Podcasts are the world’s most 
underrated form of entertainment. 
Originating in the mid-2000s after 
the debut of the original iPod, 
podcasts have slowly grown to 
become a dominant form of audio 
entertainment, with everything 
from 
TV 
recaps 
to 
political 
punditry to gardening. Unlike 
movies or TV shows, podcasts can 
be listened to on the go, and unlike 
radio, you don’t have to tune in 
at a specific time to listen to your 
favorite host. While podcasts have 
become popular, they have yet to 
achieve the level of critical and 
commercial success of TV, movies 
and music.
My personal experience with 
podcasts dates back to the summer 
of 2007. As many of you might 
remember, that was the summer 
that 
“Harry 
Potter 
and 
the 
Deathly Hallows” was released in 
bookstores. Being the savvy nine-
year-old pop culture expert that 
I was, I was of course completely 
obsessed. My family took a lot of 
road trips up to my grandparents’ 
place in northern Michigan that 
summer, and my dad decided to 
do a search for “Harry Potter” 
on iTunes in order to keep me 
entertained during the rides. What 
he found was a podcast called 
“MuggleCast: The #1 Harry Potter 
Podcast,” and the rest is history. I 
spent the entire summer listening 
to episodes of MuggleCast on the 
family iPod, and I never stopped. 
There’s 
something 
personal 
about podcasts, something that 
approaches the level of intimacy 
a viewer might have experienced 
in the past from a radio host 
or a network broadcaster they 
particularly liked. Podcasts are 
niche radio. To the nine-year-old 
obsessed with Hogwarts, and the 
parents tired of hearing about it 
from their kid, the idea of a show 
where they talked about “Harry 
Potter” for an hour every single 
week was mind-blowing.
MuggleCast 
was 
my 
first 
experience with podcasts, but 

it was far from my last. Today, I 
listen to almost a dozen different 
podcasts on a regular basis. While 
many of my friends struggle to 
keep up with all of their favorite 
TV shows in college, I easily 
breeze through dozens of podcast 
episodes a month. I live in a house 
off campus, which is about a 
15-20 minute walk from the diag. 
Podcasts are a wonderful way 

to make the walk go by faster, 
especially in the winter. I can get 
my political fix from “Pod Save 
America,” a left-leaning political 
podcast hosted by former Obama 
speechwriters, wallow in my grief 
over the latest Michigan football 
season with the writers from 
Mgoblog on the “The MgoPodcast” 
or geek out over movies by listening 
to “Total Geekall” and “How Did 
this Get Made?” I’ve found there’s 
a podcast for every opportunity. 
Need to clean your bedroom or do 
laundry? Listen to a podcast. Have 
some mindless math homework 
to do? Listen to a podcast. Unlike 
music, you don’t have to worry 
about 
fumbling 
around 
with 
your phone in the cold weather 
to change the song or the playlist 
or the album. Put your hour-long 
podcast on and you’re good for the 
entire day.
There’s an easy friendliness 
to podcasting lends itself well to 
today’s diversified and increasingly 
niche 
entertainment 
market. 
There are “Game of Thrones” 
podcasts for people who have 

only read the books. There are 
podcasts about other podcasts. 
Podcasting is like listening in on a 
conversation between a group of 
friends talking exclusively about 
a subject you know you will enjoy. 
That’s part of what makes podcasts 
work. The distance between the 
listener and the podcasters feels 
very small. Anyone could start a 
podcast really. This semester, The 
Daily is expanding our repertoire 
of podcasts to focus on culture, 
news and student life in Ann Arbor. 
Many of the most popular podcasts 
today are ones that were started by 
a couple of friends who just liked 
to talk about history, or football, 
or movies, or painting, or bowling 
or whatever. That’s the genius 
of podcasts. There is literally 
something for everyone.
I don’t have time to watch TV. I 
struggle to get to the movies to see 
everything I want to. I still haven’t 
seen “Call Me By Your Name,” “The 
Shape of Water” or “Lady Bird” and 
am therefore a disgrace to the Arts 
section. It’s a good thing “Game 
of Thrones” always airs in the 
summer, because my Sunday nights 
are always filled with meetings. I 
don’t have time to watch as many 
things as I want to. What I do have 
time for is podcasts. I have time for 
podcasts because podcasts don’t 
require my time. I can listen to them 
while making myself breakfast or 
while I’m taking a shower. On long 
car drives or airplane rides or while 
going to the gym, podcasts are the 
ultimate media for multitasking. 
There’s a low barrier for entry. 
Most podcasts are easy to jump 
right into, no matter how many 
years they’ve been running. The 
power of podcasts is that of an 
incredibly versatile medium, one 
that, while still in its infancy, has 
already become one of the most 
prolific forms of entertainment 
on the planet. For me, as for many 
others, podcasts have become a 
regular part of our everyday lives.
And yes, every Monday, I still 
listen to MuggleCast. Always.

The Power of Podcasts

DAILY ENTERTAINMENT COLUMN

IAN HARRIS

Folk music has always been 
tied to place. Depending on 
where you look in history, you 
can attach the word “folk” to 
Celtic traditions in Scotland and 
Ireland, early recordings from 
the mountains of Appalachia or 
the songs and spirituals passed 
down from days of slavery in 
the South, to name only a few. 
While this might seem like it 
would splinter the genre, it is 
in fact one of its most unifying 
qualities: The idea that by 
using a few instruments and 
writing what they feel, people 
can bring a sense of community 
into their music, no matter 
where they are.
In 
Ruins, 
First 
Aid 
Kit 
carries on a tradition already 
established by some of the 
greatest folk artists out there: 
They extend the genre beyond 
place by rooting themselves 
within the music itself. Their 
brand of folk music isn’t tied 
to a specific place or people; 
it’s a feeling, an honesty, that 
they carry with them wherever 

they go. Sisters Klara and 
Johanna Söderberg hail from 
Sweden, but over the course 
of Ruins, they refrain from 
tying themselves to one place: 
climbing mountains in “Ruins,” 
standing on a Chicago beach 
in “Fireworks.” Sometimes it 
feels like they’re leading you 
through the sweeping deserts 
of 
California, 
while 
other 
songs, 
notably 
“Postcard,” 
sound like they could have 
come straight out of some 
intimate venue in Nashville. 
Closing your eyes, you can 
almost feel the warmth; you 
can almost see the piano keys 
under the dusky starlight and 
the silhouetted heads of the 
people around you.
Part of what earns First Aid 
Kit this brand of universality 
is their shrewd attention to 
lyricism. One thing you can say 
definitively about this band is 
that they understand how to 
make folk smart. Rather than 
falling prey to the looping 
phrases and overused tropes 
that are often the trademarks 
of 
mediocre 
folk 
(relying 
too heavily on the listener’s 
sentimentality), they continue 

to strike a successful balance 
between visual scenes and 
personal 
confessions. 
The 
complete package comes across 

‘Leave No Trace’ marks 
Granik’s narrative return

Parent-child 
relationships 
are often difficult to portray on 
film, simply because, well, most 
of us are pretty familiar with our 
own. “Lady Bird” was successful 
for so many reasons, but chief 
among them was the delicate 
rapport between Lady Bird and 
her mother, drawn so completely 
that calling one’s mother after 
watching 
the 
film 
became 
something of a phenomenon. On 
the other side of the coin, one of 
last year’s worst films, “The Book 
of Henry,” featured a super-duper 
strange mother-child relationship 
(amid a slew of other errors) that 
forcibly removed any viewer from 
empathizing with any character.
Count “Leave No Trace,” the 
latest film from Debra Granik 
and her first narrative film since 
“Winter’s Bone,” in the former 
camp. Set against the lush green 
pinewood forests of Oregon and 
Washington, “Leave No Trace” is 
a patient and heart-wrenching tale 
of father and daughter living off 
the grid, in the wilderness and on 
the run from authorities that wish 
to incarcerate them in ordinary 

domesticity. Ben Foster (“Hell or 
High Water”), sporting a nearly 
shaved head and a full beard, plays 
Will, who lives with his daughter, 
Tom (Thomasin McKenzie, “The 
Hobbit: The Battle of the Five 
Armies”), in the liminal space of 
society — in a tent in the public 
lands of Portland, and, since Will 
is a veteran with PTSD, on the 
margins of public consciousness. 
“Leave No Trace” finds a 
satisfying middle ground between 
gritty, 
which 
could 
describe 
“Winter’s Bone” and certainly 
what audiences had been expecting 
of 
the 
film, 
and 
cartoonish, 
which is now how the similarly 
themed “Captain Fantastic” will 
be understood. Will and Tom are 
capital-r Real, with a relationship 
that is something like lightning in a 
bottle. That the two sitting quietly 
together, wordlessly in each other’s 
company, is compelling cinema 
is a testament to Granik’s ability 
to create carefully constructed 
characters 
and 
drama. 
The 
screenplay by Granik and frequent 
collaborator Anne Rosellini (“Stray 
Dog”), adapted from the novel “My 
Abandonment” by Peter Rock, uses 
a simple functionalism to slowly 
drip details about Will’s past and 
create tension that feels both 

natural and enthralling.
Will and Tom, on the run, 
provide larger symbolism for the 
greater veteran experience. We 
know little of Will’s past, only that 
he is a veteran, he involves himself 
in an illicit drug market among 
other vets and he has, on at least 
one occasion, a PTSD-induced 
nightmare involving an airplane, 
weaved into the film only sonically. 
Later, we see a newspaper headline 
that further resolves the mystery, 
but there’s still much left that’s 
uncertain. And yet, that’s all we 
really need to know to understand 
Will. In Portland, he and Tom are 
crushed by the churning gears of 
bureaucratic machination. In the 
wilderness, they’re free.
Foster deserves recognition, but 
McKenzie, with a stoic face and 
a weary slight monotone, steals 
the show. She is truly excellent as 
Tom, who is independent-minded 
yet empathetic, conscious of her 
father’s place in the world, and 
her own as well. She lights up the 
screen with a measured confidence 
that can take years to develop. The 
film’s score, with its eerie violins 
that soar and scrape above ambient 
whisperings, create a tension that 
somehow feels at peace with itself. 
Granik is back.

DANIEL HENSEL
Daily Arts Writer

like a lost diary or a book of 
poems. Equally impressive is 
their ability to render emotions 
simply and eloquently. Lines 
like, “Send me a postcard / 
When you get to where you’re 
going / Send me a line / To 
everything you’ve left behind,” 
coupled 
with 
yearningly 
beautiful 
vocal 
deliveries 
from the Söderbergs are both 
deceptively simple and utterly 
heartbreaking.
Lyrics aside, 
Ruins is also 
beautiful in a 
musical sense. 
In “Fireworks,” 
you can hear 
the 
sisters 
exploring every syllable with 
voices that sound made for 
each other. “My Wild Sweet 
Love” espouses a dreaminess 
to match its own lyrics. One 
of the album’s highlights is its 
cohesion between lyrics and 
melody. “To Live a Life” and 
“Distant Star” both walk you 
through 
seamless, 
singular 
transformations; 
you 
can 
literally hear it, in the melody 
and in the lyrics, how the 
speaker is finishing the song 
in a different place from where 

they began.
All in all, Ruins is a journey 
lived step-by-step. In the space 
of 40 minutes, the Söderbergs 
glide 
between 
dread, 
self-
examination, 
honesty, 
loss 
and the wrong sides of love, 
the sides that make you wake 
up 
feeling 
burnt. 
They’re 
natural and self-conscious at 
the same time, with lines like, 
“Goodbye never seems finished 
/ Just like these 
songs that I write,” 
from 
the 
even-
paced yet anxious 
“Distant Star.” Each 
song feels like a 
clear and isolated 
shift, all building 
toward a conclusion that in 
a way feels twofold. There’s 
the rage, blame and regret 
mixed together in “Hem of 
Her Dress,” the understated 
penultimate 
track, 
which 
includes lines that are literally 
snarled and shouted. It fades 
out into clapping, lending itself 
to the live feel of the album — 
which is quickly ditched in the 
final song, “Nothing Has to 
Be True.” A confessional with 
glowing lines like, “You can 
tell yourself so many things / 

And nothing has to be true,” it 
ultimately slams to black with 
an abrupt ending that sounds 
like an aux cord being pulled 
away.
“Now I feel so far away / 
From the person I once was,” 
the sisters sing during these 
final few minutes. And so do 
we: The album is a complete 
journey from start to finish, in 
an almost tangible sense. But 
the peak is the second track, 
“It’s a Shame,” which sails 
effortlessly between a verse 
that makes you want to roll 
down your windows and sing, 
and a chorus that makes you 
want to open yourself up and 
cry. In a way, this is a perfect 
example of what the entire 
album is really doing. First Aid 
Kit are opening themselves 
up to you and inviting you to 
open yourself back, showing 
you firsthand what you have to 
lose and how you will survive 
losing it, what you have to gain 
and how you will win it. They 
invite you to unloose yourself, 
starting 
at 
the 
heart 
and 
working outwards. And you 
don’t have to, but there are so 
many beautiful things waiting 
there for you to see if you do.

First Aid Kit’s sophomore, 
‘Ruins’ is fresh, haunting

LAURA DZUBAY
Daily Arts Writer

Ruins

First Aid Kit

Columbia Records

COLUMBIA RECORDS

ALBUM REVIEW

SUNDANCE

SUNDANCE REVIEW

The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
Arts
Wednesday, January 24, 2018— 5A

