Gray Catbird | The Music of Nature

Catbird NightSong

by Lang Elliott · July 16, 2012 · 7 Comments

Stillness reigns as sunlight dims …
The catbird’s liquid strain.
A farewell song that greets the night
As twilight’s glow begins to wane …
Wistful dreams of sweet refrain.

While thinking more about the possible melancholy aspect of catbird song (see Catbird Melancholia?), I remembered a recording I made over twenty years ago, in the dead of night, of a lone catbird singing with a chorus of bullfrogs far in the distance:

Night singing Gray Catbird, 12:15 am, 5/29/91, Conn Hill WMA near Ithaca, NY. Lang Elliott

Perhaps even more than the catbird featured in my previous blog post, this male stands out as very special indeed, at least to my ear. I love the way he employs silent intervals between songs. And his laid-back songs seem to be relatively free of the harsh and dissonant notes that characterize many performances. The end product is beautiful to behold, the quality of song punctuated by the mood of the night (at least that’s the way I hear it, but note that one of my Facebook friends recently described catbird song as being “irritating,” which is certainly NOT in agreement with my perception).

Does the darkness influence the catbird’s way of singing? Or does this individual sing this way all the time, even at dawn and in full light? I did not return to find out, so there is a mystery here. I suggest that all of us who live in catbird country listen very carefully from now on to see if we can discern a pattern. When does the catbird sing most beautifully and with a pensive tone? All the time, at dusk, at night, never?

The emotional impacts of bird songs are the result of a complex interaction between the quality of the song, the place and time of singing, and the emotional body of the listener. While each person will have his or her own unique experience, it is nonetheless possible, even likely, that poetically-inclined listeners will agree about felt emotional impact, at least some of the time (okay, I admit that I’m an optimist in this respect).

To date, I know of only one study of bird song that attempts to quantify aesthetics. In his book “Born to Sing,” Charles Hartshorne takes a rather technical approach to judging the quality of a bird’s song, defining six dimensions that potentially allow us to “rate” a species’ song-making ability: loudness, complexity, continuity, tone, closure, and imitativeness. While this is at least a beginning, I feel it ignores many subtle variables that may have strong impact on how we humans sense and feel a bird’s song.

Note: Two new books that include discussions of aesthetics are “Why Birds Sing” by David Rothenberg and “The Great Animal Orchestra” by Bernie Krause. Both are must reads for those interested in multidimensional treatments of bird song!

So what is it about certain bird songs that move us emotionally, that ignite our hearts and souls? Well, that’s a very good question and one that I hope we are able to make progress with as we voice our reactions to sound recordings posted on this blog.

Herkneth thise blisful briddes how they singe,
And see the fresshe floures how they spring:
Full is myn herte of revel and solas.
—Geoffrey Chaucer

Catbird Melancholia?

by Lang Elliott · July 16, 2012 · 8 Comments

Have you ever listened to a catbird singing at dusk, at the leading edge of a midsummer’s night? And have you noticed that the song often takes on a melancholy quality, a plaintive tone? I have noticed this, though I’m not sure others do. Maybe it’s just my ears, or else my particular uniqueness of mind … or both.

So tonight, on the evening of July 15, 2012, I ventured out into my neighborhood at dusk, a little after 8 pm. I could hear several catbirds in the distance, from singing from shrubbery or hedgerow trees in a nearby overgrown field. But just as I began walking in their direction, a male landed right in front of me, near the top of the tamarack tree next to our little pond, and began his lugubrious song. I was lucky enough to capture it, as bullfrogs periodically sounded off the background:

Gray Catbird singing at dusk. 8:15 pm, July 14, 2012, near Ithaca, NY. Recorded by Lang Elliott

So whatya think? Do you hear the quality to which I refer? Or does this sound like any old catbird, giving one unique phrase after the other, some squeaky and even jarring in tone?

I definitely hear a mournful hint, perhaps even more than a hint. Do you? And if you do, I wonder if this a widespread phenomenon, a mid-summer “dusk song” noticed only by those with a certain pensive quality of mind and a certain emotional sensitivity of the ear?

IMPORTANT NOTE: I am not implying here that the singer (the male catbird) is melancholy in mood, only that we humans (or some portion of us) might be effected by the catbird’s dusk-song in this way. It is important to consider such things because our emotions largely define the landscape of our felt, poetic experience.

A melancholy bird? Oh, idle thought!
In nature there is nothing melancholy.
—Samuel Taylor Coleridge

Cat Concern

by Lang Elliott · July 6, 2012 · 9 Comments

Everyone knows that house cats and wild birds are not the best of friends. Cats that wander yards and forest edge are likely to pick off a lot of birds, especially vulnerable young at fledging time. Follow a cat around and you’re sure to discover that adult birds pay close attention to the cat’s movements, and respond with alarm calls that key you in to the whereabouts of the cat.

Such was the case with Otis, our neighbor’s cat. A few days ago, when I was recording a juvenile Carolina Wren practicing his newly-acquired song repertoire (Carolina Wren-Teenage Song), I came across Otis on several occasions. Twice I was alerted to his presence by alarmed birds … first by an American Robin and later by a Gray Catbird. In the third instance, I watched Otis approach the shrub where my wren-subject was practicing his songs. As expected, the wren soon took notice and responded with alarm calls. Luckily, I was able to record all three instances, and my recordings are presented below in the order that I made them.

I heard the robin calling while I was sitting on my doorstep, tying my shoes. Walking in his direction, I soon located him perched on a limb at the edge of the woods, about fifteen feet off the ground. He appeared to be an adult male and he had food in his mouth. It was then that I noticed Otis slowly making his way through the understory (I presume the robin was headed to feed young when he spied Otis below). The robin didn’t seem hugely concerned, but he did perch motionless on a limb above the cat, giving a slow-paced series of moderately excited “tut” calls, one of the robin’s two most common alarm calls (the other is a sharp “peek!”):

American Robin responding to Otis the cat, early am, July 3, 2012, near Ithaca, NY

As Otis moved away from the robin’s territory, the robin settled down and flew into the woods. I went on my way in search of the juvenile wren. About five minutes later, I heard a Gray Catbird alarming from dense shrubs at the edge of the yard. As I approached, I again noticed Otis, moving slowly through the thicket. The Catbird was perched directly above him and was giving throaty “kwut” calls, the standard alarm call given when a predator comes close to a Catbird’s nest or to fledglings. Like the robin, he didn’t seem overly upset, but he was certainly vigilant, and he continued to call until Otis left the scene.

Gray Catbird responding to a Otis the cat, early am, July 3, 2012, near Ithaca, NY

The most interesting alarm response (at least from my point of view) was that of my little wren. I was happily recording wrensong when I spied Otis approaching. My wren soon took notice and flew deep into the shrub. I lost sight of him momentarily, but I could hear him giving harsh chattering or rattling alarm calls (harsh rattles are typical of alarmed wrens of several species and both male and female Carolina Wrens give them). After rattling several times, my little wren began giving down-slurred “cheer calls, which sound somewhat musical to the ear. The “cheer” is the male Carolina Wren’s special concern call and it is often given in response to predators. In the recording below, listen for the harsh rattles followed by cheer calls and finally song, the latter being given only after Otis disappeared from view (return to song signifies that all is well in the world of the wren). A catbird sings in the background.

Juvenile male Carolina Wren responding to a Otis the cat, early am, July 3, 2012, near Ithaca, NY

Interestingly, none of the three birds seemed hugely upset. My take on this is that they are all quite familiar with Otis. While Otis certainly represents a danger, if a bird sees him and there are no fledglings or nestlings in direct danger, then he is not a huge threat. Therefore, a mild alarm response is appropriate.

Learning to recognize the alarm calls of birds alerts one to the presence of predators. On occasion one may witness a disaster, such as when a cat seizes a helpless fledgling that has fallen to the ground (the parent birds respond with super-intense alarm calls in such cases). Most of the time, however, birds are only mildly threatened, especially when the predator is below them on the ground and is not approaching nest or young. This seemed to be the case here. All three birds were clearly concerned about Otis and acknowledged his presence through alarm calls, but none responded with great intensity and all went on their merry way within seconds of Otis moving away.

Otis is probably a familiar fixture in the lives of all three birds, and they probably don’t consider him to be a major threat except under exceptional circumstances. For instance, if Otis discovers an active nest or approaches a fledgling, he will instantly be transformed into a high-threat mortal enemy and the birds will respond as if their lives depend on it. Wouldn’t you?