The Remainiacs Podcast episode entitled ‘At War With The Invisible Enemy’ (20 March, 2020) was the show’s first episode in lockdown; a self-imposed isolation that the production team clearly decided upon before the Government’s countrywide isolation rules were announced on March 23. Delivered with her trademark self-deprecating irony host Ros Taylor begins:
Hello and welcome to Quarantineiacs. Following the example of countries with their head screwed on properly, we’ve placed the podcast in isolation, and I’m not in the pub with Stanley Johnson. I’m Ros Taylor and this week we’re all recording the podcast from different locations for the first time, so apologies if it occasionally sounds like some of us are at the back of the cupboard eating the custard creams that were supposed to last until May.
Conversation based podcasts - on politics, film, culture and sport - are my staple audio diet (rather than say true crime or audio drama) and during the early weeks of the lockdown, I noticed that many of the shows on my rotation deployed some version of this contextualising refrain, as if to prepare listeners for an unwelcome assault on their eardrums. Ordinarily, such programmes are recorded with hosts and guests altogether in the same environment. Depending on the level of resources the show has, this may take place in a studio and possibly with a production team who have sole responsibility for engineering the best sound quality. For interview and conversation-based podcasts that don’t record in a studio, the physical environment may be just a room in a house, a live venue, or even a pub/coffee shop, all of which are susceptible to background noises and other environmental particularities which affect the sonic parameters. However, if the recording is done well enough and the context is appropriate, external ambiance can actually add an interesting sonic atmosphere to a recording. But whether in a studio or elsewhere, the physical proximity of the participants gives the production a level of control over the sound dynamics of a recording session.
The lockdown has, of course, made remote recording pretty much the norm for the time being. Shows that normally exude a pristine sonic experience (which we might associate in the UK with a BBC ‘cleanliness’) are struggling with issues such as basic recording quality, WIFI drop out, delayed or cut out speech, echo and voice reverberation, extraneous sound leakage, and myriad other ‘difficulties’ that are like nails down a chalkboard for anyone who deals with audio recording. Perhaps it is understandable, but none the less interesting, that many podcasts call attention to this perceived ‘inferior’ audio quality. We all know what the current context is, but these apologies and appeals to the listener’s understanding, and even for forgiveness, clearly point to acuities and expectations regarding production quality that hosts/producers feel they need to mitigate. As I listened to these disclaimers, I wondered whether audiences do judge these shows as substandard and whether they listen on in spite of this inferior audio experience. It would be quite harsh to sit in judgment, or just switch off in a fit of pique at the sub-standard content (that you probably are listening to for free). Particularly given the broader knowledge of what social distancing has meant for the practicalities of all media production. However, without naming names, there have been a couple of shows that I have had to turn off: the scratchiness of what I assume was a Skype recording through a laptop mic I found unbearable. Interestingly though, these were shows that didn’t offer any qualifying remarks as to the poor sound quality.
It occurred to me that one consequence of our isolation has been, to a certain extent, a levelling of the playing field, one that can be demarcated as a binary between independent and institutional media producers. The inherent problems in producing a remote, multi-conversation podcast, whether you are the BBC, an independent but commercially driven show, or two friends recording from their bedrooms, is ostensibly the same. But does listening to the crackly ‘imperfections’ of WIFI enabled audio, variable recording levels and obvious sonic interruptions – aural details that are banished in the deadening perfections of the studio – actually constitute a lessening of quality. Might the current situation invite a re-evaluation of largely ingrained principles of media communication, but which are, when you look and listen more closely, actually quite nebulous. The notion of quality as an ideological function is central to what I am getting at here. A concern which has more than a whiff of Pierre Bourdieu :
All the agents in a given social formation share a set of basic perceptual schemes, which receive the beginnings of objectification in the pairs of antagonistic adjectives commonly used to classify and qualify persons or objects in the most varied areas of practice. The network of oppositions between high (sublime, elevated, pure) and low (vulgar, low, modest), spiritual and material, fine (refined, elegant) and coarse (heavy, fat, crude, brutal), light (subtle, lively, sharp, adroit) and heavy (slow, thick, blunt, laborious, clumsy), free and forced, broad and narrow, or, in another dimension, between unique (rare, different, distinguished, exclusive, exceptional, singular, novel) and common (ordinary, banal, commonplace, trivial, routine), brilliant (Intelligent) and dull (obscure, grey, mediocre), is the matrix of all the commonplaces which find such ready acceptance because behind them lies the whole social order. (Classes and Classification, 1979).
Within contemporary media, hierarchical modes of distinction might be more akin to oppositional concepts such as professionalism v amateurism, commercial v hobbyist, studio production v DIY. These binaries are forged not only through attitudes and perceptions encapsulated in content, but also structures, stylistic forms and modes of production that define explicitly and implicitly what the parameters of media quality and status are. In terms of sound, for example, the concept of what constitutes an authoritative voice can be associated with elements like a certain form of presentational affect, speech patterns and tone, recognised levels of expertise or even associations of quality associated with stardom.
Furthermore, when any assertions are made as to what constitutes quality, they also imbued markers such a class, race, gender, sexuality and ability. These notions are used to structure, albeit in complex and contradictory ways, our criteria of judgement, the ways we define what is significant or not, worthy of our attention or not, shaping the contours of cultural value and even anchoring ideas of truth. There is undoubtedly a perceived interrelationship between form and content, a sense that they are complementary is essential to quality, which mainstream, traditional media production is inherently anchored upon.
Even as a relatively new medium, podcasting has hierarchies of quality and legitimacy imposed onto it from a variety of angles. There are those that lean towards a sound aesthetic/sound design conception of podcasting quality. At the extreme end of this is a kind of egregiously techno-fetishist outlook related to production values and the skills, equipment and environment required to produce those values. From this perspective, podcasts relying only on the recorded voice may be deemed lacking a sound-oriented sophistication, or just lacking artistic interest. A mark of podcasting quality can also be demanded through parameters that traditional media have always utilised to demarcate themselves as gatekeepers of informational legitimacy. Legacy media like the BBC, NPR, The New York Times and CNN clearly attempt to transfer their conception of professionalised content creation to their podcasts. The sound that you hear is intended to align with conceptions of established brand identity and, in turn, the ingrained discourses of professional legitimacy that are assumed to follow. At the other end of the scale are the intrinsically independent podcasts that operate on minute budgets and succeed or fail on a combination of the podcast’s fundamental concept, the execution (which itself has a great many variables), whether the production is ‘good enough’ in the context of the resources available, and the sheer passion and motivation of those involved in the production. Success, of course, is a relative phenomenon. A few hundred listeners (or even less) may be enough to justify and sustain many a podcast which, to mainstream sensibility, may seem pointlessly self-indulgent or just not very good.
Yet the emergence and development of podcast production and engagement may be considered a rather unique case study in terms of the interrelationship between technological, economic and socio-cultural aspects. The medium emerged out of an independent sensibility that paradoxically was made possible due to Apple’s commercial philosophy (focused as it was on hardware over content) and the idiosyncrasies of iTunes digital infrastructure. The facility to upload audio content for free (after buying required Apple products of course), but with no broadcast-like editorial guidelines, control or censorship, or any embedded mechanism for monetisation, created a unique set of conditions for a user-led medium that expanded out from the motivation, creativity and independent spirit of a range of audio production enthusiasts. These early adopters (which I was not one) must be credited for building the creative foundations of the medium. From 2004-2014 podcasting production and listenership increased steadily but maintained an outsider, maybe even self-consciously promoted, cult status. Associations with ideas such as authenticity, intimacy, autonomy, experimentation and even more grandiose notions such as democracy imbue podcasting, at least to its advocates, with an edge of revolutionary potential that perhaps could break, or at least exist between, the binary logic of social formations.
There are various pointers to the reason why podcasts achieved a cross-over moment, but I would argue it was a perfect storm of technological and socio-cultural serendipity. Replacing the iPod, smartphones became ubiquitous for the consumption of audio content and, with the arrival of podcatcher apps, an efficient distribution mechanism for shows and episodes decoupled from audience anchoring points of space and time. Alongside this, the first ‘breakout’ shows, Serial of course being at the top of the list, began to be talked about in a new way, provoking discussions of podcasting’s effect on the wider media landscape, rather than just as a curious niche interest. This phase of transition, which is arguably still going on, has of course had many further effects, one of the most obvious has been the imposition of hierarchies of quality from traditional media structures and practices. This process of incorporation is perhaps inevitable for any media that reach a certain level of cultural interest and, more pointedly, commercial potential. We might have reached the point where that notion of independent spirit is seen as a quaint, romanticised halcyon phase, maintained only by those for whom podcasting is purely a labour of love.
In the digital age all forms of media have been fighting to preserve the institutional dominance and the cultural legitimacy that fosters a discourse of quality. Digital technologies and the internet more specifically, have been the great disrupters of traditional practices of production, distribution and consumption. All media industries have had to rethink their operational models with new companies, those that have been able to most effectively harness the technological revolution, usurping more traditional legacy names who are slower to perceive change and reluctant to adapt to it. The pandemic is a new reality that we are only just beginning to conceive the dimensions of, along with further reshaping of media orthodoxies. But what has already occurred not only constitutes an exacerbation of the digital transformation with regards to the structure and status of online communication, it will change the political economy of media, how media communication is further integrated into how we live and work, and in turn, will change the very nature of how information and entertainment are delivered and perceived.
Leaving the health implications of the virus to one side (and I’ve taken the view that there should be a moral component to one’s pontifications on the science of the virus if one is not a scientist), this impact on the media industry is going to be nothing short of devastating. Bringing it back to my original point however, the current situation does open up questions regarding the conditions of production and what effect it may have on perceived notions of quality. On some level, the very concept of quality and other connotations such as value and significance, and at bottom what’s good and bad, has always been a case of subjective contestation. One person’s lo-fi, DIY, punk, independent authenticity is another person’s low grade, self-regarding, amateurish badly produced trash. Everyone, including myself, has a quality compass that they like to think is calibrated by an objective sensibility. Just as an aside, an interesting narrative of quality control with regards to podcasting has emerged during the lockdown with a number of strident reactions to a potential new wave of shows created during the current situation.
As an independent podcaster, it has been fascinating to listen to shows deal with some of the basic production logistics that have been an accepted part of my production process. One of the pleasures of starting a podcast from scratch on a low budget is learning to adapt to environments and doing the best one can on budget equipment. Indeed, I have gotten to the point now where there is a certain level of audio sound quality that I feel is a requirement. Looking back, one of the key moments in the life of The Cinematologists Podcast was when I moved from Falmouth to Brighton. In order to retain the same format – myself and co-presenter Neil’s discussions as the basis of the show – we had to figure out how to tape our conversations remotely. Rather than rely on WIFI connections and the poor sound quality of Skype we recorded our own voice individually and then edited together the separate tracks in post. We have now migrated to another software called Cleanfeed, (a WebRTC communication tool which I discuss on Episode 13 on New Aural Cultures Podcast with Jerry Padfield) which provides high-quality connectivity for remote recording. When interviewing guests, being in the same room is always the ideal but this has not always been possible and, at times, we have put out, to me, less than ideal audio due to the specific conditions of taping. Over the years I’ve become more precious about the sound, feeling increasingly anxious about perceptions of quality and the fact I produce microbudget, non-studio content. But with podcasting, and all media now quite frankly, we are in a phase of restriction that might auger what might be called positive disruption. There are a host of amazing podcasts out there without a doubt, but as podcasting expands and an industry institutional v independent dichotomy is only going to be ever more ingrained, and with it, criteria of judgement that only certain types of productions can measure up to. Maybe, ironically, a by-product of this ‘disruption’ will be to require podcast producers and listeners to return, to some degree, to a more experimental, and dare I say it, independently minded sensibility. A sensibility that made podcasts interesting in the first place.
This audio reading was recorded through the Resound.ly.