On entering the Old Fitzroy hotel, a warmth permeates from the small fireplace, it hits me. There is a comforting kind of chaos. The sound of intermingling, glasses clashing, metal utensils scraping against plates. It is loud and busy and everything an Australian pub should be. In the corner, people crowd around a band playing jazz. The jazz lingers so I linger. I head downstairs into the theatre. The Old Fitz is not a big theatre. With a capacity of 55 seats, it begs for intimacy. The theatre fills up slowly, the chaos of the outside reduces to distant murmurs, and the show begins.

Birdsong of Tomorrow is not just a theatre show. It feels communal, like sitting in your friend's parent’s office after school, listening to them talk about their special interests. The core of this work is, like the name suggests, about birds, and, if I only learnt one thing from this show, writer-performer Nathan Harrison loves birds. It is a crash course on all his favourite birds; the buff-breasted paradise kingfisher, the superb fairy wren, the wandering albatross. Alongside these are observations of the world, the passing of time, the anxieties around change and yet also the anxieties around everything staying the same. Harrison bares his heart in his work, not just his love for birds but also his deep sense of grief that he hasn’t fully reconciled with yet. So perhaps crash course was the wrong term to use, it felt more like a long rant, equal part fact, equal part poetry. One line stuck to me early in the show, that I had to scribble down, “Nothing sang before the birds.”

Like all conversations, sometimes I felt that there were lulls, points where I felt my energy drop and perhaps my attention faltered for a second. It could very well be my fault. I realise I didn’t have as strong opinions on birds as I originally thought. Maybe I should have stronger opinions on birds. Nevertheless, Harrison’s passion and joy was so infectious. Even in these lulls, he was quick and witty, creating great comedic moments. His description of the migratory journey of certain birds or the wingspan of others commanded the space, moving the theatre with him. He performs with the confidence only granted to someone with complete faith in his writing, he is funny, honest, and deeply likeable.

The stage is littered in nostalgia, an old school projector, a tape recorder, a record player. They do not simply serve as props, but are utilized masterfully throughout the production. Artworks of birds are projected onto screens, recording spin playing bird sounds. The soft hum of analogue machinery underscores the entire performance. They hum with history, forcing us to look back not just at the histories of the show but our own histories. The addition of a live musician Tom Hogan, creating a soundscape for the work was an amazing touch. He was very evidently not just a musician but also a friend of Harrison’s which created a deeper sense of intimacy within the work.

In the end, Birdsong of Tomorrow, is a reminder to pause, to notice. It calls for us to slow down amongst the chaos of life and delight in the world that we live in, to look at the birds. Nathan Harrison’s passion, humor and honesty bleeds into the audience. He asks nothing of us (except to make the occasional bird sound), except to glimpse into his world and listen.