In 1977, we sent a Golden Record of the sounds of Earth into space with NASA's Voyager probes.

This 'cosmic' calling card inspired the program team to make this - a golden record of Australian sounds.

It varies from Nature Track - there are human made sounds and there are human voices, these soundscapes are layered sounds from all over Australia - they're not natural soundscapes.

To create the soundscape for our vinyl record - our teams recorded over 200 bespoke sounds - many of which have been arranged into the final composition.  Sounds were gathered from as far as the Perth Canyon (20km west coast of Rottnest Island) and as remote as Warramunga in the Northern Territory.

Ann's listening notes:

01:00 The beach, above and under the water. 03:00 Pygmy Blue whale song06:00 Catching a ferry in Sydney07:20 A plane, there:s always a plane. 08:30 Catching a train09:00 Can you hear Tom Thum, the beat boxer here? Also you can hear street sounds from Newtown in Sydney. 10:10 A snippet of a conversation that has a swear word in it. 10:30 Iconic Australian pedestrian crossing with the sounds of the city. 11:40 Cicadas buzz, a lyrebird sings the taps are Kristian Benton searching for trees to fell to make a yidaki.16:00 Natural Sounds are often marred by the sounds of leaf blowers, whipper snippers and other machinery. 21:15 Car on a country road with cow and cockies. a typical Australian scene.22:30 The Orange Agricultural Show - announcements, motorbikes, chickens, shearing and whip cracking. 24:30 A wood chopping competition. 25:30 Driving on a dirt road - hear the dusty texture and the corrugations.27:15 Warramunga Seismic and Infrasound Research Station - one of the quietest places on earth.31:15 Wild cockatiels calling.

RECORDINGS: Nick Peterson, Leo Sullivan, Peter Lenaerts, Sarah Henty, Dr Capri JoliffeSOUND DESIGN: Peter LenaertsSERIES PRODUCER: Elle GibbonsEXECUTIVE PRODUCER: Penny Palmer

No music. No voices. Just the sound of a creek bed in outback Australia.

In the Murchison district in Western Australia you're surrounded by low lying ranges where rocks have been found that are 4.4 billion years old — they're almost as ancient as the planet itself.

Among the crests and dips of Wajarri country is a creek bed on Boolardy Station. Not flowing, but water is still there. And the places where there is water in this arid environment – well, it's a mecca for birdlife.

Listen for: chiming wedgebills, lots of flies and other insects, rainbow bee-eaters, crested bellbirds, babblers and diamond doves among many many more. 

Mix Engineer: Isabella Tropiano.

This program is produced on the land of the Wathawurung people.

No music, no human voices. Just the sound of an epic summer storm rolling on through the evening.

I recorded this at my home. It had been a hot day, and in the late afternoon there was a crack of thunder. I walked out, set the recorder near the woodpile and recorded into the night.

In this recording you can hear rain falling, hitting the earth and also hitting the microphones. And you can hear lots and lots of thunder.

At first, the afternoon and evening chorus continues, but as the storm intensifies, just the cockies scream. Then, as darkness falls, insects take up the lulls between thunder and rain.

Mix Engineer: Isabella Tropiano.

This program is produced on the land of the Wathawurung people.

No music, no human voices, just the sound of night falling over bushland near Narrabri, recorded by the ABC's Ann Jones. It sounds like camping.

Narrabri is in North West NSW, in an incredibly fertile farming area. And yep, you guessed it, where it's fertile, it means you won't get much bushland left intact.

This bushland is a patch on the Llara Farm which is used by the University of Sydney for research. I was lucky enough to travel there to film a program about technology and nature for 'Catalyst' on ABC TV.

This recording differs a little from some of the others I've made for Nature Track. For example, there is no way that I can completely remove the distant sound of highway movement, of the endless trucks ferrying agricultural products towards the city.

But this is an incredibly endearing mix of the insect chorus for me. It sounds like camping.

A chorus of ravens in the distance, along with cockies going to sleep, and some sounds I cannot identify kick off this most relaxing soundscape yet.

Listening notes from Ann Jones:

00:00:45 I have no idea what this insect is, but I love it.

00:10:20 I think this is actually a boobook – they make this sound when they're close to another boobook, rather than calling across a distance.

00:30:35 One of the many sounds produced by foxes. They have a really wide vocabulary and can sound human-like, bird-like and just plain scary in the night.

00:41:00 A bat circles past on its nightly food run echo-locating for both navigation and prey detection.

00:46:30 A sneaky dog. I can't tell you how much time I spend pulling dogs out of nature recordings. They're almost ubiquitous in Australian landscapes

00:58:40 I can hear a frog here, that's sounds a bit like a ruler twanged against a school desk. I think it might be a spotted marsh frog – Limnodynastes tasmaniensis.

01:12:00 A distant boobook, the smallest owl in Australia, along with some fox calls and bat flybys.

01:21:00 The terrifying scream of a barn owl. Yes, they look magnificent. Sound terror-ific too.

Mix Engineer: Isabella Tropiano.

This program is produced on the land of the Wathawurung people.

No music. No voices. Just the sound of a quiet ocean inlet in the early evening, recorded by the ABC's Dr Ann Jones. This shoreline is home to many wallabies; will they make any sound?

This was recorded over the summer of 2021/22 as I was spending time on Phillip Island / Millowl in Victoria, filming for 'Meet the Penguins' on ABC TV. I put the recorder out at Rhyll Inlet as the sun is setting. It's been a hot day and the cicadas are calling. Rhyll Inlet is a mixture of saltmarsh, mudflats, mangroves and some scrubby bits too. Slightly uphill, away from the water, there are grassy areas where wallabies abound. This is where the recording is taken. 

Listening notes from Ann Jones:

00:00:39 Lower toned repeating call given in a short burst is the white-eared honeyeater. This bird is striking. It's somewhere between green and yellow, with a black face and a blob of white right behind its eye.

00:02:20 This is still that same honeyeater.

00:02:35 Eastern rosellas – gorgeous birds and I can just imagine their tails fanning and shaking as they speak with each other.

00:03:40 The kookaburras are joining the chorus – announcing to one and all how strong they are as a family, and how well defended their territory is.

00:06:08 MAGPIES! This chorus gets better and better.

00:07:38 The gorgeous clear flute-like quality gives this away as a grey shrike thrush. Followed closely by a masked lapwing. Phillip Island is a hot spot for masked lapwings, which like to rest on the ground. So, the fox-free island means they have good numbers.

00:09:02 The red wattlebird sounds as if it's the shutter mechanism on a giant, broken camera.

00:10:50 The first incursion of a cape barren goose into the recording.

00:18:12 This is a wallaby moving, they sometimes thump down with surprising force.

00:18:40 …and there it goes.

00:21:45 The GST is really giving a fantastic performance.

00:22:06 It wouldn't surprise me if this is a swamp wallaby snapping a stick to eat. They're voracious.

00:25:40 The masked lapwing (maybe known to you as a kid as the spur-winged plover) goes past screaming.

00:26:05 This is a grey butcherbird and it makes me doubt some of my grey shrike thrush IDs from earlier – they both can sing as if playing an enchanted flute.

00:39:12 You can hear the fantails beak clacking as it calls, and flies about. It sounds like tiny little knuckles being cracked in rapid succession.

Mix Engineer: Isabella Tropiano.

This program is produced on the land of the Wathawurung people.

No music. No human voices. Just the sound of a frog chorus and a pre-dawn rain shower in arid Western Australia, recorded on location by the ABC's Dr Ann Jones. 

Get in a car in Perth and drive 4 hours northeast to sit beside a pool of water as the frogs call and rain rolls in. It's an hour before dawn.

This soundscape was recorded on Badimaya country on Charles Darwin Reserve which is owned by Bush Heritage Australia. I was there to film an amazing tree called the sandalwood for 'Australia's Favourite Tree' on ABC TV. The reserve is on the edge of the Southwest Botanical Province, which has more plant biodiversity that a tropical forest, and also the arid Eremean areas. And because it's on the borderlands, there are so many plants, animals, birds, and in this recording in particular amphibians to love.

00:00:00 The first thing that you hear is the Western Toadlets — Pseudophryne occidentalis. At least, this is the best guess without a DNA sample. You see, this area is in the overlap between two different types of toadlets which sound EXTREMELY similar.

They're not toads, they're toadlets, and very happy with the amount of water around by the sound of it.

Listening notes from Ann Jones:

00:02:40 The first of many microbat flybys in this recording. You can hear the echolocation clicks as the bats zoom past searching for food. That is, you'll hear them unless you are a little bit older, or have some hearing impairment at the higher frequencies, then you'll not be able to hear the bats, which sit at about 11500khz and above.

00:07:05 To be honest, I'm not sure who this bird is, but my gut feeling tells me they're disturbed a bit by something rather than the true start of the dawn chorus. The clicking, sort of tapping sound is soft rain hitting the microphones.

00:09:00 No wonder the frogs are calling. Here comes the rain.

00:49:30 Who dipped into the water? Or perhaps crapped into the water from above?

01:05:10 If you're a person lucky enough to still hear those high frequencies, you can hear the hunting buzz here as the bat zeros in on a flying insect to eat.

01:07:00 A couple of insects, or maybe just one joins in the chorus. There's one sound that constantly jiggles, and one that pulses. It is perhaps a cricket and or a cicada.

01:14:20 is this the real start of the dawn chorus from the birds? Or perhaps just a rustling in the pre-dawn.

01:34:50 A smattering of rain drops. Do the toadlets sound happier or is it just me?

01:52:40 A willy wagtail announces its time to get up and start the true bird chorus of the morning. There's also a spiny-cheeked honeyeater in there.

Thanks to Dr Elliot Leach and Dr Jodi Rowley for helping me confirm what I was hearing.

No music, no voices. Just the sound of the mountain ash forest, recorded by the ABC's Dr Ann Jones.

The mountain ash is the tallest flowering plant in the world, a eucalypt that can reach 90m in height. And beneath its arbour is an incredible array of wildlife, including an incredible chorus of birds.

I recorded this while filming 'Australia's Favourite Tree' for ABC TV near Marysville in Victoria.

It was a cold, misty morning on Taungurong Country and among the first sounds that can be heard in this recording is a male lyrebird practising some of his repertoire – both mimicry and his own sounds.

00:01:51 The lyrebird is imitating a black cockie here.

00:03:42 this lazer sort of sound is the lyrebird's own sounds.

00:06:25 The lyrebird makes both the male and female components of the whip bird call!

00:06:55 Heeeeere comes a parrot, screaming as it goes.

00:07:20 Pied Currawongs call to each other in the distance.

00:23:00 A fly fly-by!

00:35:10 Actual yellow tailed black-cockatoos incoming!

00:36:40 This incredibly sharp-sounding call is the pilot bird, a small brownish bird of the understorey. So-called because it sometimes 'pilots' the lyrebird, taking advantage of the lyrebirds superior digging skills to grab invertebrate prey uncovered.

00:56:40 Tune your ear to higher frequencies to hear a wonderful insect calling in pulses.

01:02:40 We've got some sulphur-crested cockatoo begging happening here. Consistent nagging like a toddler at the top of a tree. 

01:30:50 A pair of real whipbirds make an appearance here, with a two-part duet consisting of build and whip, and then an answering 'chew chew.'

01:34:20 The wing beats of a bird in flight.

01:56:30 Among the smaller birds, perhaps scrubwrens and thornbills, and definitely a grey fantail and a pilotbird, you can hear the black-cockies take flight and call to each other, the pied currawong. 

No music, no talking, just the sound of a rain storm in the desert.

Wiluna is a town on the Traditional lands of the Martu people in Western Australia. It’s on gorgeous arid country, about 960km east of Perth. After days of dry heat in excess of 40, it was late afternoon when a huge storm rolled in. Nowhere has storms like the desert, where the hot air rises off the ground to meet the clouds with huge rumbles and rolls that expand across the whole horizon. The rain continued on and off all night and into the next day when I got up in the morning to smell the wet sands and concrete of the town. Each burst of rain was greeted by bird song throughout the sunrise, and as the human occupants of the town slowly woke up.

Listening notes from Ann Jones:

04:28 Here comes the rain on the tin roof. The galahs scatter, calling. 5:10 A bonded pair of mudlarks (tiwily-tiwilypa), sometimes called peewees or magpie larks. sing a duet together.  

10:50 The pied butcherbirds (kararaputa) sing through the rainfall — a repetitive, slightly melancholy melody, and occasionally their diagnostic cackling call that almost sounds like yelling "missing you!" at the end of a quick phone call.  

14:30 This repetitive chirping call is a honeyeater, but which sort? Perhaps a yellow-throated miner (piiny-piinypa)? Comment below if you know!  

16:24 White-plumed honeyeater (Inatjara) calls sound a little bit like a slide whistle.  

20:40 This is probably the alarm call of the white-plumed honeyeater, letting its colleagues know of a danger or annoyance.  

21:28 The mudlarks stay in touch and reinforce their relationship by repeating their duet throughout the day.  

26:40 Little corellas start to fly and call in tremulous, quaver-y voices. It also sounds as if there is at least one young one with them begging for food, making a monotonous raspy grinding call from a tree.  

28:30 Cutting through above all the other birds is the tiny black-and-white willie wagtail (tjitirttjitirt). This call is diagnostic of the willie, and it will make it through the day and night. Listen also for the scolding chika-chika-chika call that the willie will make occasionally, probably to stay in touch with its family members in this context. You can also here two variations on the mudlark duets in this sequence, along with the little corellas.  

37:16 There are two possibilities for this corvid call – a torresian crow or a little crow (not tiny ones, that is their species name: little crow).  

37:40 The willie wagtail is back!  

41:30 The birds all seem to be responding to the rain, or perhaps a change in pressure associated with the rain? There are so many calls from the different species here.  

42:20 The incomparable sound of rain on a tin roof.  

48:38 The crows are at it again!  

47:00 You can occasionally hear a deeper click as water drops actually hit my microphone through this section, the drops were so big they were bouncing up off the ground and up onto the little box I’d put my recorder on under a shelter. My microphone covers were absolutely saturated after I finished this recording. 

No music, no voices, just imagine you’re camping beside a creek in early spring.  

Listening Notes from Ann:  

It was the first hot day of Spring on Wadawurrung Country west of Melbourne. Out of bed before the sun, I walked through the bush listening to the last of the nocturnal sounds, and found a place on a ridgeline overlooking a creek.  

There are hundreds of large trees with lots of hollows all scattered across the steep slope down to the creek and I set the recorders out just as the dawn chorus begins in earnest. There is the smallest of overlap between the boobooks calling as they settled to sleep, and the magpies and kookaburras leading the dawn chorus with their greetings to the sun (and territorial threatening screams of course).  

There are so, so many species in this recording – too many to list entirely! 

00:00:16 The boobook calls. Listen for a second boobook, who calls at 00:00:48, with a slightly different pitch. In the middle of the night, you can hear the boobooks call right along the creek.  

00:01:00 Raucous and loud – a family of kookaburras laughs in chorus. They’re communicating with each other and their neighbouring rivals that they’re awake, and fit, and ready to defend their territory today.  

00:07:50 Hear a kangaroo stomping and rustling in the grass and sticks probably heading down the hill to find a cosy spot in the lomandra to sleep for the day.  

00:10:20 It’s as if they all knew it was going to be a clear, warm day – everyone is singing and calling this morning. What a cacophony! 

00:21:40 Sulphur Crested Cockatoos rarely go anywhere without announcing themselves.  

00:23:48 The penetrating, rapid fire pipe of the white throated tree creeper repeats itself. These birds possess special feet that enable them to spend their life bouncing up tree trunks searching for insects, rather than grasping onto horizontal branches.  

00:26:50 The sound of several pardalotes can be heard throughout the recording with their repetitive stutter note – dik-dik… dik-dik. There are both striated and spotted pardalotes in this recording and there are several nests in the area in tiny little hollows in the trees as well as miniscule little burrows dug into the sides of the track and creek.  

00:37:30 Ravens. It’s notoriously difficult to tell the difference between raven species between calls, and I’ve seen both Australasian Ravens and Little Ravens at this spot. But, I do think these are little ravens, because there are so so so many of them. They’re all up and down the creek line communicating with each other with varying intensity and little ravens have a tendency to gather like this.  

00:39:20 This is a Shining bronze cuckoo a small bird that looks like it has a slightly spiky hair do and wears a stripey t shirt. Even though it’s wings are sort of iridescent, moving from olive green to eggplant purple, this small bird is inconspicuous and stays hidden in trees searching for caterpillars, sex and someone else’s nest to lay in.  

00:42:45 The Australian Magpie’s ability to sing that many notes at once will always astound me. In this part of Australia, the magpies are white backed magpies and even though they’ve got babies in the area, they’ve not been swoopy.   

00:44:00 In these ten seconds I can hear: little raven, two types of pardalotes, red wattlebird, grey shrike thrush and a baby magpie, common eastern froglets and there’s also a bird that has a descending whistle that I can’t quite place.  

00:45:02 here is a baby magpie annoying its parents for food. They’re almost ALWAYS hungry.  

00:45:20 A mix of long-billed corellas and sulphur crested cockatoos in this group. There are several really big old holey trees here and I think some of them have several nesting hollows in each.  

00:46:45 Extremely high-pitched melodic call of the grey fantail, darting about waggling it’s tail and scowling.  

00:47:45 The repeated single note of the Eastern Spinebill, which has a long skinny downward turned beak especially for getting delicious liquid from flowers. They dart about everywhere making wing flurries and generally being high on sugar as far as I can tell.  

00:50:20 The Grey Shrike thrush is calling – these birds are possibly one of the most common mystery sounds’ we get sent over at Off Track. They look as though they’re a bird drawing in grey scale, with the smoothest looking plumage and a little hook on the end of the beak. They sing like angels from hiding places, and can sometimes put on a real performance.  

00:52:12 Magpie parents have the patience of a million kindergarten teachers combined.  

00:54:20 Mixed in with the gorgeous magpie calling there are grey shrike thrush, rosella flight calls, Olive backed orioles, cockatoos, ravens, pardalotes, froglets. And, at 00:54:04 I *think* one of the magpies flies away – you can hear its wings in the air.   

00:56:30 Rosella calls – could be crimson or eastern – though crimson are more likely in the area.  And over the next minute they start bell calling to each other… which is lovely, except for that cockie making spewing screams over the top of everything.  

00:58:55 Is that a brown thornbill?  

01:05:20 As the parent gets closer the baby magpie’s calls change?  

01:05:20 I haven’t worked out what those low grunts are – some are rhythmic, some are longer. Is it a kookaburra with a sore throat? A baby kookaburra complaining about its accommodation? A possum being angry at a cockatoo? If you have an idea leave a comment! 

01:12:20 The call of a Pallid cuckoo is like a slowly ascending set of peeps. This is one of those birds which lays its eggs in the nest of another species and leaves them to bring up the kids.  

00:18:15 A rufous whistler calling out amongst the din – listen for relatively quick sliding whistles, almost whip-like, that sometimes are repetitive and other times sound like mosh pit madness with many notes thrown together jumping all over the place.  

00:19:26 A juvenile raven is getting its breakfast. That’s the sound of the regurgitated food going down its gullet! And, judging by those extremely quiet ticks, someone has landed very close to the microphone and is moving in the tree (my guess is a rosella, they click and crack in trees all day and it’s often this sound that gives them away rather than their calls). AND, this is followed closely by a pied currawong in the distance.  

01:20:52 A Superb fairy-wren with an extremely high-pitched call that gets faster like a golf ball circling a hole until it blasts off into manic neighing like the tiniest horse in the world. There’s also, I think, that weird kookaburra calls going on in this patch. I’m not sure.  

01:23:21 Hear that kookaburra carrying on?  

01:28:30 You can tell that day is well and truly underway and the temperature is rising, because that insect chorus starts pulsating. It also signals the end of the dawn chorus – from boobook to cicada. 

No music, no voices, just the sound of night time at a swamp on Wadawarrung Country in Victoria.  

Listening Notes from Ann Jones: 

There are at least three species of frogs calling all the way through this recording – maybe more. And they provide a wonderful blanket of noise for you to snuggle under. Here’s what I can hear:  

00:00:07 – The ‘tonk’, ‘bonk’ and ‘donk’ of the pobblebonk (Limnodynastes dumerilii). These frogs are sometimes also called banjo frogs because of their plucking call. They are a relatively big frog, maybe 8 or 9 cm long when fully grown, with a very pleased look on their face.  

00:00:15 This is the spotted marsh frog (Limnodynastes tasmaniensis) and it’s an interesting one. It sounds a bit like a striped marsh frog. But Jordann and Gracie from the Australian Museum FrogID team assure me it’s the southern call race of the spotted! In the north part of its range, the call of the spotted marsh frog is entirely different than in western Victoria.  

00:00:44 The consisted creaking of thousands of common eastern froglets. Individually they sometimes sound like a ratchet creaking back, but together it’s a cacophony of clicks all blending together. These are tiny little things, even when fully grown they might hit a top of 3 cm. They’re brown, and sometimes they have gorgeous stripes in different brown and olive tones which makes them look a little bit like a lolly.  

00:01:02 The high-pitched groups of calls that start softer and build in intensity are brown tree frogs. The frequencies really can hurt the human ear. These are a smallish brown frog that can live in drier parts of the bush. They don’t need to be right in the water all the time.  

00:18:22 This is a set of sonar searching calls of a freetail bat. There are few microbats whose calls sit within the range of human hearing, and your ability to hear this will depend on your age and how well you’ve looked after your hearing.  

00:25:20 This is the growling barky cough of the brushtail possum. With this call it is communicating its territory to the other possums in the vicinity.  

00:30:10 The possum comes very, very close to the microphone and you can also hear lambs calling in the distant farmland.  

00:46:10 There is something softly creeping here. Probably not the brushtails which tend to stampede everywhere they go. You can just hear the very, very quiet clicks of branches moving every once in a while, over the coming minutes.  

00:50:20 More bat sounds. It is clicking and listening to the bounce back echoes to determine where its prey might be.  

01:02:30 The brushtail is back.