Dawn Chorus Day 2021

Here’s my contribution to International Dawn Chorus Day 2021, recorded from our front garden in Newcastle upon Tyne between 4:30am and 6:30am this morning, Sunday 2nd May 2021.

Whenever I step outside so early in the morning, I feel like an alien in a foreign land. At this hour, it’s a fallacy to think that such familiar territory is my domain. It belongs to the wild creatures and that’s that — the moment I set foot in the garden, I’m on borrowed land and borrowed time.

Thank you to all the birds in attendance, not least the vocal blackbird who got the intricate cacophony underway as soon as I’d set up my equipment and vacated the area.

You’ll hear them revelling in the relative peace of the city, as if taking a sound bath.

But the balance shifts as the recording progresses. The birdsong gradually becomes suppressed by the sonic pollution of human life.

Thank goodness they’ll be back in the morning. At least I hope so, anyway…

As always, I recommend wearing good quality headphones to enjoy the finer details of this recording, along with the strong sense of surroundings that it should generate within your brainbox:

Sonic Sketching

I’m one of those people who thinks they’re not very good at drawing. I’m also aware that may not be true but, thankfully, I derive the same kind of catharsis from making audio recordings, so that’s what I do instead.

Cutting clips from a master recording and building them into a new piece is, for me, like making pencil marks on paper — individual strokes to build a bigger picture, forming a distinct image in the mind.

I find it a very relaxing discipline, not least because of the enjoyment I hope people will derive from the final piece, especially if listening through high quality headphones or speakers.

The latter is important in order to hear the full range of sounds and to get an accurate sense of the environment created by the placement of the microphones.

By making such sketches, I hope to take listeners on a flowing sonic journey, full of detail and intrigue.

Aboard the Tobermory lifeboat (photograph by Hen)

Over the last year or so, I’ve been pondering how to create a more robust high quality stereo setup to carry aboard lifeboats again when the time comes — the problem being, that nothing really exists on the market (as far as I can tell) to properly space and windshield the tiny pair of DPA 6060 microphones that I like to use for my field recordings.

All-weather lifeboats are brutally powerful utilitarian vessels, which eat wind and waves for breakfast. They are a sound recordists dream and nightmare rolled into one.

Roaring engines, crashing waves and howling wind is an incredible combination when you get it right but a painfully shapeless mush if you get it wrong.

Here’s the short film I made in 2017 aboard the Tobermory Severn class lifeboat using the recordings I was making in the photograph above:

Furthermore, it’s simply no good trying to carry delicate equipment which might get damaged or cause an injury within such a highly nautical environment.

So, I cobbled together a new rig last Saturday using equipment I had already but repurposing it with the intended scenario in mind. The Lego figure is not part of the rig, of course — he/she’s there to illustrate how small the amazing microphones are!

Once built, I was eager to get on and test it in the fortuitously windy conditions in the garden (a coastal test will have to wait until the ‘stay local’ restrictions are relaxed).

I only intended to record for 20 minutes but there was so much going on that I didn’t hit ‘stop’ until 3 hours later.

The final 51m 27s recording consists of 70 clips from that master recording cut together chronologically. By the time you reach the end, I’m sure you’ll agree it has indeed been quite a journey.

As I cut those clips together, though, one thing really struck me. The sonic environment on our own doorstep is incredibly stressful for the wildlife that share the space with us humans.

Listen carefully and you’ll hear that the birds are in constant competition with the myriad of synthetic sounds.

At times, it seems like it’s very difficult for them to be heard, yet still they battle on.

This observation put me in mind of a phenomenal recording chosen by Isabella Tree as one of her Desert Island Discs in 2019.

The sound of nightingales and bombers on the night of the Mannheim raid in 1942 is one of the most emotive and profound recordings I’ve ever heard.

You can hear an abridged version from the 31m15s mark on BBC Sounds or listen to the full recording here (thank you to Iain Shaw for bringing this to my attention):

I also like Isabella’s thoughts on the recording:


“Somehow it gives me hope that, whatever human beings do, nature will try and respond and do its absolute utmost to see it though and to bounce back.”

— Isabella Tree speaking with Lauren Laverne on Desert Island Discs, 24 November 2019

Anyway, here’s my new sonic sketch with a loose running order below (feel free to share your thoughts at the bottom of this post too).

As I mentioned earlier, you will need good high quality headphones or speakers to get the best experience from the recording. People often ask me what I mean by that. I’m sure those with more formal training would have other recommendations but I still love my Audio-Technica MX40 headphones.

I’ve been using for around 6 years, so I doubt they’re available new but something along those lines will doubtless fit the bill:


Listen out for (in order of appearance)…

  • My intro
  • Distant motorway traffic throughout
  • Birdsong
  • Sirens
  • Vehicles passing on the main road nearby
  • A woodpecker
  • A woman singing in the distance
  • Somebody doing DIY
  • Leaves rustling in the wind
  • A dog barking
  • Birds close to the microphones
  • People chatting as they walk by
  • Distant raucous singing and shouting
  • Somebody calling out ‘Jack!’ [different Jack]
  • Birdsong like sci-fi laser shooters
  • An aeroplane high overhead
  • Wood pigeons
  • Birds ‘displaying’ to each other
  • A creature walking close to the microphones
  • The sound of tiny wings flitting about nearby
  • Magpies
  • A van passing
  • Wind high in the trees
  • Bassy music booming from a car
  • An insect passing close to the microphones
  • A helicopter passing overhead
  • Car doors closing
  • A neighbour doing some gardening and moving pots around
  • Distant screaming
  • The birds returning when my neighbour heads inside
  • The wind gusting more strongly
  • A heavier duty helicopter
  • Me returning to check on the equipment and take a photograph
  • Gulls overhead
  • Ducks overhead
  • A motorbike buzzing about accompanied by a helicopter
  • The tinkling of dogs’ collars
  • Our front door closing
  • The evening chorus, including a very close blackbird
  • Car horns
  • Passers-by with a suitcase on wheels
  • Collecting the equipment

…and all of this happened in just three hours. An urban environment sure is hectic, even in times like these.

Yard Life

Chicken Hawk by Jack Lowe

Lockdown 3.0 is nowhere near as quiet as Lockdown 1.0, particularly in our back yard. Listen out for our chickens peacefully pecking away at their food and a myriad of other feathered friends flitting about the neighbourhood, all set against the background hum of city life.

As always, good quality headphones or speakers recommended to fully enjoy the sonic experience:

That’s the Spirit

It’s been five years since I posted here. Five whole years. And what a journey I’ve been on in the meantime, quite literally.

Since last tapping some words on this blog (which I started over 8 years ago), I’ve visited 150 RNLI stations on The Lifeboat Station Project.

Once the restrictions are lifted — whenever that may be — I can’t wait to complete the remaining 88 lifeboat stations with renewed vigour.

A SPLENDID TORCH

After such an intense few years, and as we career into Lockdown 2.0, I’ve enjoyed the headspace to lift the dust sheets from these pages and breathe life back into them.

There are still a few tweaks to be made but things are mostly shipshape again.

Then came a timely tweet by Michael Warburton yesterday featuring a clip of Jeff Goldblum impressively reciting a quote by playwright and Nobel Prize winner, George Bernard Shaw:

Here’s the quote in full:


This is the true joy in life, the being used for a purpose recognised by yourself as a mighty one; the being a force of nature instead of a feverish, selfish little clod of ailments and grievances complaining that the world will not devote itself to making you happy.

I am of the opinion that my life belongs to the whole community, and as long as I live it is my privilege to do for it whatever I can.

I want to be thoroughly used up when I die, for the harder I work the more I live. I rejoice in life for its own sake. Life is no “brief candle” for me. It is a sort of splendid torch which I have got hold of for the moment, and I want to make it burn as brightly as possible before handing it on to future generations.

GEORGE BERNARD SHAW

Magnificent, isn’t it?

The words really tap into a simple sentiment that I consider to be vital more than ever in times like these — the sentiment of community spirit.

To my mind, community provides hope and, with hope, we can function.

A READYMADE SYMPHONY

Like Michael’s tweet, George Bernard Shaw’s quote seems particularly timely as we settle into our next lockdown.

It had me thinking back to the last one and the weekly clap for carers ritual. It gave me goosebumps every time, making me think I really must record this.

So, on the fifth Thursday at 8pm, I set up my microphones in the garden in readiness.

As it transpired, I couldn’t have chosen a better occasion. The moment was perfect from start to finish, a readymade symphony:

The recording begins with a chirruping bird, then the beat of a distant pan. A lone clapper soon becomes hundreds, dogs bark, car horns sound, tambourines clatter, tubas parp, all emblazoned with fireworks in the middle distance. Glorious!

And, as I listened to so many humans uniting in our extended neighbourhood, I thought…

that’s the spirit.