For the last two months, I haven’t cut any podcasts. Oh, wait! A clarification is needed. Some people still think this is another newsletter, but if you look closer, will see a green rectangle over these words with the “play” symbol. And the one who reads aloud is me, a professional voice crafter, and not a lifeless synthetic voice or a famous actor.
I know from my own experience that when I read a book, I miss the storyteller and the performance of the narrator. But some people don’t, because they use the written words of the author to bring the story to life through their own imagination, as was mandatory for the old school.
The crux of the matter is that the attention span has been irreversibly damaged since the invention of the iPhone and its addictive apps, spoiled by endless doom-scrolling and click-baiting, which in turn has resulted in the collapse of sustained reading, even among those who used to read.
Yes, you hear me well, but just in case I will say it once again loud and clear: even among those who used to read.
Call me crazy, but I am feeling very optimistic about the future, no matter what it holds. We need stories just like our ancestors did in the African savanna, when the storyteller built a fire at twilight and all the tribe listened to him very closely to forget the roaring lions. That’s why the first stories were about heroes facing fearful odds–to inspire courage in those with weak limbs and trembling knees.
No matter what kind of delivery I choose–written or spoken words–I’m telling a story. If can deliver both, the reader or the listener will be equally satisfied. Nonetheless, I draw my thin red line with the image or any theatrical representation, because the use of imagination is paramount; if you subtract that component from the original equation, you break the spell.
That being said, I've been an early adopter of tech, from word processors to iPhones, even before the internet came. Tech itself isn't the issue but rather the rational and proportional use we grant it as a productivity tool. Like everything else in life, one has to set boundaries to protect our brains from the fast pace of the modern world, considering that our older layer is reptilian and with no improvement in sight.
As a voice crafter, I'm amazed by the journey I've taken from using my first recording tape to now operating a state-of-the-art studio that allows me to distribute my reels worldwide. Over the past two months, I've been learning how to remaster the majority of the podcasts I've recorded using Spatial Audio without adding reverb. This is because the latest AirPods Pro provides a much-improved listening experience compared to earlier models. It's interesting to note that the legendary music producer Phil Spector, known for his "wall of sound" technique based on mono mixing, would perhaps not have anticipated the advancements in audio technology that have rendered his techniques comparable to the cave paintings of the Neanderthals.
In regard to the lonely act of sewing words, as the fishermen mend their nets in the nearby docks, I have three 4K screens arranged like a Flemish triptych. I do this because I always write in two languages, Castilian Spanish and American English, and I need a third for quick notes, infinite nuances, and documentation.
I guess an author of previous generations would curse me for not writing in hand. So, I have the Japanese fountain pen on the desk, just in case the ghost of Yukio Mishima came unannounced. Do I miss handwriting? Hell, yeah! Precisely for this peculiar work method described before it’s counterproductive for me; besides the preciousness and allure of my mother tongue are so tempting that I could get lost on the flow and struggle to find the way back to my second lingua franca, which is widely known for her economy of words.
Some say that one should only write and speak in his native tongue, above all when it comes to literary works. But those idiots are mistaken, just like the ones who incorrectly believe that Jack Kerouac wrote the early draft of On the Road in English instead of French; his real name was Jean-Louis Lebris de Kérouac and he was born and raised in the French-American community of Lowell, Mass. I could mention the Irish author Samuel Beckett as well, who stated that he tended to write in French, because it made it easier for him to write “without style”, and he translated his works himself. The list of transnational authors is larger than you might think, and the reasons that led them to do so are always quite interesting. I would go with Beckett without the slightest hesitation.
And yet, there is another reason for me that connects with the beginning like a Möbius strip. In hard times like these, with a scarcity of new readers and former readers lured by the dark mirror, always fearing missing out on the latest, as if their lives depend on it, either I ask myself to bring out the best of me or I may sell myself short as have many of my peers.
This lovely train ride called life speeds up with each passing year, and I am deeply grateful to my old man, even though I hate that he knew me so well, because he never sugarcoated the challenges and the adventure I was so determined to face. The only painful thought is that he will never witness how far I have come. But when I shave in the morning, I realize that my former snub nose has evolved into his big fat nose, which I once laughed so hard about.
