ANGEL PLACE BIRD CAGES.

 

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  While dawdling our way from the 'Museum of Sydney' toward a Japanese restaurant near Town Hall — because nothing works up an appetite for some delish Katsu Curry like a few kilometres of walking that could have been done in minutes on a tram — Virls suddenly squinted down the far end of Angel Place. Something unusual had caught her eye.

  And naturally, because this was a classic “Brad n’ Virls” outing, marked by a complete inability to ignore anything remotely odd, shiny, or possibly dangerous, we were morally obligated to investigate. After all, what’s the point of a day out if we don’t nosedive into at least one mystery that absolutely no one asked us to solve?

Tucked away in the backstreets of Sydney’s CBD — conveniently located between a billion-dollar office block and whatever café currently sells $14 toast — sits Angel Place. And hanging above it, like the world’s most confusing aviary, are dozens of empty birdcages. No, the city hasn’t opened a free-range budgie crèche. This is “Forgotten Songs,” an art installation by Michael Thomas Hill, and it comes with a surprisingly emotional backstory for something that looks like the aftermath of a very polite jailbreak.

The idea is simple: these cages represent the roughly fifty bird species that once chirped, squawked, and pooped merrily around central Sydney before we paved over their homes and replaced them with luxury apartments and mandatory coffee culture.

 Hill worked with an Australian Museum ornithologist to figure out which birds were evicted by history, using everything from vegetation records to old museum specimens. Their names are engraved in the pavement below, so you can read them while pretending not to spill your latte.

But the real magic is in the soundtrack. Hidden speakers play the calls of these missing birds, recorded by wildlife guru Fred van Gessel. During the day, you’ll hear the bright chatter of birds that used to swoop through the sunlight. At night, the laneway switches to nocturnal mode — owls, nightjars, and other creatures that would definitely judge some of the perverted human ways in back lanes if they were still around. It’s like the city’s way of saying, “You may have chased them out, but they’re still louder than the people yelling outside the pub at 2am.”

Originally this whole thing was meant to be temporary back in 2009, but Sydney did what Sydney does best: it fell in love, took a million Instagram photos, and promptly demanded a permanent version. So in 2011, the city put the installation back up on a sturdier set of cables, because nothing says “art appreciation” like steel engineering rated for high winds and occasional drunk visitors trying to jump for a cage.

Today, Angel Place is a rare pocket of peace — a quiet little soundscape powered by speakers instead of feathers. It’s oddly beautiful, somewhat strange, and a gentle reminder that while cities grow up, the birds who were here first have packed their bags and racked off to greener pastures (or been devoured by feral cats).

But at least we kept the cages. Only fair, really.

  Angel Place didn’t get its heavenly-sounding name because cherubs once frolicked above George Street — though given Sydney’s rental prices, they’ve probably moved to Minno by now.

 Originally, the laneway bounced between identities like a teenager in a mid-life crisis: it was Terry Place, then Martin Lane, and at one point even Morts Passage (which probably sounds more saucy than intended). None of these stuck, possibly because they all sounded like the names of mildly disappointing transport enthusiasts.

  The name finally settled on Angel Place, thanks to a long-gone pub called the Angel Inn. As was the custom in early Sydney, if there was a pub, the surrounding geography simply surrendered and adopted its name. So the inn vanished, the buildings changed, the city modernised — but the name stuck, because apparently Sydney will forget its trams, ferries, and red single deckers before it forgets a good boozer.

And now Angel Place is home to birdcages in the sky, as evidenced by the whole purpose of this post, and the City Recital Hall — a surprisingly classy afterlife for a laneway named after a pub.

A stack of hanging bird cages is not something you expect to find down a narrow Sydney laneway.

All photos: Brad Peadon
Semi-Retired Foamer Media

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