The man in the flat opposite ours SINGS (there is no tune or rhythm or pitch, so it is up for debate exactly what to call what he is doing, apart from LOUD) and plays the DRUMS (enthusiastically, but out of time).
And now for some unrelated photographs.
He indulges in these pastimes at stupid o'clock in the morning. And midday and mid-afternoon. His offspring often play their music loud, with the window open, attempting to play along on a guitar, and singing. Their talent is evidence of the marvels of genetic inheritance.