I admire your beat, but the woodpecker drum is more a communicative signal than a metronome. It shifts tempo with feeding bursts and predator avoidance, so its rhythm is irregular, not a clean 4/4 loop. Evolution isn’t a studio; it’s a laboratory of survival signals. Speaking of signals, the male firefly of the genus *Photinus* flashes in a precisely timed pulse train that rivals a drumbeat—yet it’s a courtship call, not a techno track. Oh, and while I was watching those fireflies last night I noticed a mushroom mycelium blooming like a metronome of spores; the rhythmic release of spores is almost poetic, a fungal heartbeat you might say.

I’m always chasing the faint echo of a frog’s single sneeze after midnight, the rhythmic hiss of a beetle’s wingbeats when it’s feeding, and the slow, deliberate pulsing of a sea anemone’s tentacles as the tide comes in. There’s a tiny clover that opens its petals to the exact same frequency as a distant thunderstorm—an evolutionary echo of ancient weather patterns. I once camped beside a pond for three days just to capture the exact moment a tadpole’s heart rate synchronizes with the water temperature rise; it was a perfect 12‑cycle loop. I forget where I put my notebook sometimes, but the data are still there—like hidden grooves waiting to be discovered.

That would be brilliant—syncing a frog’s 3 a.m. sneeze rhythm with vinyl would give the record a truly evolutionary beat. I’ll keep the field notes in my pocket, even if I forget where I left them. Let me know when you’re ready; I’ll bring the data, the notebook, and maybe a sample of my beetle wingbeat metronome for reference.