Australian Music Centre | Breaking sound barriers

Image: Pied butcherbird at Wogarno Station  
© Photo by Chris Tate

A century ago, poet and musician Henry Tate urged Australian composers to look to their own musical landscape-to Aboriginal traditions, to the sounds of the bush, and especially to the expressive potential of birdsong. Among the voices he singled out was that of the pied butcherbird (Cracticus nigrogularis), whose "grave and gentle measure…readily combinable with other calls in an artistic ensemble" he believed held great promise (Tate). My new book follows Tate's intuition, offering more than a hundred transcriptions of pied butcherbird vocalisations. Some are indeed "grave and of gentle measure," but many burst with exuberance: timbral shimmer, chromatic twists, wide intervallic leaps, and daring structural turns.

No two pied butcherbirds sing alike, and each year they develop and transform their musical identities. Neighbours may craft entirely different phrases or share parts of their repertoire. When they do overlap, the shared material ranges from a motif to entire phrases-but usually transformed rather than slavishly copied.

Their compositional method is combinatorial. Motifs behave like snap-together beads: the orange bead might start a phrase, or it might land in the middle or the end-or even stand alone. Despite this shifting order, the beads appear at regular intervals, anchoring the listener. Music depends on pattern and play. Like most art, it rests on repetition with variation-repetition that reaffirms, variation that intrigues. Butcherbirds balance both, offering novelty without overwhelming their avian audience.

This species has inhabited the planet for some thirteen million years. The ancient lineage of butcherbirds reminds us that humans are new on the block vis-à-vis the invention and perception of melody. Nonetheless, their vocalisations find ample mutualisms in human sonic structures. For instance, in musical games of the late eighteenth (and early nineteenth) century, ready-made motifs were selected by throwing dice, spinning a top, or choosing random numbers. Known as ars combinatoria, systematic arrangements of prefabricated materials were well known to Mozart and Haydn. Beginning with only a few simple component pieces, the possibilities for combinations quickly balloon (Ratner). In Musurgia Universalis (1650), Kircher claims that combinatorics enables a novice to attain compositional skill in a short time (Knobloch). And if this is true for a novice, what might it mean for a bird?

My own initiation into their musical world began with failure. In 2001, on my first trip to Australia, I found myself at Wogarno Station in Western Australia, surrounded by a vocal trio-an unexpected songbird configuration for me. Their crystalline lines moved slowly enough for the human ear to follow, yet their combinatorial brilliance exceeded anything I could quickly capture on the page. I scribbled down a fragment, but the full art of their performance eluded me. That moment convinced me that something extraordinary was happening in their songs, and soon after, I committed myself to exploring their largely uncharted vocal culture (Taylor).


Image: Hollis Taylor at Newhaven Wildlife Sanctuary. Photo by Jon Rose.

For me, understanding pied butcherbird music is founded on notation. My history with transcription stretches back to 1973, when I was a classical violinist in San Francisco. A borrowed cassette of jazz violinist Stéphane Grappelli sent me to the page, notating his solos. At the same time, I was studying South Indian (Carnatic) violin with T. N. Krishnan at the Berkeley Center for World Music, transcribing both the ragas he taught and the improvisations he spun from them.

That was only the beginning. As my curiosity about the violin's global lives grew, I discovered how few written resources existed for many traditions. Oral transmission meant learning by ear-or transcribing. I confess, I usually chose the latter.

I notated Texas‑style fiddle tunes, eventually becoming the Oregon State Fiddle Champion, which led to forming bands and performing widely, including with Emmy and Grammy Award winner Mason Williams. My path wound through bluegrass, old time, country, Western swing, Cajun, pop, rock, merengue, Afro‑Cuban music, Eastern European folk traditions, Moroccan excursions, jazz clubs across a continent, klezmer, tango …master of all these genres? By no means. The list is long, but the through‑line is simple: I became adept not at mastering genres, but at starting from square one.

Even so, my early attempt to notate pied butcherbird song was destined to fall short. Absolute pitch and decades of transcribing unfamiliar human music were not enough. These birds demand more: patient fieldwork, repeated listening, and immersion in the voices of many individuals. Only then does their musicality begin to reveal itself.

Music from Another Species is my zoömusicological analysis of these avian vocalisations and their resonances with diverse music produced by humans. These choristers provide a rich bounty of complex musical phrases to celebrate, and I was hard pressed to narrow down my list. In this culmination of over twenty years of recording, I notated 100+ individual vocalisations over 312 pages.

The collected transcriptions begin with two chapters that feature side-by-side comparisons of bird solos across geography. The first one, 'Solo Songs in the Red Centre,' follows the nocturnal solo songs of fifteen neighbours along 18 kilometres to the east of Mparntwe/Alice Springs in Central Australia. I enjoy the sonic treasures of this compact but productive series of field sites. The following chapter, 'The Neighbours Up North,' details the 2014 singing of sixteen neighbours in the regional North Queensland town of Charters Towers.

Next, transcriptions from the same site on different years: 'An Art Star at a Single Site Across Time' follows an individual singing annually at the Araluen Arts Centre (Mparntwe/Alice Springs) from 2007 to 2023. 'Additional Solo Songs at a Single Site Across Time' features annual visits to two field sites in Central Australia and two in far North Queensland.

Elegant and virtuosic variations between two subspecies of pied butcherbird populate the next two chapters. My two most productive areas are Central Australia, in and around the town of Mparntwe/Alice Springs, and North and Far North Queensland. These areas encapsulate the two subspecies of pied butcherbird, which are visually identical (or nearly) in the field. Cracticus nigrogularis inhabits Eastern Australia, while Cracticus nigrogularis picatus is found in Central and Western Australia. The reader/listener can decide whether the songs of the two subspecies betray marked differences; for me, complexity more often marks the former, while elegance describes the latter, although neither subspecies has total purchase on these qualities.

The final chapter champions ensemble song in its various outcomes, from countersinging (which may be matched-when a neighbouring bird preferentially sings a phrase from a common repertoire that best matches what the other is singing-or unmatched-when a bird avoids repeating what the other just sang) to duets and larger groups.

Female song occurs widely across songbirds, especially in regions like Australia where many species hold permanent territories rather than migrating. Because female pied butcherbirds are visually indistinguishable from males in the field, any discussion of the female vocal contributions remains largely inferential. Unison duets are uncommon, though the presence of additional group members can sometimes result in a motif being doubled. Duetting itself ranges from tightly synchronized, intricately structured exchanges (hockets) to looser, more spontaneous interactions with flexible timing (à la Dixieland jazz). Octave leaps make regular appearances.

Musicians often ask me if pied butcherbirds employ a set scale or embrace just intonation. It would be appealing to fix them in such human terrain, but the answer is more complex. When I investigate and transcribe a single pitched note, the sonogram often indicates a slight portamento not always perceptible to the human ear in real time. But to a butcherbird's ear? Some biologists suggest that the perception of time is up to ten times more acute in a bird than a human. In other words, the resolution of a second in our perception might have ten seconds worth of sonic detail in a bird's. I am notating for humans, so I find notating on a five lined score (with the occasional quarter tone sharp or flat) to be more than adequate for these purposes.

Complete with online audio files, outback images, and fieldwork anecdotes, Music from Another Species opens the door for composers and performers to discover the enchanting melodies of the pied butcherbird. These feathered dinosaurs provide a rich bounty of complex musical phrases to celebrate, allowing us to immerse ourselves in the musicality and invention of another species' song culture.

For more information, see: iupress.org/9780253075864/music-from-another-species/

For audio and images that accompany the text, see: piedbutcherbird.com