Lyrebird legends abound, but not all the stories are true. Let's sort fact from fiction

With the myth-steeped lyrebird, the truth is stranger than the fiction.

But perhaps because its lyrical feats are so staggering, we've been led to believe a few pretty tall tales about these birds.

So here's some help, if you need it, to sort the truth from the lyres.

Do they copy saws, hammers and cameras?

This is a very famous segment of a very famous series called Life of Birds. It stars David Attenborough and it is gorgeous. And it also leads you down the garden path a little, using the magic of television.

According to analysis from Dr Hollis Taylor from the University of Sydney, the bird in this clip is actually at least two birds, both of whom were raised in captivity.

The main one, who mimicked drills, hammers and construction sounds was Chook, who hatched at Healesville Sanctuary and lived out his days at the Adelaide Zoo.

He learnt some of those sounds while the panda enclosure was being built.

Chook would also call out to himself — saying "chook chook" like a human might say, and he'd also whistle like an old man.

The keepers at the Adelaide Zoo said everyone was very impressed with Chook's singing ... except for the female lyrebirds, who never once agreed to breed with him based on his anthropogenic mimicry.

There are flute lyrebirds that copy ... flutes?

The story goes that a lyrebird was raised in captivity in the New England Highlands, and in the house there was a young boy who was learning to play the flute.

The bird copied him, and when it was released into the bush, it repeated that song and the song itself spread.

This is partially true, in that there is a special group of lyrebirds that have a different dialect in the New England Highlands, and it is called the "flute dialect".

But a study found that the song is their very own — an incredibly complex whistle song. It sounds different in every region, but the one in the New England Highlands is particularly stunning.

Are lyrebirds natural-born singers?

Chicks don't come out of the egg with full repertoires. They learn it very slowly over time by listening and copying the other lyrebirds around.

"Lyrebirds, like the other songbirds, learn their vocalisations — so it's a culturally transmitted trait," Dr Anastasia Dalziell said.

"That means a particular variance of their songs is passed down, not just from parent to offspring like a genetically inherited trait, but also to siblings and unrelated individuals across multiple generations.

"There's little to no change [in repertoire] even over decades. Lyrebirds in large part learned their mimicry from other lyrebirds. Hearing the original sounds keeps that mimicry accurate."

After the lyrebird was introduced to Tasmania in the early 1900s, it took decades for the birds to cease copying the sounds of mainland birds.

Lyrebirds and laser noises?

Probably the biggest misconception, because it's often the first and funniest reaction, is that the lyrebird is copying video game sounds, Star Wars lasers, or kids' toys.

But the sounds of the "laser" or a "spring in a tunnel" are the male lyrebirds' own sounds.

The "lasers" are actually the very first part of a four-section repeating sequence of sounds that have been studied in detail by a team of scientists, including Dr Dalziell.

The male lyrebird stands on his mound and performs his complex song repertoire in conjunction with dance moves to convince the female to mate.

This dance and movement sequence is like musical theatre — there is singing, there is choreography, and there is an agreed way in which the sounds and the movements fit together.

Do they copy anything at random in the forest?

In fact, there is no evidence that wild birds copy any man-made sounds at this point — neither chainsaws nor lasers.

Researchers aren't ruling it out entirely, it's just that there no recordings.

In fact, male lyrebirds are not as creative as it may seem, and stick to a set repertoire of mimicry that has been described by Dr Dalziell.

"In the wild they're mimicking a set repertoire of sounds and all the males seem to be doing something extremely similar," she said.

There are LOTS of stories though, of human-made-sound mimicry, such as copying the sounds of steam trains in the Blue Mountains, the organ playing of spinster sisters in the bush, camera clicks of tourists, and maybe even copying mammal sounds like dog barks.

If you hear something like that, whip out your phone to record it and become a part of the lyrebird story!

Are males the only singers?

First of all, do you even know what a female lyrebird looks like? She's disappointingly not depicted on our 10-cent coin like the male is, but she's absolutely gorgeous.

"Males have the very long, beautiful tail. Females have a shorter one but they can use it in fan displays," said Victoria Austin, a PhD student from the University of Western Sydney who is studying female lyrebirds.

"They've got a tiny little crest that, when they're alarmed kind of pops up and seems to be exaggerated sometimes in pictures of them.

"Females, in terms of vocalisations, were overlooked and until very recently there was almost nothing on female vocalisations in lyrebirds.

"Then in the 1990s we started doing more research in the tropics and people went 'oh hang on a minute, female birds do sing!'"

It wasn't until 2014 that researchers discovered that not only are female vocalisations widespread but that it was ancestral — the very first female bird would have possessed songs.

But the female lyrebirds don't use mimicry to attract a mate like the males do. They use it to communicate about their territory.

"It's been shown that females will use mimicry differently depending on the context that they're in. So while they're foraging, it was shown that females would mimic more predator species," Victoria said.

But she said that when the female is close to her own nest she mimics less threatening species. The reason for this is not conclusively known yet.

What is known ... is that there's a lot more to get to know about female lyrebirds.