calico first pounded the gong and then sat in the throne, wearing Regidos discarded Ruby crown, and holding in his hand to scepter which Regidos had so often thrown at his head."""] |
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Tiny punctuation change in the expected results coming from the inherant randomness when using temperature fallback
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| @slow | ||
| def test_whisper_longform_prompt_ids(self): |
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This test shows the advantages of both first-segment and all-segments prompt ids for long-form generation.
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Very nice - this could go in our Whisper blog post / detailed long-form guide (or even the new lib)
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The docs for this PR live here. All of your documentation changes will be reflected on that endpoint. The docs are available until 30 days after the last update. |
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What does this PR do?
This PR refactors
forced_decoder_idsmaking sure that we now always pass prompted ids asdecoder_input_idsinto generate for Whisper. The whole idea of forcing ids instead of just passing them as initial tokens was a bad design choice and we should try to move away from it.In addition, Whisper prompting is improved by:
prompt_idsto be passed as a numpy arrayprompt_idsfor long-form generation with two modes:While a) is the only supported case in the original Whisper repo b) can be very useful as can be seen in the added slow test here.
This is the final code PR regarding Whisper for Transformers. In the next weeks focus will be put on writing nice docs, tutorials and blog posts.