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New York Times
22-05-2025
- Entertainment
- New York Times
Silver: Remembering Jim Irsay, a sweet, generous soul and steely steward of the sport
The black luxury bus pulled up to the front entrance of the Four Seasons Hotel Austin at twilight, and when Jim Irsay disembarked — cane in hand, flustered expression on his weathered face — something seemed a little off. He lurched forward, gave me a warm greeting and said he'd see me in a bit; he and his all-star band of decorated rock 'n' rollers would spend this cool night in December 2021 at the famed Moody Theater, rehearsing for a gala the following evening, and I'd been invited into the inner circle. Advertisement Still, it had almost seemed like Irsay was startled by my presence. Later, from one of his confidantes, I learned what was up: The Indianapolis Colts owner's legs had stiffened during the drive, and at that moment, walking had been a struggle. 'He shouldn't have seen me like that,' a peeved Irsay told the confidante. It seemed strange that Irsay cared that much about his vulnerability and how I might perceive it. We'd known each other for more than two decades, forging a relationship based on common football experiences and fortified by a shared love of music, counterculture and unrelenting principles and originality. He was a man I covered as a journalist, sometimes in less than flattering contexts, but our conversations invariably veered into the personal space. We told what we believed were unvarnished truths and seldom held back, trusting that good intentions and mutual aversion to inauthenticity would make it all OK. Irsay, who died Wednesday morning at the age of 65, was older and obviously wealthier but treated me like a contemporary. I appreciated that, a lot, and I also understood where it came from. In a world of amplified noise, instant takes and a whole lot of groupthink, the man had grown accustomed to having his essence misunderstood. To many, Irsay was a caricature, defined by his audacious social media posts, raspy voice and documented struggles with addiction. To those who knew him well, he was not only a sweet, generous soul but also a steely steward of the sport. He understood football's essence and rhythms far better than commonly believed, and his standard of organizational success was exacting and ambitious. There was no one like him in pro football, and his absence will leave an abyss that makes the pit they dug up to build Lucas Oil Stadium look like a pothole. Advertisement I started covering the NFL in 1989 during Pete Rozelle's waning months as the NFL commissioner, five years after Irsay, at 24, had become the Colts' general manager. By the mid-1990s, I was one of Sports Illustrated's lead football writers, regularly interacting with icons. I walked to Three Rivers Stadium with Dan Rooney, got banned from the Raiders' locker room by Al Davis and did a profile on Don Shula as people called for the living legend's firing by the Miami Dolphins. 'Guys like you and me grew up together,' Irsay told me a few years ago. 'There aren't that many of us left who remember how it was. I've been going to (owners' meetings) for half a century, and as you know, there's almost no one left in the room anymore. You and I, we know what came before and how we got here, and we take it very seriously.' Eventually I will gather myself and write something. I will miss this gentle soul. — Michael Silver (@MikeSilver) May 21, 2025 To be totally raw and honest — two qualities that defined Irsay — I'm taking this hard, and I'm having trouble typing these words. He was a real one, and his spirit enhanced my reality, intangibly and tangibly. Thanks to Irsay, I've partied with rock icons, gently strummed Jerry Garcia's iconic guitar ('Tiger,' part of the world's coolest memorabilia collection) and gained incredible insight into the challenges of presiding over an NFL franchise. His poignant description of the way the stars aligned to bring Peyton Manning to Indianapolis remains indelible in my memory. Similarly, I'll always cherish the purity of the conversation we had at the 1933 Lounge in downtown Indy in February 2012, when Irsay — on the verge of cutting Manning and drafting Andrew Luck — told me, 'I'm taking back my team' and explained the circumstances that provoked such a proclamation. He didn't ask much from me, other than the expectation that there'd be a lack of pretense or phoniness. That's how he rolled, without exception. In his words: 'One thing with me is I kind of feel like I don't have sides, so to speak. I am authentically who I am, all the time. There aren't a lot of sides to me. I try to be very passionate, the way I live, and intuitive.' Advertisement Irsay may have inherited a football team, but he didn't have it easy. He overcame a lot in life, beginning with the fact that his father, Bob, was an alcoholic known for a nasty disposition. The elder Irsay ripped the Colts out of Baltimore in the middle of the night, a crushing blow to a loyal fan base. Long before that, his son worked hard to be a servant leader, combatting a silver-spoon stigma by working as a ballboy, among other unglamorous jobs. 'I'll bet you there's no owner that knows more about football than Jim,' said Irsay's close friend Mike Wanchic, John Mellencamp's longtime guitarist and collaborator. 'Who has more experience than Jim Irsay? Who washed jockstraps and polished footballs and was the s—kicker on that team as a boy? He came up in the family business.' As he took on those responsibilities, Irsay watched his father run the franchise like a salty tyrant and learned some valuable lessons. In the words of Colts chief operating officer Pete Ward, who began working for the franchise in 1981: 'I've always said that Jim did a lot of observing when he was younger, and he learned how to run a team by not doing what his dad did. So, Jim had that advantage. And he was smart enough to drink it all in and assimilate it because his style is 180 degrees different from how his father did things, and it shows.' Irsay acknowledged as much, telling me: 'No question — we teach by doing it the right way or not doing it the right way. My dad was so brilliant in his younger days, one of the greatest, youngest, most brilliant businessmen. But when the madness started to come and the liquor came upon him and we went through that era … it was something where, well, he didn't get to grow up in the business like I did.' Robert Irsay had a debilitating stroke in 1995 and died 14 months later, leaving Jim in charge of the business. He hired strong leaders and let them lead, but he was also assertive at pivotal times. It was Irsay who ultimately implored future Hall of Fame general manager Bill Polian to pick Manning over the other highly regarded quarterback at the top of the 1998 NFL Draft, Ryan Leaf — a slightly significant decision. And it was Irsay who made the call to hire Tony Dungy after Jim Mora's dismissal in January 2002, setting the stage for a prolonged run of excellence that included a Super Bowl triumph five years later. Irsay cared about much more than football. His affinity for rock icons like John Lennon, Bob Dylan and Kurt Cobain wasn't merely about the music; their lyrical brilliance, personal struggles and impact on society resonated deeply, too. Irsay was exceptionally proud of the 'Kicking the Stigma' campaign he launched in 2020, an effort to bring mental-health struggles out into the open and combat the growing crisis in Indiana and beyond. Around that time — in commemoration of the 40th anniversary of Lennon's murder — my daughter and I did a podcast interview with Irsay that reflected on the magnitude of the tragedy and its impact on him. Rest in Peace, and rock on forever 💔 — Michael Silver (@MikeSilver) May 21, 2025 Later, Irsay shared a text message from his ex-wife, Meg Coyle, with whom he was still friendly. In it, she recalled the moment he learned of Lennon's death, via Howard Cosell on 'Monday Night Football': 'You were downstairs watching the game. I was on the phone with my mom, I think, and I heard you cry out like a wounded animal. I felt such a panic, as I had never heard a sound like that in my life. The depth of the grief in that wail/howl is hard to describe unless you have heard that kind of thing before. You were dropped to the floor, howling and writhing.' Advertisement We all grieve differently, and my phone is full of text messages from people devastated by Irsay's death: rock stars, Hall of Famers and just plain, regular folks like me. In those texts, there have been many remembrances of his generosity of spirit, and not just of the monetary variety. He was a sensitive man who, for all the demons he battled, possessed an intuitive and guileless gift for caretaking — often when it was needed most. When I think back to that trip to Austin in December 2021, I remember the pretext. After eight years at NFL Network, where Irsay was technically one of my bosses, I'd been let go abruptly, told my contract would not be renewed. As I tried to piece things together and figure out my next moves, Irsay reached out to see if I wanted to write something about the event, one of many around the country designed to showcase his memorabilia collection. It would also mean I got to see him sing tunes like Bob Seger's 'Fire Down Below' with a killer band behind him, share drinks with R.E.M. bassist Mike Mills and basically hang out with unfettered access. Irsay ended up loving the story I penned, but looking back, I'm pretty sure that wasn't the reason he summoned me to the Lone Star State. For all the trouble he had walking as he disembarked the luxury bus in front of the Four Seasons, Irsay, in fact, was helping me get back on my feet. In a subsequent text exchange, Irsay sent me a poem he'd written called 'Birth.' I wish I could say it was an uplifting glimpse into a blissful existence, but — as he would want it — I'm going to keep it real. His words were beautiful and dark and captured life's frailty and fleeting nature, and the poem ended with a bang. And yet, the poem's haunting finale carried a shred of hope. 'I see myself in my casket,' Irsay wrote. 'The bugler blowing his horn. I thought I saw salvation, so I started to mourn. Now the blur of my things are forgotten. I'm just being born.'
New York Times
18-04-2025
- Entertainment
- New York Times
Podcasts Want Their Own Version of the Oscars. Could It Be Any of These?
Jason Hoch, a podcast producer and entrepreneur, looked on while the 'True Blood' actor Joe Manganiello compared his colleagues to dog treats. Manganiello was on a stage at the sleek Moody Theater in downtown Austin last month, presenting the award for best ensemble at the iHeartPodcast Awards. For reasons that never became clear, he was carrying an apprehensive-looking Chihuahua named Bubbles, who, according to Manganiello, has a taste for blueberries and focaccia. 'Whether we're talking about treats or podcast hosts, one or two is fine,' Manganiello said. 'But when a group works well together, results can multiply into something inspiring.' As tributes go, it wasn't exactly Sonnet 18. But Hoch was feeling the love. One of his shows, a true-crime investigation called 'Three,' was nominated in two categories: best crime and podcast of the year. Hoch, who lives in Atlanta, had paid out of pocket to be in town for the awards, which the owner, iHeartMedia, calls a celebration of 'the most innovative and influential voices and creators in podcasting.' For a sole proprietor like him, it was a rare chance to be toasted in front of his peers, and to shake hands with potential business partners. The iHearts were just one competition on Hoch's calendar. Over the past year, he and his producing partners had submitted work to seven different awards juries. Hoch estimates his annual budget for awards, each of which charges per category entered, to be between $2,000 and $3,000 before any travel and lodging expenses (the Austin trip alone was about $1,200 in cash and travel points). That sum is roughly enough to pay for up to 15 hours at a podcast recording studio, or to hire a designer to make the cover art for a new series. As the number of new podcasts created each year continues to skyrocket, with competition for listeners, sponsorships and in-app promotion growing ever more fierce, many podcasters see winning awards as a way to stand out. A new crop of competitions — including the iHearts, the Ambie Awards and the Signal Awards — is catering specifically to the industry, with some rolling out red carpets and dispensing gold statues for a price. But how much should it cost to compete for bragging rights in the podcast world? And, for independent creators, is the potential payoff worth the expense? 'If you want to grow your brand, you've got to do these things and participate,' Hoch said. 'But it's tricky. Are we all here celebrating? Or are they trying to make money?' The iHeart Podcast Awards, first produced in 2019, the Ambie Awards (2021) and the Signal Awards (2023) are attempting to be to podcasting what the Academy Awards and the Grammy Awards are to film and music. Until recently, many in the industry sought to raise their profile through competitions known for honoring work in other media, including the Peabody Awards, the Pulitzer Prizes, the Edward R. Murrow Awards, the Alfred I. duPont-Columbia Awards, the Webby Awards and the National Magazine awards. Audrey Mardavich, executive director of the nonprofit podcast network Radiotopia, said those sorts of accolades have helped attract interest from financial backers. In 2023, the Radiotopia show 'Ear Hustle,' a prison documentary series that had won a duPont-Columbia award and was a Pulitzer Prize finalist in 2020, received a $600,000 Mellon Foundation grant. 'When we are talking to funders, when we are taking to major donors, when we're talking with our board, those kinds of awards can be really meaningful,' she said. 'Every deck that I send out has a list of our awards on it.' But the halo of an award can come at a high price. In addition to submission fees, which can run up to $500 per category, many groups sell tickets to the ceremony — as much as $1,500 each. And while winners are usually granted a trophy (one per category; additional statues can cost anywhere from $250 to $1,350 each), some organizations charge for the hardware too. Add in travel costs, and creators or publishers can easily find themselves down several thousand dollars. After his podcast, 'The Big Dig,' won a Peabody award last year, Ian Coss led a crowdfunding campaign to help one of his producers buy a $1,500 ticket to the gala in Beverly Hills. 'Awards are a business,' said Coss, who felt it was worth the expense to share a memorable experience with his team. 'As long as there is a desire for recognition, there will be a market that supplies that recognition.' Hoch sees awards as a way to feed new business development. His company, Wavland Media, founded in 2023, has cultivated a reputation for highly produced, gripping narrative series. One of Hoch's shows, 'Noble,' about a scandal at a crematory, was named one of the 10 best podcasts of 2024 by The New Yorker. Another, 'Boomtown,' became the basis of the hit Paramount+ show 'Landman,' starring Billy Bob Thornton. 'When you're known for quality work, you get to work with quality people,' Hoch said. 'A bunch of our shows last year made some kind of 'Best Of' list, and I'm getting pitched the best material of my life.' Although the pedigree of a Pulitzer or a Peabody is well established, the reputational value of the newer awards is less clear. Some contestants wonder if they're getting a fair deal. After his show, 'Weight For It,' received positive write-ups in The New York Times and Vogue, Ronald Young Jr., an independent podcaster based in Virginia, allocated $2,000 for an awards budget last year. He submitted in three categories for the Signal Awards — which says it honors 'the most potent, meaningful and unprecedented audio projects being made today' — at a total cost of $885. 'I thought it might be good to have another stamp of approval on the show,' said Young Jr., noting that the press reviews had helped him secure a presenting sponsor for the second season. 'It seemed like an opportunity.' 'Weight For It' ultimately won prizes in all of its categories. But Young Jr. was disappointed to learn that there would be no formal ceremony — only a reception in New York for winners. Additionally, if he wanted any of the trophies he would have to pay for them — at $250 each. 'Actually winning felt like a penalty for us,' said Young Jr., who declined to attend the reception or buy his trophies. 'It felt like a money grab. I do not understand why I have to pay for an award that I won.' Jemma Brown, the general manager of the Signal Awards, declined to answer questions about why the organization charges winners for trophies, or how it spends the money it collects from their sale or submission fees. Given 2,000 total entries (roughly the number that were submitted in 2023, according to the Hollywood Reporter) and the standard fee of $265 per entry, submission revenue alone would be $530,000. A search on LinkedIn showed only two full-time employees at Signal: Brown and a customer service lead. Judges work on a volunteer basis. Last year, the winners reception was held in the atrium at Public Records in Brooklyn, a venue that charges between $10,000 and $44,000 for comparable events. In an email, Brown said that the Signal Awards served as 'a motivator for podcast creators and their teams,' among other functions. 'It's a marker of a podcast's merit, and that ultimately often results in helping them grow,' she wrote. One source of skepticism toward the new awards organizations is a lack of clarity about their judging processes. The Signal Awards are voted on by a 'judges academy' of hundreds of professionals selected from across the industry. All judges are allowed to vote in any of nearly 200 categories, but it is unclear how many actually participate in the process. Winners are ranked using an unorthodox, three-tiered system. Entrants can be declared either 'Gold,' 'Silver' or 'Bronze.' But the colors don't correspond to traditional first, second and third rankings. Instead, they are more like grades, indicating a level of achievement. Last year, for example, there were a total of nine winners in a 'Best Host' category: four gold, three silver and two bronze. Brown declined to discuss the Signal's ranking system. But the high volume of awards it produces — there were more than 360 winners last year — creates many potential customers for Signal trophies. 'It's lovely to win,' said Mardavich, who represents several podcasts that have received Signal Awards. 'But I think the ones that are more selective might be more meaningful to people.' Selection for the Ambie Awards, which are produced by the nonprofit Podcast Academy, a professional membership organization, is relatively straightforward. A 'Blue Ribbon Panel' of about 140 academy members selects up to 10 nominees in each of 28 categories (this year, there were more than 1,500 applicants). Voting then opens to the entire academy (fewer than 1,000 members) to determine the winners — one per category. Submission fees for the Ambies range from $150 to $250 per category. Christy Mirabal, the chair of the Podcast Academy, said the vast majority of that revenue goes to the production of the annual awards show, which took place late last month in Chicago during an industry conference and was hosted by the comedian and podcaster Tig Notaro. The iHeartPodcast Awards competition doesn't accept submissions, sell tickets or charge winners for trophies. But its judging process is the most opaque. The official website credits only 'a panel of blue-ribbon podcast industry leaders, creatives and visionaries.' It does not specify the size of the panel, indicate how nominees are selected or evaluated, or explain eligibility requirements. There are also questions about iHeartMedia's ability to serve as an impartial arbiter, as it either produces or distributes hundreds of its own podcasts. A spokeswoman for the company declined to answer a list of detailed questions about its rules. But in each of the past six ceremonies, at least one and as many as three iHeartMedia-affiliated podcasts have been nominated in the podcast of the year category. (This year, one such podcast, 'Las Culturistas,' took home the prize.) At the ceremony in Austin, Hoch ultimately left empty-handed. But he said he had no regrets. On Instagram the next morning, he posted a photo of himself looking unbothered on the red carpet. 'It's really about being here,' he said, before catching a flight back to Atlanta. 'I'm just grateful to have been nominated.'
New York Times
18-04-2025
- Entertainment
- New York Times
Podcasts Want Their Own Oscars. Could Any of These Contests Win?
Jason Hoch, a podcast producer and entrepreneur, looked on while the 'True Blood' actor Joe Manganiello compared his colleagues to dog treats. Manganiello was on a stage at the sleek Moody Theater in downtown Austin last month, presenting the award for best ensemble at the iHeartPodcast Awards. For reasons that never became clear, he was carrying an apprehensive-looking Chihuahua named Bubbles, who, according to Manganiello, has a taste for blueberries and focaccia. 'Whether we're talking about treats or podcast hosts, one or two is fine,' Manganiello said. 'But when a group works well together, results can multiply into something inspiring.' As tributes go, it wasn't exactly Sonnet 18. But Hoch was feeling the love. One of his shows, a true-crime investigation called 'Three,' was nominated in two categories: best crime and podcast of the year. Hoch, who lives in Atlanta, had paid out of pocket to be in town for the awards, which the owner, iHeartMedia, calls a celebration of 'the most innovative and influential voices and creators in podcasting.' For a sole proprietor like him, it was a rare chance to be toasted in front of his peers, and to shake hands with potential business partners. The iHearts were just one competition on Hoch's calendar. Over the past year, he and his producing partners had submitted work to seven different awards juries. Hoch estimates his annual budget for awards, each of which charges per category entered, to be between $2,000 and $3,000 before any travel and lodging expenses (the Austin trip alone was about $1,200 in cash and travel points). That sum is roughly enough to pay for up to 15 hours at a podcast recording studio, or to hire a designer to make the cover art for a new series. As the number of new podcasts created each year continues to skyrocket, with competition for listeners, sponsorships and in-app promotion growing ever more fierce, many podcasters see winning awards as a way to stand out. A new crop of competitions — including the iHearts, the Ambie Awards and the Signal Awards — is catering specifically to the industry, with some rolling out red carpets and dispensing gold statues for a price. But how much should it cost to compete for bragging rights in the podcast world? And, for independent creators, is the potential payoff worth the expense? 'If you want to grow your brand, you've got to do these things and participate,' Hoch said. 'But it's tricky. Are we all here celebrating? Or are they trying to make money?' The iHeart Podcast Awards, first produced in 2019, the Ambie Awards (2021) and the Signal Awards (2023) are attempting to be to podcasting what the Academy Awards and the Grammy Awards are to film and music. Until recently, many in the industry sought to raise their profile through competitions known for honoring work in other media, including the Peabody Awards, the Pulitzer Prizes, the Edward R. Murrow Awards, the Alfred I. duPont-Columbia Awards, the Webby Awards and the National Magazine awards. Audrey Mardavich, executive director of the nonprofit podcast network Radiotopia, said those sorts of accolades have helped attract interest from financial backers. In 2023, the Radiotopia show 'Ear Hustle,' a prison documentary series that had won a duPont-Columbia award and was a Pulitzer Prize finalist in 2020, received a $600,000 Mellon Foundation grant. 'When we are talking to funders, when we are taking to major donors, when we're talking with our board, those kinds of awards can be really meaningful,' she said. 'Every deck that I send out has a list of our awards on it.' But the halo of an award can come at a high price. In addition to submission fees, which can run up to $500 per category, many groups sell tickets to the ceremony — as much as $1,500 each. And while winners are usually granted a trophy (one per category; additional statues can cost anywhere from $250 to $1,350 each), some organizations charge for the hardware too. Add in travel costs, and creators or publishers can easily find themselves down several thousand dollars. After his podcast, 'The Big Dig,' won a Peabody award last year, Ian Coss led a crowdfunding campaign to help one of his producers buy a $1,500 ticket to the gala in Beverly Hills. 'Awards are a business,' said Coss, who felt it was worth the expense to share a memorable experience with his team. 'As long as there is a desire for recognition, there will be a market that supplies that recognition.' Hoch sees awards as a way to feed new business development. His company, Wavland Media, founded in 2023, has cultivated a reputation for highly produced, gripping narrative series. One of Hoch's shows, 'Noble,' about a scandal at a crematory, was named one of the 10 best podcasts of 2024 by The New Yorker. Another, 'Boomtown,' became the basis of the hit Paramount+ show 'Landman,' starring Billy Bob Thornton. 'When you're known for quality work, you get to work with quality people,' Hoch said. 'A bunch of our shows last year made some kind of 'Best Of' list, and I'm getting pitched the best material of my life.' Although the pedigree of a Pulitzer or a Peabody is well established, the reputational value of the newer awards is less clear. Some contestants wonder if they're getting a fair deal. After his show, 'Weight For It,' received positive write-ups in The New York Times and Vogue, Ronald Young Jr., an independent podcaster based in Virginia, allocated $2,000 for an awards budget last year. He submitted in three categories for the Signal Awards — which says it honors 'the most potent, meaningful and unprecedented audio projects being made today' — at a total cost of $885. 'I thought it might be good to have another stamp of approval on the show,' said Young Jr., noting that the press reviews had helped him secure a presenting sponsor for the second season. 'It seemed like an opportunity.' 'Weight For It' ultimately won prizes in all of its categories. But Young Jr. was disappointed to learn that there would be no formal ceremony — only a reception in New York for winners. Additionally, if he wanted any of the trophies he would have to pay for them — at $250 each. 'Actually winning felt like a penalty for us,' said Young Jr., who declined to attend the reception or buy his trophies. 'It felt like a money grab. I do not understand why I have to pay for an award that I won.' Jemma Brown, the general manager of the Signal Awards, declined to answer questions about why the organization charges winners for trophies, or how it spends the money it collects from their sale or submission fees. Given 2,000 total entries (roughly the number that were submitted in 2023, according to the Hollywood Reporter) and the standard fee of $265 per entry, submission revenue alone would be $530,000. A search on LinkedIn showed only two full-time employees at Signal: Brown and a customer service lead. Judges work on a volunteer basis. Last year, the winners reception was held in the atrium at Public Records in Brooklyn, a venue that charges between $10,000 and $44,000 for comparable events. In an email, Brown said that the Signal Awards served as 'a motivator for podcast creators and their teams,' among other functions. 'It's a marker of a podcast's merit, and that ultimately often results in helping them grow,' she wrote. One source of skepticism toward the new awards organizations is a lack of clarity about their judging processes. The Signal Awards are voted on by a 'judges academy' of hundreds of professionals selected from across the industry. All judges are allowed to vote in any of nearly 200 categories, but it is unclear how many actually participate in the process. Winners are ranked using an unorthodox, three-tiered system. Entrants can be declared either 'Gold,' 'Silver' or 'Bronze.' But the colors don't correspond to traditional first, second and third rankings. Instead, they are more like grades, indicating a level of achievement. Last year, for example, there were a total of nine winners in a 'Best Host' category: four gold, three silver and two bronze. Brown declined to discuss the Signal's ranking system. But the high volume of awards it produces — there were more than 360 winners last year — creates many potential customers for Signal trophies. 'It's lovely to win,' said Mardavich, who represents several podcasts that have received Signal Awards. 'But I think the ones that are more selective might be more meaningful to people.' Selection for the Ambie Awards, which are produced by the nonprofit Podcast Academy, a professional membership organization, is relatively straightforward. A 'Blue Ribbon Panel' of about 140 academy members selects up to 10 nominees in each of 28 categories (this year, there were more than 1,500 applicants). Voting then opens to the entire academy (fewer than 1,000 members) to determine the winners — one per category. Submission fees for the Ambies range from $150 to $250 per category. Christy Mirabal, the chair of the Podcast Academy, said the vast majority of that revenue goes to the production of the annual awards show, which took place late last month in Chicago during an industry conference and was hosted by the comedian and podcaster Tig Notaro. The iHeartPodcast Awards competition doesn't accept submissions, sell tickets or charge winners for trophies. But its judging process is the most opaque. The official website credits only 'a panel of blue-ribbon podcast industry leaders, creatives and visionaries.' It does not specify the size of the panel, indicate how nominees are selected or evaluated, or explain eligibility requirements. There are also questions about iHeartMedia's ability to serve as an impartial arbiter, as it either produces or distributes hundreds of its own podcasts. A spokeswoman for the company declined to answer a list of detailed questions about its rules. But in each of the past six ceremonies, at least one and as many as three iHeartMedia-affiliated podcasts have been nominated in the podcast of the year category. (This year, one such podcast, 'Las Culturistas,' took home the prize.) At the ceremony in Austin, Hoch ultimately left empty-handed. But he said he had no regrets. On Instagram the next morning, he posted a photo of himself looking unbothered on the red carpet. 'It's really about being here,' he said, before catching a flight back to Atlanta. 'I'm just grateful to have been nominated.'
USA Today
09-03-2025
- Entertainment
- USA Today
Why has Luke Wilson joined forces with Ben Crenshaw to save a storied Austin municipal course?
Why has Luke Wilson joined forces with Ben Crenshaw to save a storied Austin municipal course? AUSTIN, Texas — Luke Wilson is just as unflappable in person as he is on the silver screen — and I'm saying this definitively, even after just one meeting. Gimme a second to explain. Wilson, who has some incredible roles on his Hollywood resume — including Richie in "The Royal Tenenbaums," Emmett in "Legally Blonde," Lance in "The Skeleton Twins," and the Godfather in "Old School" — often provides a marvelously calming presence for other characters to bounce their nervous energy off. In real life, he dishes out the same vibe, at least he did during last week's Imagine Muny Gala at the Austin City Limits Moody Theater, the fourth effort to save a municipal golf course within the city limits of the booming capital of Texas. Wilson was on hand for the event because, frankly, he uses the storied 18-hole Lions Municipal to find his own calm when necessary. As part of the event, run by Ben Crenshaw and his boyhood pal Scotty Sayers, Wilson was featured in a short video, something he's done before and will likely be asked to do again. Let's rewind a bit before we get to this story's climax. I've attended all four of these galas, and watched as community members have opened their wallets and hearts to help the cause. Over the years I've chatted with Sergio Garcia, Lyle Lovett, Verne Lundquist, Mark Brooks, former Texas football coach Mack Brown, Ray Benson from Asleep at the Wheel, esteemed Austin radio announcer and former Dell Match Play starter Ed Clements and more. Heck, last year while I was on the green carpet chatting with Lundquist, my pre-teen daughter was schmoozing with actor Kyle Chandler. She then turned to me and said, "So Dad, this guy has some Friday Night Lights or something?" And while yes, there's some serious namedropping going on here, it's really more an indication that the city's biggest names come out to back Crenshaw in this cause. The land on which Lions Municipal sits is part of the 500 acres known as the Brackenridge Tract, which is owned by the University of Texas. The course is considered the first fully desegregated municipal course in the South and the city had leased 140 acres for Muny since 1936, paying UT about $500,000 a year. Originally, the thought behind the Save Muny Conservancy headed by Crenshaw and Sayers was to purchase the land from the university for a fair price, but as real estate has skyrocketed in Austin, the group has shifted to working closer with the university to handle maintenance and simply push lease negotiations forward. More: Muni golf: Why Ben Crenshaw (and so many others) are fighting to save and promote municipal golf course This year, as the night was wrapping up, I was soaking in the sights and sounds, all while sitting at a table with new University of Texas women's golf coach Laura Ianello and her husband, Jeff. That's when Suzanne Erickson, who handles PR for the conservancy, asked me what I thought of Wilson. I said I hadn't gotten a chance to meet him. This set off a Jason Bourne-like series of events that was unlike anything I'd ever been a part of. Erickson grabbed my hand and tried to pull me past a bouncer, who insisted she didn't have the right credentials to get backstage. Then came a chat with another security member. Then she whisked me up a stairwell to the mezzanine, where we dodged numerous security members to find Wilson. And with Wynonna Judd belting out a song on the famous ACL stage, Wilson was kind enough to pull me inside a room to offer his thoughts on Lions Municipal, a place he genuinely holds dear. He talked about how peaceful the course is, especially amid the urban sprawl that now surrounds it. He talked about how he admires Crenshaw's tenacity and commitment to saving the property, which could certainly be sold off for a massive sum. He talked about the history of the greenspace, something you sense has real meaning to him. "For me it's like trying to help save Central Park," Wilson said. "I'll never forget Ben saying at one of these get-togethers that it's a place of peace and tranquility, and that's really what it is. It's not just about golf, it's a green space, and going back to the idea that there was a time in Texas when this was the only place that a person of color could play golf — it's very moving to think about somebody in Corpus or Amarillo or Midland driving to Austin to play a round to golf if they were Black or Latino. That's just unbelievable. If you love golf, you know what it's like to drive to a great course and play. "And Ben went to that little school that's right across the street. That's where he learned to play golf. To think that someone who went on to accomplish what he's accomplished learned the game there is incredible. He is a very quiet, dignified person. "And then there's something to be said for Texas. To me, it is an incredible state. Both my parents are from Massachusetts, and they moved to Texas in I think '64, and they love the fact that Texas is a place where people get things done. They build things like museums, and get things done, but also you don't want them to lose places that are important, right? "And this is, you know, so clearly, a place that you know you don't want to lose." The night was another unmitigated success. Over $1 million was raised for the cause, and awareness was raised to another new level. But in the process of this discussion, Wilson completely missed Wynonna's finale. After he answered all my questions and we exited the suite, the lights were up and Wynonna was gone. I looked at Luke and winced, if only to explain non-verbally that I was sorry he missed the ending, expecting he might roll his eyes and show frustration. With the same levelheadedness he shows on screen, Wilson put his hand on my shoulder and simply said, "It's all good. What a great night." Unflappable.
Yahoo
07-03-2025
- Entertainment
- Yahoo
SXSW 2025: Ivan Cornejo, Gale and other Latino artists we can't wait to see
Now in its 37th year, South by Southwest, the annual arts and tech conference that runs March 7-15 in Austin, Texas, has no shortage of stellar Latin music acts on its roster. On March 11, we at De Los will host our second annual SXSW showcase at Mala Fama. Arsenal Efectivo, Edgar Alejandro and Midnight Navy will star in the program, which you can find here. In the meantime, below are 10 essential Latino performances we'll be penciling into our schedule, listed in chronological order. Vanessa Zamora March 11 at Flamingo Cantina10-10:40 p.m. The daughter of Mexican pianists, bilingual indie darling Vanessa Zamora upped the ante by mastering the acoustic guitar, keyboard and drums to craft her own dreamy, psychedelic approach to pop music. She will perform a second show March 14 at Vaquero Taquero from 10-10:40pm. El Dusty March 10 at Coconut Club 11-11:45 p.m. Corpus Christi-based DJ and cumbia electronica pioneer El Dusty will be on the decks, melding soul, reggae and house with his homegrown Tejano groove. He will perform a second SXSW showcase on Wednesday at Rivian Park from 3-3:40 p.m., as well as a third performance Thursday at Hotel Vegas from 12:40-1:20 a.m. Trooko March 11 at Coconut Club 12:45-2 a.m. Grammy-winning Honduran producer Trooko has been credited on a number of acclaimed releases, including records by Beyoncé, M.I.A., Residente and Lin-Manuel Miranda's "The Hamilton Mixtape." Yet this year, Trooko will go back to his roots by spinning at La Subcultura's epic club night. Blood Club March 12 at Elysium 8-8:40 p.m. Hailing from the South Side of Chicago, the post-punk romantics will usher in the moonrise at SXSW on multiple nights. Their festival dates are a preview of their North American No Llores Tour, which will see the band passing through the U.S. and Mexico before landing at the Regent Theater in Los Angeles on May 18. Their second official SXSW showcase will take place March 15 at Las Perlas from 10-10:40 p.m. Gale March 13 at the Moody Theater 7:45 p.m.-8:15 p.m. The Latin Grammy-nominated singer-songwriter Gale (pronounced "gah-leh") packs a punch in her indie-tinged pop music. Lauded as the "Latin It Girl" by Rolling Stone, the Puerto Rican starlet will grace the stage at its "Future of Music" showcase. Valé March 13 at Cuatro Gato8:20-9 p.m. Si necesitas reggaetón: Valé. The Baranquilla native brings punk baddie energy to her perreo- and R&B-infused dance tracks like "Fit Mami" and the newer "Arrebatao." Twin Shadow March 13 at Coconut Club9:30-10:30 p.m. The Dominican American synth-pop hero will tease new songs from his sixth studio album, "Georgie," a tribute to his late father. After years of cutting up dance floors with guitar tracks like "Five Seconds" and "Saturdays" (with Haim!), "Georgie " will be his first album sans drums. Get into it. He will also perform a second show March 14 at Central Presbyterian Church from 10-11 p.m. Ca7riel & Paco Amoroso March 13 at the Moody Theater 9:35-10:20 p.m. Quirky Argentine MCs Ca7riel & Paco Amoroso enjoyed a career breakthrough last year with their appearance on NPR's "Tiny Desk" series, which became the No. 1 most-watched episode of 2024. 'With 'Tiny Desk,' we feel that we hacked the system,' said Amoroso in an interview with De Los this week. At SXSW, they'll serve an encore. Oya Baby March 13 at the Speakeasy Kabaret10:50-11:05 p.m. The audacious Cuban MC Oya Baby cut her teeth as a backup dancer for Pitbull, Bad Bunny and Flo Rida before she signed a record deal with the latter's International Music Group label. She shared an electric collaboration with Miami hip-hop legend Trina in her 2022 single "Ride the Stick" and bounced back in January with a swaggering reggaeton single, "Perra." Ivan Cornejo March 13 at the Moody Theater 10:55 p.m.-midnight Música Mexicana's prince of darkness will command the Moody Theater on Thursday night with releases from his outstanding 2024 LP 'Mirada,' as well as his first hit, 'Está Dañada,' which debuted on the Billboard 100 when he was just 17. Get our Latinx Files newsletter for stories that capture the complexity of our communities. This story originally appeared in Los Angeles Times.
