Macetando

AROEIRA

 

 

GILMAR

 

 

MOR

 

 

minha rua

 

Lesser-known architectural wonders that we lost over the ages (and what happened to them)..

 ]

A thread of lesser-known architectural wonders that we lost over the ages (and what happened to them)...

 

Yemanja Rainha do Mar - Maria Bethânia(Pedro Amorim - Paulo César Pinheiro)

Quem é que já viu a Rainha do Mar?

Quem é que já viu a Rainha do Mar?

Pescador e marinheiro que escuta a sereia cantar

É com o povo que é praiero que dona Iemanjá quer se casar.

Como o príncipe Stanilas Stash virou testemunha ocular da história do rock

 

 

. "Quando Keith Richards foi conhecer os pais de sua namorada (e atual esposa) Patti Hansen, em novembro de 1980, levou um amigo a tiracolo. Nervoso, o astro dos Rolling Stones queria impressionar os futuros sogros, americanos conservadores. E chegou para o encontro trazendo um “príncipe de verdade, em carne e osso”, como descreve em sua autobiografia: Stanislas Stash Klossowski de Rola — ou príncipe Stash, simplesmente. Filho do pintor franco-polonês Balthus e da aristocrata suíça Antoinette von Wattenwyl, Stash era velho conhecido de Richards e de todos os Stones — assim como dos Beatles. Durante a década de 1960, ele conviveu e compartilhou um punhado de experiências artísticas e aventuras com eles, Jimi Hendrix e o Pink Floyd, no auge da Swinging London."

MAIS NO ARTIGO DE JOSE EMILIO RONDEAU

Todo apocalipse tem seu fim

 

 

 

 

Renato Terra

Há mais de um ano, no dia 8 de janeiro, o bloco "Ditadura é quase amor" arrastava uma multidão para promover o Apocalipse na praça dos Três Poderes. A horda, arrebatada, pregava a volta de Messias.

Demorou, mas o resultado está saindo. Com certo atraso, as primeiras notas da apuração começam a ser lidas pelos jurados.

Enredo - Nota 9,8

A narrativa "Dos delírios de fraude eleitoral nasceu o esplendor de um golpe" foi magistralmente documentada de forma impressa e auditável em diversas minutas. O enredo foi colocado em prática numa reunião gravada em vídeo e provocou arrebatamento de uma legião de fiéis. No dia do desfile, os adereços verde-amarelos ornaram com os ônibus alegóricos e com os acampamentos em tons oliva. Um arraso! A perda de dois décimos se dá pela falta de originalidade da narrativa, claramente inspirada no enredo do Cordão do Capitólio.

Fantasia - Nota 10

A capacidade que o bolsonarismo tem de fantasiar a realidade é hors-concours. Sem falar no uso antológico do verde-amarelo, em todas as suas escalas de tonalidade, numa simbiose perfeita com o enredo.

Evolução - Nota 10

Não há dúvidas quanto à empolgação, coesão e vibração dos componentes. Invadiram a praça dos Três Poderes, quebraram tudo o que viam pelo caminho e destruíram todo o prédio do Supremo Tribunal Federal sem deixar buracos entre as alas. Até mesmo o recuo da bateria policial ocorreu em perfeita sintonia com o desfile.

Alegorias e adereços - Nota 9,5

Brilharam os elegantérrimos kits da marca suíça Chopard, os relógios Rolex e Patek Philippe e as joias exibidas pela ala "Mercadores da Arábia". O destaque Valdemar da Costa Neto também surpreendeu com uma reluzente pepita de ouro. Outro destaque que será lembrado é Roberto Jefferson e suas granadas de luz e som. Mas onde sobrou glamour e riqueza faltou criatividade e inovação. O carnavalesco do golpe certamente faltou à reunião de cúpula gravada por Bolsonaro.

Harmonia - Nota 6

Talvez tenha sido o grande entrave que impediu a agremiação golpista de permanecer no Grupo Especial. Faltou harmonia, inclusive entre membros da diretoria militar.

A apuração da micareta golpista, no entanto, ainda não foi concluída. A Polícia Federal precisa revelar quem são os integrantes da Comissão de Frente para que os julgadores possam concluir seu trabalho.

FOLHA

 

 

Sleater-Kinney - Hell

Hell don't have no worries
Hell don't have no past
Hell is just a signpost
When you take a certain path
Hell needs no invitation
Hell don't make no fuss
Hell is desperation
And a young man with a gun

Globo fez cobertura negligente e cheia de erros dos desfiles das escolas de samba

 

 

Cristina Serra  

 

O desfile das escolas de samba do Rio de Janeiro é o maior espetáculo da Terra, com tudo o que apresenta de beleza, força e afirmação cultural e popular. Sentei-me em frente à TV para "maratonar", na noite deste domingo (11), começando com a Porto da Pedra. Passavam-se os minutos e as câmeras não saíam do primeiro recuo da bateria. Eram praticamente dois ângulos apenas: uma vista aérea da bateria e outra câmera fechada nos intérpretes do samba-enredo.

Por um cantinho da imagem, dava para ver que a comissão de frente já havia entrado na Sapucaí e que as primeiras alas estavam passando. Foram cerca de 10 minutos angustiantes com apenas essas duas câmeras. Pensei que poderia ter acontecido uma pane com os outros equipamentos ou que estaria havendo algum problema na mesa de corte, onde o responsável pela transmissão seleciona a sequência de imagens que vão entrando no ar.

Fiquei à espera de alguma explicação, mas os apresentadores nada disseram a respeito do que parecia ser um grande erro na transmissão. O mesmo se repetiu com as escolas que vieram em seguida. Por alguma razão, a emissora decidiu concentrar os primeiros 10 a 15 minutos de transmissão apenas nas imagens da bateria. Na segunda-feira (12), foram feitas pequenas alterações, com mais câmeras. Mas as mudanças não salvaram uma cobertura negligente e cheia de erros, como se a Globo estivesse cobrindo o desfile pela primeira vez.

Quando a TV começava a mostrar o desfile propriamente dito, tudo passava tão rápido que o telespectador mal conseguia ver as alas e fantasias e entender o papel de cada elemento no desenvolvimento do enredo. Com algumas alegorias, o mesmo desleixo. No Salgueiro, por exemplo, que homenageou o povo Yanomami, Davi Kopenawa foi mostrado durante alguns segundos.

Na Portela, o enredo "Um defeito de cor" trouxe um carro alegórico com mães negras que perderam seus filhos e filhas para a violência. A imagem já estava no ar há algum tempo e ninguém dizia os nomes das mulheres que compunham o carro, porque, no estúdio, comentaristas e apresentadores pareciam entretidos com outro assunto. Até que, finalmente, alguém deve ter alertado que uma das mães era Marinete Silva, mãe de Marielle Franco.

A emissora tirou seus repórteres da cobertura. Faltou informação sobre o que se passava na concentração, a preparação para entrar na avenida. Carro alegórico emperrado? Alguém machucado? Atraso na evolução? Ninguém sabe, ninguém viu. Não é um tiro no pé ocultar informação para o telespectador e fazê-lo buscar em outro veículo? Se faltou informação, sobraram banalidades em "entrevistas" que abusaram dos clichês de Carnaval.

A TV sempre aproximou o público das escolas e do Carnaval. Mas uma transmissão sem jornalismo e uma exibição apressada e "pasteurizada" do desfile eliminam a tensão, o senso crítico e o sentido da competição, que estão na base de qualquer torcida. Afinal, trata-se de um concurso de Carnaval. Cada escola tem sua personalidade e seu jeito de mostrar um enredo. É saudável que se dê realce às diferenças entre elas e que se possa compará-las.

Não sei se a decisão de fazer uma transmissão homogênea faz parte de algum acordo da empresa com a liga das escolas de samba ou se a emissora, sozinha, decidiu que assim seria. O fato é que o resultado foi de nível amadorístico. A emissora tratou um dos maiores patrimônios do povo brasileiro como entretenimento ligeiro e superficial, como são os "reality shows" que inundam a tela global. Foi uma cobertura desonesta e desrespeitosa com as escolas de samba e com o telespectador.

FOLHA

 

 

 

A VICTORIAN BEATLES FAN

 

 

"Will you still need me, will you still feed me, when I'm sixty-four?

But how about when I get to 108? I love reading contemporary journalism about the Beatles, so trawling through the newspaper archives recently, this one caught my eye in the Daily Mail, from 16 June 1964.

108 YEARS OLD... AND HE LIKES THE BEATLES

The headline itself is unusual but is made all the more so when you think that this is 1964 and John Turner was born in 1856. The Beatles were a by-word for the modern age. How was it possible someone born the year the Crimean War ended was still alive, let alone could appreciate Beatlemania? "

READ MORE>> 

A VICTORIAN BEATLES FAN

em frente de casa

 

orchestre special liwanza mwale pts 1&2

 

Pitty - Na Sua Estante

Te vejo errando e isso não é pecado
Exceto quando faz outra pessoa sangrar
Te vejo sonhando e isso dá medo
Perdido num mundo que não dá pra entrar

Nani Não Tinha Fôrma -

 

 

"Uma cara ímpar, desses que Deus faz e quebra a forma, Nani era tanto um gênio da síntese, como cartunista, quanto um contador de histórias e causos recheados se detalhes cômicos que só sua cabeça lotada de ironia e sagacidade poderia filtrar nas dobras do cotidiano. Muitas delas oriundas da sua vivência em Esmeraldas, que estava para ele, assim como a mítica Macondo estava para Gabriel Garcia Marquez.

Ninguém passava impune a um encontro com o Nani, todo mundo se despedia levando de presente uma idéia, uma história ótima, uma observação cômica e original sobre a vida"

leia texto de Juca Filho​

Nani Não Tinha Fôrma - by Juca Filho - AleaToRieDaDeS:

Mourão

FERNANDES

 

ZIAD IN GAZA

 Ahmad confides in us that the oldest grandchild has been upset, since she hasn’t seen her friends in a long time. She also said that she wishes she could go out on trips like they used to.

I knew that the girl likes to draw and colour, so I ask her if she would like to draw something together.

Since there is no light, my sister turns on the torch on her tablet and we start drawing. She suggests we draw a garden, a tree, the sun and flowers. While we are drawing, she asks me: “Are there blue flowers? Because I want to use blue to colour one of them.”

“Of course there are,” I tell her. “And even if there aren’t, feel free to use any colour you want. It is your painting; be creative. And you know what? I will draw one flower on my side in blue.”

I pick up my phone and go through my photos until I find pictures of some bouquets I have bought in the past. One of them had a blue flower that I showed to her. She is surprised.

Manara, the cat, who is staying with us tonight, comes and sits on my lap and starts watching us while we draw. The girl picks up the paper and asks Manara her opinion regarding colours and the number of flowers. She also asks her if she likes the painting and we both agree that since she keeps looking at it, she does.

When we finish, she proudly shows my sister our painting. We start playing cards. Her mother comes in to check on her. She asks her if she is having a good time, the girl smiles and nods that she was.

After an hour and a half of painting, we start packing up and she tells me how much she wishes to see a blue flower in person.

I tell her: “When all of this is over, I promise that I will visit you and I will bring you a huge bouquet of flowers. And in the centre, there will be a blue one.”

She smiles, thanks me and my sister and then leaves.

 Lying on the couch, I think about everything that happened in the day. I think about the generosity of the hosting family in these hard times; how they are helping others when they themselves need help.

In these hard times, being kind is one of the most difficult things to do, but the hosting family and many people around me do it effortlessly.

I think of the father who could not enjoy the first time his daughter walked. And I wonder, how many “firsts” she will have that will not be celebrated?

I think of the many flowers I have received and given throughout the years. And I wonder, will I ever be able to fulfil my promise to the granddaughter?

Shadows | Sombras

 

Carnaval do Amorim

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

AMORIM

 

Federação Nacional dos Jornalistas repudia Globo pela cobertura de desfiles de Carnaval

 

 

A Globo vem sofrendo diversas críticas nas redes sociais pela cobertura dos desfiles de Carnaval de 2024. Internautas condenaram a falta de informações transmitidas na televisão, como o histórico das escolas e problemas que ocorreram ao longo do percurso.

Para este ano, a transmissão do Carnaval do Rio de Janeiro da emissora é uma parceria da área de entretenimento com o esporte, setores que são flexíveis com publicidade, algo não permitido na área de jornalismo. Karine Alves e Alex Escobar coordenaram, do estúdio, a comunicação com quem estava na avenida, trabalho exercido este ano por influenciadores.

A Federação Nacional dos Jornalistas emitiu uma nota em que repudia a cobertura de Carnaval da Globo e afirma que, com apresentadores despreparados e desinformados, a transmissão teve erros.

Ao abrir mão de repórteres, a emissora detentora do direito comercial de transmissão deixou os espectadores sem informações cruciais sobre a festa. A entidade enfatiza a importância essencial do trabalho jornalístico na cobertura deste evento tão importante para a cultura nacional."

A nota destaca ainda a importância do trabalho dos jornalistas, que fornece análises e contextos históricos sobre os desfiles.

"Por meio de reportagens, os repórteres oferecem uma visão abrangente das tradições, dos desafios e das transformações do Carnaval, proporcionando uma reflexão crítica sobre seu impacto na sociedade e enriquecendo a compreensão pública do evento."

Procurada pelo F5, a Globo não respondeu ao pedido de posicionamento.

F5 

 

 

 

ZIAD IN GAZA

 While I was out, a couple I know came by. My sister welcomed them. “They did not stay long. They just passed by to give us the leftovers of two canned meat cans,” she tells me. “Since they know there are cats around us in the land, and they know how scarce food is to feed them, they decided to bring the leftovers to feed to the cats..”

I look at the leftovers and the amount is enough to feed one cat. I was amazed, because I know that they are staying in a place that is relatively far, which means they walked for a while to reach us, just to give us the food.

I go out of the house andfind Moonlight. Moonlight is the deaf cat that my sister and her friend found and brought to stay in the nearby land. The neighbours are no longer surprised when they see my sister holding a cat and bringing it to the land.

I am grateful that Moonlight’s food arrived for him, despite the small quantity and the far place. I am happy that some people are still thinking of animals, despite these extremely tough times.

2pm I was sitting with a group of friends when a friend of theirs joins us. “I have three daughters, the youngest one was eight months old when the whole nightmare started,” she says. “Can you imagine that during these three months, she learned how to crawl, then sit by herself, then walk. I wish I had the chance to film her when she walked for the first time, just like her two other sisters.”

Later on, everyone at the table starts sharing videos on their mobile phones of happy moments. One woman shares a video from her home while her family were dancing to music; I share a video from a friend’s wedding party; another guy shares a video of his last trip.

Then another woman picks up her phone and starts showing us the different meals that she used to make. Watching these makes us scream at least once or twice. I tell her that once this is all over, I am inviting myself to her house for three consecutive days to try the steak that her husband makes, the pasta she makes and maftool (a traditional Palestinian dish) that her mother makes and sends to them.

I keep thinking about the many first moments that every one of us has lost, and the beautiful memories that were a reality three months ago. Yet, now they are videos and photos of people I am not sure I could recognise any more.

 

 

 

Café com Fascistas

 

O bloco dos 50 graus

 

 Leo Aversa 

 Até aqui foi fácil: bastava colocar uma fantasia — qualquer uma — e sair na rua animado. O calor humano, o confete e a cerveja quente dos blocos se encarregavam do resto. Qualquer um podia ser um folião, era só tocar pro gol. Moleza.

O aquecimento global acabou com a maré mansa.

Frequentar blocos vai ser coisa de Ferrabrás. Estamos no verão da sensação térmica de 50 graus, onde só a sombra, o ventilador e o ar-condicionado nos salvam. O carnaval de rua será terra de bravos.

Mesmo com toda a animação do mundo, com toda a ginga e malemolência cariocas, a perspectiva de ficar horas a fio saracoteando num calor de causar insolação em camelo é meio assustadora, até para o extrovertido mais saltitante. Veja bem, leitor, não quero desanimar ninguém, mas o folião de 2024 vai ter que ser acima de tudo um guerreiro.

Se você for um carioca privilegiado, habitué de listas amigas e pulseirinhas vip, pode se salvar num dos blocos secretos, que saem de madrugada numa ladeira deserta no Morro da Conceição ou num beco remoto na Gamboa. Desses que são anunciados de véspera nos mais exclusivos grupos de zap deste balneário.

Ali o calor nunca é problema, os coolers têm sempre Perriers e IPAs geladas e eunucos que ficam abanando os foliões com plumas de avestruz australiano. Nos blocos secretos os iPhones Maxi Pro Plus não correm perigo, e tem ambulância premium pra levar quem der PT para o CopaStar. Basta um cartão de crédito super premium, uma fantasia de crítica social cirúrgica e, claro, conhecer as pessoas certas.

Se você é uma pessoa comum, sem amigos influencers e que acorda tarde no carnaval, terá que encarar blocos tradicionais como o Simpatia, a Banda de Ipanema ou os megablocos do Centro. Aí só um espírito Highlander vai te manter vivo na canícula. Primeiro para encarar o zilhão de pessoas que teve a corajosa ideia de se aglomerar sob o maior calor na história do planeta. Depois, para não morrer de sede: terá que recorrer aos ambulantes e seus asseados isopores com silenciosas rodinhas de rolimã, que vendem uma insuspeita água mineral em imaculadas garrafas, cuidadosamente lacradas. Custa caro, mas o piriri vem barato. Não esqueçam dos gatunos de celular, que para eles não tem frio, calor ou qualquer tempo ruim. Uma vez que o truque de esconder o telefone nas partes ficou manjado, eles já sabem onde procurar o que querem. Teremos o assédio mezzo sexual, mezzo financeiro correndo solto.

É claro que a galera que vai para a folia atrás de contatos imediatos do terceiro grau não vai ficar na mão, mesmo com 50 graus na moleira: carnaval é carnaval, só muda o lugar. As salas de espera da emergência do Souza Aguiar ou do Miguel Couto serão os lugares mais indicados para a prática da pegação momesca. Não será uma insolação ou uma gastroenterite que vai deixar nossos bravos guerreiros no 0 x 0, né?

Com esse perrengue todo, quem superar o fervo deve pedir ao prefeito a camiseta “Carnaval 2024, eu sobrevivi” como prêmio. Desde já, meus parabéns.

Eu, frágil e poltrão, já me conformei: meu carnaval será sassaricando na porta da Colombo, enquanto cantarolo marchinhas antigas e aguardo para tomar o chá das cinco no ar-condicionado.

Com 50 graus, brincadeira tem hora. 

O GLOBO 

At risk of extinction

 

 

JEFFREY ST CLAIR 

+ In the last 50 years, the North American bird population has lost 3 billion breeding adults, nearly 30 percent of the population. Lark buntings are down 56%, canyon wrens by 23%, roadrunners and lesser scaups by 27%, tufted titmouse by 22%, bobolinks by 20%, Carolina chickadees down 22%, redwings blackbirds down 15%, American goldfinches down 12% and even seemingly ubiquitous crows, down 14%.

+ My favorite bird since I was kid, watching them hover and dive over fields in central Indiana, has been the American Kestrel. In college, I helped my Chaucer professor rehab an injured Kestrel in northern Virginia. The recuperating falcon, which we named Troilus, often perched over his desk on a bust of Dante, as if contemplating what contemporary villains most deserved damnation. And for the past 15 years, I’ve been doing Kestrel surveys here in the Willamette Valley, where their numbers have declined by more than 22%. Pesticides, the disappearing insect populations, the loss of old trees with nesting cavities, encroaching subdivisions, the recent mass conversion of fields and pastures into vineyards, and climate change have all played a nefarious role.

+ At least, 17,000, which amounts to about 96%, of the elephant seal pups on the Patagonian coast of Argentina now have been killed by avian flu.

+ Despite bans on chopping off shark fins for soup, the number of sharks killed in fishing operations is actually increasing, placing one-third of all shark species at risk of extinction, according to a new study in Science.

Shadows | Sombras

 

Damon Locks - Black Monument Ensemble - The Colors That You Bring (2019)

Cenas bizarras da nossa historia

AROEIRA

 

 

JOTA CAMELO 

 

 

 

KLEBER

 

 

Yes - Sweetness

She brings the sunshine to a rainy afternoon; She puts the sweetness in, stirs it with a spoon. She watches for my moods, never brings me down; She puts the sweetness in, all around. She knows just what to say to make me feel so good inside. And when I'm all alone I feel I don't want to hide, hide, hide.

Sombras | Shadows

 

Kevin Morby- Water

My body was sleeping
While my poor mind was dreaming
When they woke me up I didn't know that I'd been screaming
And my old heart was pounding, for the devil had found me

Damo Suzuki: Can’s free-floating vocalist gave us some of the 1970s’ most open-minded rock music

 

"A 1971 TV clip from the long-running German series Beat Club shows guitarist Michael Karoli, drummer Jaki Liebezeit, bassist Holger Czukay and keyboardist Irmin Schmidt – all in luminous psychedelic colour – methodically coalescing around the abstract groove of the song Paperhouse. After about a minute of jazzy extemporisation, the camera cuts suddenly to the extraordinary figure of Suzuki, stick-thin with cascading hair and naked to the waist. He sings in blank verse with no rhyme scheme, often hard to decipher and gliding freely between soundalike words – but the gentle, reflective longing is unmistakable. Towards the end, you finally catch one line clearly: “You can make everything what you want with the head”. The sense of infinite possibility that suffused Suzuki’s lyrics resonated perfectly with the adventurous spirit of Can – whose genesis in part was through the West German art scene – and his fluid wordplay was at the heart of some of the strangest and most exotic rock of the 1970s." 

read more>

Damo Suzuki: Can’s free-floating vocalist gave us some of the 1970s’ most open-minded rock music | Music | The Guardian

Taylor Swift and the profound weirdness of Trump's MAGA

 

 "But while traditional partisan pettiness can explain the knee-jerk negative reaction to Swift, it can’t come close to explaining the incredible weirdness of the recent theory emanating from people with some of the largest platforms in MAGA America. According to them, Taylor Swift’s extraordinary popularity isn’t the organic outcome of a talented and appealing superstar’s bond with her fans. No, according to them, Swift’s rise is an op or a psyop engineered by the deep state in order to benefit Biden.

A central part of the plot, of course, is Swift’s fake, deep-state-invented relationship with Kelce. Thus when the Chiefs struggled earlier in the season, it was a source of right-wing schadenfreude. But now that they’ve surged into a berth in the Super Bowl, it has all been revealed as part of the Plan.

Again, it’s all just so dumb and strange. But dumb and strange is par for the course with MAGA. If we imagined conspiracy theories as movies, we’d say “Taylor Swift: Psyop” was brought to you by the same studio that produced cult classics such as “Pizzagate” and “The Seth Rich Conspiracy,” not to mention the tentpole franchises “QAnon” and “Stop the Steal."

read more>> 

Taylor Swift and the profound weirdness of Trump's MAGA

paquetá, perdido no tempo

 

CAN - Paperhouse (1971)

IN MEMORIAM DAMO SUZUKI

two times, goodbye love You're sorting out for your room Too many savage songs Laugh with him today Playing everything You and your mind And flying paperhouse Way back on the laugh

‘I’m so scared, please come’: Hind Rajab, six, found dead in Gaza 12 days after cry for help

 

“I’m so scared, please come,” were some of the last words six-year-old Hind Rajab said in a telephone call to rescuers after her family’s car came under fire in Gaza City.

Trapped in the vehicle and surrounded by her dead relatives, for three hours she pleaded with the Red Crescent to save her."

‘I’m so scared, please come’: Hind Rajab, six, found dead in Gaza 12 days after cry for help | Gaza | The Guardian

I Am Going to Miss Pitchfork, but That’s Only Half the Problem

 

 

 

By Ezra Klein

I’m gutted to see Condé Nast folding the online music magazine Pitchfork into GQ. I won’t try to improve on the eulogies written for the site already. (Casey Newton and Eric Harvey have good ones.) But even today, if you look at the first screen of my iPhone, below The New York Times app and to the left of the Notes app, I keep a tile that’s just a direct link to Pitchfork’s page of music reviews. It’s one of the few corners of the internet I still love, no matter how often I find myself in disagreement. Disagreeing is part of the delight. The writing is beautiful, the reviewers encyclopedic, the point of view bracing.

I’ve seen some thoughtful writing already on why Pitchfork couldn’t make it. But too many post-mortems when a beloved (or not-that-beloved) site collapses are too specific. In this case, they’re specific to Pitchfork’s editorial choices and market position. That would be fine if Pitchfork’s fall were isolated. But we’re seeing a huge swath of that class of publication close or cut staff and ambitions.

Sports Illustrated just laid off most of its staff. BuzzFeed News is gone. HuffPost has shrunk. Jezebel was shut down (then partly resurrected). Vice is on life support. Popular Science magazine is done. U.S. News & World Report shuttered its magazine and is basically a college-ranking service now. Old Gawker is gone, and so is New Gawker. FiveThirtyEight was acquired by ABC News and then had its staff and ambitions slashed. Grid News was bought out by The Messenger, which is now reportedly out of money. Fusion failed. Vox Media — my former home, where I co-founded Vox.com, and a place I love — is doing much better than most but has seen huge layoffs over the past few years.

Nor is it just digital journalism suffering. More than 350 newspapers failed in the first few years of the pandemic. That was the same pace at which newspapers were failing before the pandemic: a rate of two closures or so per week. Alabama’s three largest newspapers have ceased printing. Southern California’s oldest paper went out of business. The McClatchy chain filed for bankruptcy. Storied newspapers like The Los Angeles Times, The Baltimore Sun and The Dallas Morning News have been racked by layoffs, forced to become shadows of what they once were. What’s failing here isn’t a particular editorial strategy. It’s that the middle is collapsing in journalism.

There is still opportunity at the top. Take The New York Times. It faces real headwinds — print subscription revenues are dropping here, just like at many places — but access to a global audience has opened vistas of growth. The Times can be as competitive in California as it is in New York, and it can make a real run internationally, too. But a global market creates a winner-take-more dynamic. Most people will subscribe to only one news outlet, if that. And they will pick the subscription that delivers the most value. The more subscribers that market leader gets, the more money and reach it has to attract the best staff and expand its offerings. The more talent it then hires and products it offers (Cooking! Games! Product reviews! Local sports!), the better of a deal it is, which makes it that much more compelling a bundle, and the flywheel keeps going.

At the other end, it’s easier than ever to support yourself as an independent author. I got into journalism as a blogger back when there was no way to make that pay. What you did, then, was move your blog to an established media outlet with some kind of business model and get paid for it. I went to The American Prospect and then The Washington Post, and that was the start of my career.

But now those blogs are newsletters, and those newsletters have subscribers. Substack’s chief innovation, in my view, was realizing that you could charge much more for a newsletter subscription to a single author than most of us imagined. It never would have occurred to me to sell subscriptions to my blog for $80 a year. But if you do sell them for $80 a year, you can make a great living on the back of 5,000 subscribers. A small audience, well monetized, is a perfectly good revenue stream.

But that revenue stream doesn’t scale up to fund a publication where you need to support multiple reporters, editors, copy editors, photo editors and so on. There’s a reason opinions thrive on Substack and investigative journalism doesn’t. A few publications, like Politico and Axios, have built real newsrooms atop newsletters, but you need a very moneyed audience to make that work.

That’s where media is right now: You can thrive being very small or very big, but it’s extremely hard to even survive between those poles. That’s a disaster for journalism — and for readers. The middle can be more specific and strange and experimental than mass publications, and it can be more ambitious and reported and considered than the smaller players. The middle is where a lot of great journalists are found and trained. The middle is where local reporting happens and where culture is made rather than discovered.

A few weeks back, I had Kyle Chayka, the author of the new book “Filterworld,” on my podcast. A big part of that conversation was what’s been lost as we’ve moved from an internet built around curation to an internet built around algorithmic recommendation.

The value of curation, Chayka said, is “not just telling you what to consume. It’s giving you this holistic education and insight into how things work, into the context of objects or ideas. It involves vast amounts of labor and time and work to present objects or ideas or songs or whatever in the context that they deserve. And I feel like that’s been lost on the contemporary internet.” That’s what Pitchfork did, and now it, too, is lost. It will be missed. And I fear it will not be replaced.

NEW YORK TIMES