Four cultural podcasts: the new voice that transforms the way we tell culture

From intimate projects that explore reading memory to unscripted conversations between writers or debates about the invisible fabric that sustains the cultural industries, a new generation of content creators is proposing a different way of looking at (but, above all, listening to) culture: the podcast. In times of immediate stimuli and fleeting content, this format emerges as an unexpected space for depth and analysis.

According to the National Survey on Cultural Consumption for the period 2013-2023, 13% of the population also listened to podcasts last year, especially interviews and episodes on cultural topics. This cultural consumption is most prevalent among young people aged 18 to 29.

In a context where discourses are exhausted in the fast-paced loop of a reel, the podcast emerged as a new way of listening and speaking. The format isn't new, but the way it's being inhabited is. There's something artisanal, almost ancient, in its logic of slow storytelling that prioritizes oral expression. At the same time, there's something completely contemporary in this urgent need to build community, identity, and memory.

"Doesn't it happen to you that you listen to something alone and then want to discuss it with someone?" asks Analía Llorente, journalist and producer of El Club del Podcast , a series that brings people together to listen . And it's not a metaphor. They meet—literally—at the Te llamaré viernes bookstore, located in the Belgrano neighborhood, just steps from Chinatown, to listen to the episodes.

For Llorente, nonfiction podcasts have a magic that can't be seen, but can be felt. It's that blend of narration, music, and ambient sound that not only informs, but also moves. A well-told story, she says, can make you think about things you didn't know you needed to think about. Or as she summarizes : "The podcast isn't just audio. It's memory, emotion, and often, unanswered questions."

The same urgency to rethink culture from the intimate perspective runs through Reader Biographies, the project created by Daniela Méndez and Valentina Zelaya . Méndez came from organizing workshops and newsletters. Zelaya, from growing a bookstore that started out online and is now also based in Madrid. The podcast was born as these things usually are: from a crisis. But also from a certainty. The certainty that every person who works in the world of books is, above all, a reader. And that there is something valuable in reconstructing that reader biography.

"We were interested in seeing how those readings that shaped someone's life end up appearing in what they write, in the editorial catalogs they put together, in the recommendations they make," says Daniela.

That's why they invite booksellers, writers, and editors. They ask them for a list of titles that have left their mark on them and then start a conversation . "At a time when everything has to be summarized in a minute, we wanted to generate long, in-depth conversations that would allow us to think about ourselves as readers," says Valentina.

If there's one podcast that's decided to lift the veil on how culture is created in Argentina, it's La Escena, by communicator Luciana Gallo . A bookfluencer, enthusiast, and curious, Gallo has long been thinking about how to combat a deeply held idea in certain sectors: that "culture is a rip-off." And she found a way to do it where she likes best: through making.

La Escena quickly became one of the most listened-to podcasts in Argentina. Why? Maybe because it says what no one else was saying. Or because it interviews those behind the scenes: producers, curators, managers . “Culture isn't just about products. It's also about productions,” says Gallo. The podcast has three parts: a thematic section, an analysis of the cultural industry, and a conversation about production where data, craftsmanship, and a love of the craft predominate.

At Anagrama, a historic publishing house, they also understood that there was something going on with the voice. And that that something shouldn't be restricted. Thus was born Tema Libre, a podcast without a script, without a host, without set times . "We wanted the listener to feel like they were slipping into a private conversation," explains Rafael Luna. And yes: that's what you hear. Two authors speaking without filters, without interruptions, without seeking a definitive answer.

" We're interested in thinking of the podcast as a space of formal and thematic freedom , where new voices, rhythms, and discourses can emerge," says Luna. Not as a replica of the editorial catalog, but as an expansion.

In all these projects—in the shared listening of The Podcast Club, in the literary intimacy of Reader Biographies, in the structural perspective of The Scene—there's a pulsing tension: who's holding this up? How are narrative, memory, and culture funded? What is the role of the state?

The question is not minor. Because podcasts—like books, like films, like songs—don't just make themselves. They require time, infrastructure, resources, platforms, and audiences. But above all, they require conviction: the conviction that what is said matters. That the voices that aren't heard today are also part of the country we are and that they allow us to consider what place we want culture to occupy within it.