We are bombarded with noise: schmaltzy pop music, Hollywood monsters, nonsense sports interviews, and, yes, politicians who talk a lot but say nothing. We hear the cacophony, but, in survival mode, we tune it out, even though the senses are already numb. The result is that we forget how to listen.
Radio, the ultimate chatter box, is, ironically, an antidote. Not all radio, of course. I’m talking about radio that is discerning, insightful and considerate, inviting us to reflect, to take pause — the kind of radio that reminds us that we are neither stupid nor alone.
The future will look at our age as one of enormous expansion of this type of radio. Specifically, we will be known as having witnessed the joys of the podcast as a versatile audio format that succeeds by innovating and traveling unimpeded from one listener to another.
I read not long ago that some 112 million Americans listened to podcasts last year. In a country of approximately 325 million, it is a substantial amount by any measure. I also read that, so far this year, around 42 million Americans have been listening to podcasts on a weekly basis.
To me, this is nothing short of miraculous. In a Darwinian world, the force we call “progress” should have pushed radio to extinction a long time ago. Competition with other media is fierce, yet radio survives, in large part as a result of the intimacy it creates, almost like reading, which means it is frequently done on one’s own.
Think of it this way. When photography came about — Joseph Nicéphore Niépce took the first photo around 1826 — the belief was that the days were numbered for painting as an art that reproduced reality. But paintings are still here today because they are authentic.
Same with the movies. When they were created — in 1895, the Lumière brothers screened the first commercial film — the consensus was that theater was kaput. Who would want to see a play in a specific time and location, with a cast of live actors, when you could see a film anywhere, any hour of the day? But in the end, the warmth and closeness of the theater prevailed.
Radio is a softer medium. I remember hearing an Argentine politician describe it as “feminine.” It is said to be ghostlike because disembodied voices do all the work. Unlike TV, it is generally undemanding: All it needs is your mind’s attention; the rest of you can be on vacation.
Radio carries a sense of familiarity. In the Southwest, radio is the medium of choice among migrant workers, who use it to keep in touch with relatives as they go from harvest to harvest.
One of the aspects of radio I love the most is its capacity to foster conversation. And it joyfully allows language to twist and turn in infinite ways. Personally, I often listen to programs not for their content but for the rhythms of speech they deliver. I like when different accents are presented and when an interpreter is called in to translate, while the original words are heard in the background — a reminder that some 6,000 tongues are alive on our planet and that English is only one of them.
I once did a show with PBS that lasted years. I enjoyed it. I have now switched to radio. The NEPR podcast I host, “In Contrast,” feels far more pluralistic than anything I ever dreamed.
My job is rather simple. After welcoming the guest — as if the two of us were having coffee — I ask probing questions, and I just listen. It’s similar to being a teacher: You set the argument in motion and wait as the students find their way in. If I am patient, it is fair to assume that everyone else will be, too.
The interviewer is in control, sure, but there is little point in making a big deal about it. In fact, the trick is to make it all be deliberately spontaneous. It sounds like a contradiction, but it’s true.
As a host, I particularly enjoy the silences between sentences. They are often as meaningful as the words, similar to the absence of music in the middle of a symphony.
My list of all-time favorite radio broadcasts includes Orson Welles’ rendition of “The War of the Worlds,” which ignited a national panic just before the Second World War, making the public believe Martians were about to conquer our planet. Walter Benjamin, the German thinker, created fascinating experimental radio for young audiences. I often go back to Isaiah Berlin, the British philosopher who delivered inspired lectures for the BBC. And there are segments of “This American Life” that continue to stay with me.
The other day, a journalist writing about “In Contrast” asked me how I would like to be remembered. I said I hoped the episodes would still be heard when I am no longer around. I simply want to catch people in the act — and art — of thinking. And I want to invite listeners to reconsider the boundless pleasures of listening.
Ilan Stavans is the Lewis-Sebring Professor of Humanities and Latin American and Latino Culture at Amherst College, the publisher of Restless Books, and the host of “In Contrast” on NEPR.