Transom Podcast

What Miranda July Can Teach (& Remind) Us About Making Media for the Public

Admittedly, I over prepared for this interview. Beyond spending many evenings researching and thinking, I also hijacked every one of my hangouts with friends for months, turning brunches and walks into tactical conversations about July’s work and what makes it so compelling and unique.

Along the way, it became clear that Miranda July’s work shares much in common with public media’s work. Here’s just a short list of the overlap. Both July and public media makers:

* Produce audio / radio / video / films

* Publish a newsletter

* Make apps

* Perform live shows

* Sell branded bags for the super fans (July’s is not a tote bag for the farmer’s market, but it has quite a few compelling uses)

* Toggle between nonfiction and fiction storytelling

* Have a distinct sensibility, so much so that The Onion has had their fun with both July and public radio

* Create deep intimacy and empathy with audiences

All things were considered, which meant I had far too many questions for an hour’s worth of time. (Here’s what I had prepped for the interview, if you’re curious.) This also meant I surely missed a lot of opportunities to follow interesting threads that emerged, and go deep where my antenna sensed more to plumb, because there was just too much ground to cover.

So rather than present a straight Q&A, here’s a distillation and expansion on some highlights of the conversation … a quasi-interview turned “classy listicle” (if that’s not an oxymoron). The accompanying audio is fairly different from what’s below, so feel free to give both your time.

OK. On with it. Here are 9 key takeaways from my conversation with July — many of which I can’t help but think hold lessons and creative challenges and opportunities for public media.

* Audio work teaches rigor

* Make people feel the news

* Lena Dunham is coming for your job

* Comfort with vulnerability is a super power

* Not taking risks? Red flag

* Generosity over genius

* The audience = wild cards, and that’s great

* Audience engagement is an iterative process

* What some of you asked her

 

 

 

Though Miranda July may be most well known as a filmmaker and author, her earliest work was in audio, creating radio plays in her early twenties. One early piece was called WSNO Radio Sno: Broadcasting From the Coldness of Your Heart in which she played the host and all of the callers. I wondered how she decided on audio as one of her earliest forms of expression. She explained that the term “radio plays” wasn’t intentional — it came about as a kind of shorthand way to explain the work.

MJ: Really I wanted to be making movies and for some reason, it never occurred to me to just get as close to Hollywood or a professional filmmaker as possible. Instead, I would do things like what I called a “live movie,” which was aka a play, or a performance.

What Miranda July Can Teach (& Remind) Us About Making Media for the Public

Admittedly, I over prepared for this interview. Beyond spending many evenings researching and thinking, I also hijacked every one of my hangouts with friends for months, turning brunches and walks into tactical conversations about July’s work and what makes it so compelling and unique.

Along the way, it became clear that Miranda July’s work shares much in common with public media’s work. Here’s just a short list of the overlap. Both July and public media makers:

* Produce audio / radio / video / films

* Publish a newsletter

* Make apps

* Perform live shows

* Sell branded bags for the super fans (July’s is not a tote bag for the farmer’s market, but it has quite a few compelling uses)

* Toggle between nonfiction and fiction storytelling

* Have a distinct sensibility, so much so that The Onion has had their fun with both July and public radio

* Create deep intimacy and empathy with audiences

All things were considered, which meant I had far too many questions for an hour’s worth of time. (Here’s what I had prepped for the interview, if you’re curious.) This also meant I surely missed a lot of opportunities to follow interesting threads that emerged, and go deep where my antenna sensed more to plumb, because there was just too much ground to cover.

So rather than present a straight Q&A, here’s a distillation and expansion on some highlights of the conversation … a quasi-interview turned “classy listicle” (if that’s not an oxymoron). The accompanying audio is fairly different from what’s below, so feel free to give both your time.

OK. On with it. Here are 9 key takeaways from my conversation with July — many of which I can’t help but think hold lessons and creative challenges and opportunities for public media.

* Audio work teaches rigor

* Make people feel the news

* Lena Dunham is coming for your job

* Comfort with vulnerability is a super power

* Not taking risks? Red flag

* Generosity over genius

* The audience = wild cards, and that’s great

* Audience engagement is an iterative process

* What some of you asked her

 

 

 

Though Miranda July may be most well known as a filmmaker and author, her earliest work was in audio, creating radio plays in her early twenties. One early piece was called WSNO Radio Sno: Broadcasting From the Coldness of Your Heart in which she played the host and all of the callers. I wondered how she decided on audio as one of her earliest forms of expression. She explained that the term “radio plays” wasn’t intentional — it came about as a kind of shorthand way to explain the work.

MJ: Really I wanted to be making movies and for some reason, it never occurred to me to just get as close to Hollywood or a professional filmmaker as possible. Instead,

Rob Rosenthal, Lead Instructor

Rob Rosenthal

…one of the things I love most about my job as lead instructor [is] I have no idea what’s going to happen. From day-to-day, from workshop to workshop… every class is different. The stories are different. Even the style of storytelling is different…

Read more.

TSW: Class of Fall 2015

“No Flush, No Fuss” by Devika Bakshi

Devika Bakshi

Follow the good tape. Like a besotted stalker. Like you followed Teju Cole on Twitter. With utter devotion.

Read more and listen.

“Good Intentions: A Story of Cross-Racial Adoption” by Brenna Daldorph

Brenna Daldorph

Someone once told me that if you are comfortable during discussions about race, then nothing important is actually being said. I held that close to heart as I worked on this piece…

Read more and listen.

“An Act Relative To Sex Offenders” by Ciara Gillan

Ciara Gillan

You’re prepped from the outset that your story may not unfold the way you thought it would. But sometimes, at that very last minute, your story can grab you by the ears and spin you right upside down.

Read more and listen.

“More Than A Game” by Jimmy Gutierrez

Jimmy Gutierrez

It took me a long, long, long time before I understood the ingredients to make this story work. In the editing process I relied heavily on all eight classmates, along with Rob and Catie.

Read more and listen.

“Ears Underwater” by Bethel Habte

Bethel Habte

…go out and drink beers with scientists. More generally, always be on the hunt for stories.

Read more and listen.

“Trigger Warning” by Jacqui Helbert

Jacqui Helbert

It was extremely difficult to share so much about myself and make myself vulnerable while working on the piece. But both Paige and I are happy with the end result and hope that our story will help someone who has suffered at the hands of a family member.

Read more and listen.

“Secession’s the Answer” by Sally Helm

Sally Helm

On my way to gather tape at the karaoke bar, I wondered if I was crazy to think that this might work. At first it was awkward to record people on their night out. By the end of the night, though, I’d started to enjoy the rush that comes from talking to strangers and going out on a limb.

Read more and listen.

“Driving In Circles” by Martine Powers

Martine Powers

Coming from the world of print journalism, I always believed in the adage, “Everyone needs an editor.” Here’s what I learned at Transom: Everyone needs eight editors. Or nine. Or ten.

Read more and listen.

Rob Rosenthal, Lead Instructor

Rob Rosenthal

…one of the things I love most about my job as lead instructor [is] I have no idea what’s going to happen. From day-to-day, from workshop to workshop… every class is different. The stories are different. Even the style of storytelling is different…

Read more.

TSW: Class of Fall 2015

“No Flush, No Fuss” by Devika Bakshi

Devika Bakshi

Follow the good tape. Like a besotted stalker. Like you followed Teju Cole on Twitter. With utter devotion.

Read more and listen.

“Good Intentions: A Story of Cross-Racial Adoption” by Brenna Daldorph

Brenna Daldorph

Someone once told me that if you are comfortable during discussions about race, then nothing important is actually being said. I held that close to heart as I worked on this piece…

Read more and listen.

“An Act Relative To Sex Offenders” by Ciara Gillan

Ciara Gillan

You’re prepped from the outset that your story may not unfold the way you thought it would. But sometimes, at that very last minute, your story can grab you by the ears and spin you right upside down.

Read more and listen.

“More Than A Game” by Jimmy Gutierrez

Jimmy Gutierrez

It took me a long, long, long time before I understood the ingredients to make this story work. In the editing process I relied heavily on all eight classmates, along with Rob and Catie.

Read more and listen.

“Ears Underwater” by Bethel Habte

Bethel Habte

…go out and drink beers with scientists. More generally, always be on the hunt for stories.

Read more and listen.

“Trigger Warning” by Jacqui Helbert

Jacqui Helbert

It was extremely difficult to share so much about myself and make myself vulnerable while working on the piece. But both Paige and I are happy with the end result and hope that our story will help someone who has suffered at the hands of a family member.

Read more and listen.

“Secession’s the Answer” by Sally Helm

Sally Helm

On my way to gather tape at the karaoke bar, I wondered if I was crazy to think that this might work. At first it was awkward to record people on their night out. By the end of the night, though, I’d started to enjoy the rush that comes from talking to strangers and going out on a limb.

Read more and listen.

“Driving In Circles” by Martine Powers

Martine Powers

Coming from the world of print journalism, I always believed in the adage, “Everyone needs an editor.” Here’s what I learned at Transom: Everyone needs eight editors. Or nine. Or ten.

Read more and listen.

A “Code Blue”

You’ve seen it on TV. The line on the heart monitor goes flat. Reassuring beeps are overtaken by the ominous, solid tone of death. Doctors come running, throw electric paddles on the chest and yell, “Clear!” The patient springs back to life — most of the time, at least on TV.

Yet a “code blue” can also be traumatic. A large nurse throws his entire weight onto the chest of a frail ninety-year old, cracking multiple ribs. A doctor tears off the patient’s gown. Each chest compression launches blood from the patient’s mouth showering his naked body. Drugs upon drugs squeeze blood to vital organs, but when his heart starts again most of his brain may have already died from lack of oxygen.

A “code blue” is hospital-speak for advanced cardiopulmonary resuscitation. It is an attempt to restart the heart when it has stopped. On television codes are successful 75% of the time. In reality about 20% of patients live to leave the hospital. Whether a code is a magnificent life-saving feat or a brutal exercise in futility depends entirely on the overall condition and context of the patient’s life. In many cases the outcome is very difficult to predict.

In weaving together the narrative of a code, my goal was not to answer the incredibly complex question of when or whether we should attempt to resuscitate. Rather, I wanted to explore what happens to hospital staff when grappling with acute uncertainty around our ability to combat death.

Confronting Death

I envisioned a story that was part medical documentary and part collective memory piece, drawing on many people’s experiences of working on the wards over many years. Paradoxically, I found my most powerful inspiration in the narrative form of the radio documentary Witness to an Execution by Stacy Abramson and David Isay. Witness tells the story of how lethal injections are carried out in Texas by weaving together the experiences of the full range of “death house” staff — the warden, the chaplain, the media correspondent, the “tie-down crew.”

For me, the power of Witness comes largely from what it does not do. By not focusing on a single execution, not including recordings from any live event and not editorializing, it brings us deeper into the multi-layered experiences of those who live these events on a regular basis. I don’t think it was simply coincidental and ironic that my narrative about resuscitation found its inspiration in a piece about executions. Both moments of confronting death evoke emotions that cut through the more comfortably defined parameters of one’s “role” or “job.”

Why Audio

I originally turned to audio because of its power to immerse listeners in subjective experience. While video presents a reality seen through the camera’s lens, audio compels the listener to construct a mental and emotional image from the words and voices of those who have lived it.

Audio also enabled me to capture a greater range of experience. By recording staff whose voices, accents and languages evoke their diverse backgrounds, I hoped to create a virtual conversation that might never occur due to the divisions within the hospital heirarchy. Indeed, nearly half of my subjects said they would not have talked with me if this were video. Before coming to their interviews many wanted to confirm, “No camera, right?”

Logistics, Technical Aspects and Gear

It took almost eight months of conversations with various hospitals to obtain permission to start recording. Privacy and legal concerns make this an extremely sensitive subject. I ultimately connected with leaders who shared a love for public radio in an institution that is actively working towards providing medical care with greater transparency.

In addition, recording in the hospital turned out to be a technical challenge.

A “Code Blue”

You’ve seen it on TV. The line on the heart monitor goes flat. Reassuring beeps are overtaken by the ominous, solid tone of death. Doctors come running, throw electric paddles on the chest and yell, “Clear!” The patient springs back to life — most of the time, at least on TV.

Yet a “code blue” can also be traumatic. A large nurse throws his entire weight onto the chest of a frail ninety-year old, cracking multiple ribs. A doctor tears off the patient’s gown. Each chest compression launches blood from the patient’s mouth showering his naked body. Drugs upon drugs squeeze blood to vital organs, but when his heart starts again most of his brain may have already died from lack of oxygen.

A “code blue” is hospital-speak for advanced cardiopulmonary resuscitation. It is an attempt to restart the heart when it has stopped. On television codes are successful 75% of the time. In reality about 20% of patients live to leave the hospital. Whether a code is a magnificent life-saving feat or a brutal exercise in futility depends entirely on the overall condition and context of the patient’s life. In many cases the outcome is very difficult to predict.

In weaving together the narrative of a code, my goal was not to answer the incredibly complex question of when or whether we should attempt to resuscitate. Rather, I wanted to explore what happens to hospital staff when grappling with acute uncertainty around our ability to combat death.

Confronting Death

I envisioned a story that was part medical documentary and part collective memory piece, drawing on many people’s experiences of working on the wards over many years. Paradoxically, I found my most powerful inspiration in the narrative form of the radio documentary Witness to an Execution by Stacy Abramson and David Isay. Witness tells the story of how lethal injections are carried out in Texas by weaving together the experiences of the full range of “death house” staff — the warden, the chaplain, the media correspondent, the “tie-down crew.”

For me, the power of Witness comes largely from what it does not do. By not focusing on a single execution, not including recordings from any live event and not editorializing, it brings us deeper into the multi-layered experiences of those who live these events on a regular basis. I don’t think it was simply coincidental and ironic that my narrative about resuscitation found its inspiration in a piece about executions. Both moments of confronting death evoke emotions that cut through the more comfortably defined parameters of one’s “role” or “job.”

Why Audio

I originally turned to audio because of its power to immerse listeners in subjective experience. While video presents a reality seen through the camera’s lens, audio compels the listener to construct a mental and emotional image from the words and voices of those who have lived it.

Audio also enabled me to capture a greater range of experience. By recording staff whose voices, accents and languages evoke their diverse backgrounds, I hoped to create a virtual conversation that might never occur due to the divisions within the hospital heirarchy. Indeed, nearly half of my subjects said they would not have talked with me if this were video. Before coming to their interviews many wanted to confirm, “No camera, right?”

Logistics, Technical Aspects and Gear

It took almost eight months of conversations with various hospitals to obtain permission to start recording. Privacy and legal concerns make this an extremely sensitive subject. I ultimately connected with leaders who shared a love for public radio in an institution that is actively working towards providing medical care with greater transparency.

In addition, recording in the hospital turned out to be a technical challenge.

Lyrics

Black Bach – Lyrics by Billy Dean

Start Now – Lyrics by Billy Dean

Purchase

Click here to purchase songs

Artists’ Notes

Ben Verdery: My daughter Mitsuko asked me during the holidays if I’d heard her friend Billy Dean’s new music. I hadn’t, but immediately started listening and was captivated by the tone of Billy’s voice and the varied textures she was using in her music. I loved it!

I’ve known Billy since she was eight. I remember her improvising on our little upright piano; I remember eavesdropping, thinking: This girl is a musician. Like me, she has to create music. It is not an option.

Billy Dean: Since I was eight years old I have been living by the quote “There are no mistakes in art.” I began playing piano at Ben’s house. I was constantly exploring beyond my artistic boundaries. He would yell, “Keep practicing girlfriend! It’s sounding good in there!” encouraging my passion and creative exploration. Ben’s house became my creative safe haven. He’d never heard any of my songs until, behind my back, Mitsuko played one for him.

Immediately after, I received an email from Ben stating that he appreciated the musicianship of my cadences, content and instrumentation. He said, “I am attaching ‘Allegro’ by Bach and I was thinking it might be perfect for you to rap to.”

Ben: Why did I think Billy and I should rap over this Bach work? Because musicians from all cultures can relate in some manner to Bach’s music; it is truly music without borders. Given the rhythmic nature of the Allegro as well as the harmonic and melodic structure it seemed a natural for Billy.

Billy: I was super excited to mesh hip-hop with classical, two genres I love. I was also thrilled that Ben, a professional musician, thought that I was worthy of an innovative partnership. I must have listened to the song ten times on my own and thought it wasn’t possible. However, I remember thinking: If I can write verses for a Bach arrangement with no drums or bass I can write to absolutely anything. I had to structure my brain around what I needed. A pulse. A beat. I decided to beatbox over the tune to give myself guidelines for arranging the lyrics to work with the movements. I began to memorize the melodic ups and downs, the retards, the refrains, everything. All I needed was some great content.

Ben: When she asked me what she should rap about, I suggested her love of music. She did this and more. Her lyrics are moving and honest.

Billy: I thought: Allegro means happy, so I should write about what makes me happy. Of course the one thing that keeps me in a healthy state of mind and spirit is my music. I wanted this piece to be a tribute to music. It was also an opportunity for me to showcase my knowledge of different musical styles and genres; many people assume that hip-hop artists only listen to hip-hop.

Ben: What brings Billy and me together is music itself, just like she says so movingly at the end of “Black Bach.” What makes it work is our mutual respect and the fact that we trust each other. We are not judging what the other is doing musically. I like to think this is one of the reasons the music sounds sincere and breathes.

“Start Now” was originally a solo guitar piece, part of a set of 11 Etudes I wrote in the late 90’s. It is rhythmically dominated by two different rhythms. Because of the groove and general upbeat feel of the piece it seemed a natural for Billy to rap to. Here I played it on my baritone guitar,

Lyrics

Black Bach – Lyrics by Billy Dean

Start Now – Lyrics by Billy Dean

Purchase

Click here to purchase songs

Artists’ Notes

Ben Verdery: My daughter Mitsuko asked me during the holidays if I’d heard her friend Billy Dean’s new music. I hadn’t, but immediately started listening and was captivated by the tone of Billy’s voice and the varied textures she was using in her music. I loved it!

I’ve known Billy since she was eight. I remember her improvising on our little upright piano; I remember eavesdropping, thinking: This girl is a musician. Like me, she has to create music. It is not an option.

Billy Dean: Since I was eight years old I have been living by the quote “There are no mistakes in art.” I began playing piano at Ben’s house. I was constantly exploring beyond my artistic boundaries. He would yell, “Keep practicing girlfriend! It’s sounding good in there!” encouraging my passion and creative exploration. Ben’s house became my creative safe haven. He’d never heard any of my songs until, behind my back, Mitsuko played one for him.

Immediately after, I received an email from Ben stating that he appreciated the musicianship of my cadences, content and instrumentation. He said, “I am attaching ‘Allegro’ by Bach and I was thinking it might be perfect for you to rap to.”

Ben: Why did I think Billy and I should rap over this Bach work? Because musicians from all cultures can relate in some manner to Bach’s music; it is truly music without borders. Given the rhythmic nature of the Allegro as well as the harmonic and melodic structure it seemed a natural for Billy.

Billy: I was super excited to mesh hip-hop with classical, two genres I love. I was also thrilled that Ben, a professional musician, thought that I was worthy of an innovative partnership. I must have listened to the song ten times on my own and thought it wasn’t possible. However, I remember thinking: If I can write verses for a Bach arrangement with no drums or bass I can write to absolutely anything. I had to structure my brain around what I needed. A pulse. A beat. I decided to beatbox over the tune to give myself guidelines for arranging the lyrics to work with the movements. I began to memorize the melodic ups and downs, the retards, the refrains, everything. All I needed was some great content.

Ben: When she asked me what she should rap about, I suggested her love of music. She did this and more. Her lyrics are moving and honest.

Billy: I thought: Allegro means happy, so I should write about what makes me happy. Of course the one thing that keeps me in a healthy state of mind and spirit is my music. I wanted this piece to be a tribute to music. It was also an opportunity for me to showcase my knowledge of different musical styles and genres; many people assume that hip-hop artists only listen to hip-hop.

Ben: What brings Billy and me together is music itself, just like she says so movingly at the end of “Black Bach.” What makes it work is our mutual respect and the fact that we trust each other. We are not judging what the other is doing musically. I like to think this is one of the reasons the music sounds sincere and breathes.

“Start Now” was originally a solo guitar piece, part of a set of 11 Etudes I wrote in the late 90’s. It is rhythmically dominated by two different rhythms. Because of the groove and general upbeat feel of the piece it seemed a natural for Billy to rap to. Here I played it on my baritone guitar,

We’ve Never Been The Same: A War Story

The Advantages of Radio

I hadn’t thought about telling Delta’s story as a radio piece. But I think you have to actually hear the voices of these men to really get a sense of the drama of their battle and how present it still is for many of them today.

Even after listening to these interviews countless times, I am still deeply moved by their voices. These guys have something to say. But for years they’ve been convinced that nobody wants to hear it. To amplify the actual voices of these guys—to help them share a message, connect with the world—I just had no idea it could be so satisfying to do radio. Now I get it.

Building Trust and Interviewing Vets with PTSD… Over and Over and Over Again

In the fall of 2013, Jay Allison came down from Cape Cod to gather some tape with me, and show me a few tricks. By then, I already had hours and hours of tape on microcassette. But since none of it was radio quality, we decided to interview everyone again. (In the end we did use a small piece of the microcassette tape. It had a nice archival feeling to it that Jay and Viki Merrick, who also worked on the piece, liked.)

It was a bit of a challenge having to interview everyone multiple times, but I learned that as long as the quotes had energy it made for good tape.

By the time Jay and I sat down to tape the Delta guys, most of them had known me for years and felt comfortable speaking candidly about their experiences, which is important, of course, in doing a story like this.

It’s not always easy to get vets to talk about their experiences, especially if the vets have PTSD. You need trust. And to get trust you need to put in the time.

At the outset, I think the main reason the men of Delta decided to trust me is because they trusted each other. I started with their former Company Commander Bud Bucha. He was the gatekeeper of sorts. As a Medal of Honor recipient, Bud has had plenty of attention over the years. But the idea that I wanted to tell the story of the whole unit appealed to him. He thought his men deserved recognition. Bud’s judgment that I could be trusted was enough for Dave Dillard. And once I had Bud and Dave in my corner, most, though not all, of the other guys were willing to speak with me.

I started by just getting details about the big battle, but the conversations almost invariably moved on to the aftermath of war and the trauma. I admitted my ignorance up front. I know that someone who hasn’t gone through combat can never understand what it is like. But that doesn’t mean I can’t attempt to understand, or at least try to help them translate some of that experience into language someone like me might understand—at least a small part of it. And if they don’t want to talk about it, then fine. I’m not forcing anyone. I’m just there to listen.

At first, we went slowly into the details. And later, I knew so much about the battle that I could discuss it in a level of complexity that I think the men appreciated. It helped that a lot of time had passed, and some of the guys had come to the realization that the only way to heal was to talk. Many, though not all, had talked with each other and professional counselors.

I have spent a lot of my career speaking with people about trauma and am comfortable doing so. I’ve found that the best way to talk with others about difficult experiences is to behave, while acting as a journalist, in much the same way I would behave as a human being—with respect, compassion, openness, curiosity and honesty. I don’t try to force people to talk about things they don’t want to talk about. But I’m also not shy about asking questions. I don’t really flinch when people tell me terrible things. I try to be present, to get a sense of how the person I am speaking with feels and is experiencing their story, not just the words they are telling me. What does this story mean to them? What was it like for them?

If I have a difficult question,