Five years ago, an ANU biologist proved that most female songbirds sing, but it’s a finding that many people are struggling to accept.
Sometimes I think I’ve gone too far with seeing the world through a gendered lens. I mean, does everything have to be about the patriarchy?
But when I read that Professor Naomi Langmore, an evolutionary and behavioural biologist from the ANU Research School of Biology, had successfully challenged the—literal, textbook—definition of birdsong as being the domain of only male birds by proving that most female songbirds sing, I experienced a familiar feeling.
It’s hard to name this feeling. It’s a kind of disbelief that something so fundamental needs to be spelled out, combined with a total lack of surprise. While it’s hard to name, this feeling comes with a sound-effect that’s easy to describe: a scoff. Maybe you know that sound.
Prior to Professor Langmore’s findings, female birdsong was considered extremely rare; a “hormonal aberration” or a “non-adaptive by-product of male song”. Maybe you can hear that sound right now.
“Absolutely functionless was the assumption,” Professor Langmore says of the idea of aberrant female song. “If you look up the definition of birdsong, it says it’s long, complex vocalisations produced by males during the breeding season.”
This definition is not completely wrong, just mostly wrong. In many northern European and northern American migratory bird species, it’s true that only the male sings. “The males arrive at the breeding grounds first, set up a very short-term territory and sing their heads off to attract females. They breed very quickly and then they’re all gone again,” Professor Langmore explains.
“In that specific breeding system, female song isn’t as useful for females. Whereas in the tropics and in temperate Australia, birds often stay in their breeding grounds year-round, so it’s much more adaptive for females to sing.”
This is what Professor Langmore always knew to be the case, having seen it with her own eyes—“As a birdwatcher in Canberra you’ve got singing female magpies, fairy wrens, shrike thrushes all around you”—but while undertaking fieldwork in Europe for her PhD, she realised: “This is something that needs more attention.”
“I was studying alpine accentors in France, a species where the female does sing and my supervisor said, ‘Look, the females are singing! That’s so weird!’ It dawned on me that everybody thought this normal thing was weird.”
So Professor Langmore published research demonstrating that the female alpine accentor sings. But this did not prove they weren’t weird.
“The reaction was resistance,” she remembers. “People were happy to accept my alpine accentor females sang, but that’s it. They would say, ‘This is a really unusual species with a polyandrous breeding system and yes, in this particular species you get song.’ But there was very much resistance to the idea that female song was common beyond that.”
And so, with a team of (female) colleagues from around the world, she published a phylogenetic analysis to demonstrate that the majority of female songbirds sing: 71 percent of all songbird species, in fact.
“We showed that it’s actually the norm for females to sing, and also, that it’s the ancestral state,” she says.