If music be the meaning of life play on! Song is my English name, my Latin name, my French name, my passion, my life and my meaning. You who merely listen can feel the turning of the year with your eyes closed: for my song echoes across suburbia and says spring, spring, spring! And if a thing’s worth singing it’s worth singing twice and thrice and then once again. Because that’s what music means.
Monday
I’m a wise thrush. I sing each song twice over, lest you thought I never could recapture that first fine careless rapture. There was a moment of sunshine today and I shone with it. It seemed almost warm and I made it warmer. Sing out! The time for making new life is here.
Tuesday
Here’s how it works. First, I take a sound. A musical idea. Then I express it: sometimes it’s wholly sweet, sometimes it’s slightly raucous, sometimes even a little grating and modernist. After that I do it again. One, maybe two reps. If I like it and I’m in the mood, a couple more. When that’s done I switch abruptly to the next idea. And then the reps. Like all great composers I’m endlessly inventive and endlessly repetitive.
Wednesday
I sing because I’m a musician. I sing because I’m lost in the music – but it just so happens that musical virtuosity is the sexiest thing on earth. The more ideas I sing and the longer and louder my performance, the more I am adored. At least by a certain female thrush. And other males: when they hear me they’re inclined to sing their own songs a little further off... nicking my best ideas while they’re at it.
Thursday
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I have a repertoire of more than 100 phrases, and I put them together in whatever way seems right. Some I learned from my parents (females also sing), some I stole from other song thrushes and some I developed myself. I also bring in ideas from other species – I do a rather good nuthatch – but I’ll go for any sound that’s in my arc. I’ve got a nice car alarm, and my vehicle-reversing call is a favourite.
Friday
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I’m not a slavish mimic. I take a sound and develop it, making it my own. Music is personal: and no other thrush sings quite like me. My ancestors were woodland birds: but it’s as if we were always waiting for suburbia: for the mature trees and soft lawns that humans surround themselves with.
Saturday
And it begins. Her outdoors will make the nest while I sing, and the song protects her. Soon, if all goes well, there’ll be eggs as blue as the sky on a bright spring morning. There aren’t as many of us as there used to be, but we’re making a bit of a comeback. That’s something to celebrate. Spring is something to celebrate. And the only way to celebrate anything is in song.
Song thrush CV
Lifespan: 3-5 years
Eating habits: Escargots, s’il vous plaît
Hobbies: I resent the question. Music is not my hobby, it’s my soul
Sexual preferences: A darkling thrush
Photography by T.M.O Birds/Alamy