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savingtipsforyou · 8 months ago

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The Rise of Brazilian Podcasts: Exploring Brazil's Growing Podcasting Landscape

In recent years, the Brazilian podcasting scene has experienced a significant boom, captivating millions of listeners nationwide. With Brazilian podcasts growing in popularity across genres, they’ve become an essential part of how Brazilians consume content, engage with current events, and explore diverse topics. From comedy to politics, storytelling to educational content, Brazilian podcasts offer an expansive range of choices for listeners of all interests.

The Popularity of Brazilian Podcasts

Brazil is one of the fastest-growing markets for podcasts worldwide. According to studies, Brazil ranks second in podcast consumption, with a steady rise in listeners each year. This surge can be attributed to several factors, including the increasing accessibility of smartphones and streaming platforms, the demand for diverse content, and the unique ability of podcasts to cater to niche interests. Brazilian podcasts, therefore, represent a key shift in how the public accesses information and entertainment, providing a fresh and engaging alternative to traditional media.

Key Genres in Brazilian Podcasts

Brazilian podcasts are known for their variety, capturing the interests of a diverse audience with content that spans multiple genres. Some of the most popular podcast categories include:

Comedy: Comedy podcasts are among the most popular in Brazil. Shows like Flow Podcast and Podpah have amassed millions of listeners with their humorous takes on everyday life, featuring popular comedians, celebrities, and influencers as guests. These podcasts create a laid-back, conversational atmosphere, offering listeners a chance to laugh and relax.

True Crime: With the popularity of true crime stories, Brazilian podcasts like Projeto Humanos dive into real-life crime investigations and mysteries. They delve into cases that often receive limited coverage, unraveling complex stories and providing critical insights into Brazil’s justice system.

News and Politics: Political and news-based Brazilian podcasts have also surged in popularity. Programs like Café da Manhã, produced by Folha de São Paulo, offer daily updates on current events, delivering an in-depth and nuanced view of national and international issues. In a time of political polarization, these podcasts play a significant role in informing and educating the public.

Education and Self-Development: Brazilian podcasts focused on personal development, science, and education have found a growing audience. NerdCast, one of the earliest Brazilian podcasts, remains a staple in this genre, covering everything from science to pop culture and history. These podcasts encourage lifelong learning and help listeners expand their knowledge on various topics.

The Impact of Brazilian Podcasts on Culture

Brazilian podcasts have significantly influenced culture and social dynamics, becoming a powerful medium for discussions on important social issues, identity, and cultural trends. Many Brazilian podcasts encourage open dialogue, addressing issues related to mental health, racial identity, LGBTQ+ rights, and gender equality. They provide a platform for marginalized voices, fostering inclusivity and a deeper understanding of Brazil’s rich cultural diversity.

With podcasts gaining cultural influence, many Brazilian podcasters have transformed into influential voices within the nation. The success of these podcasts has also led to greater investments in podcasting infrastructure, with streaming giants like Spotify and Google Podcasts investing in the Brazilian market. This expansion is poised to fuel further growth, enabling Brazilian podcasts to reach global audiences.

Challenges and the Future of Brazilian Podcasts

Despite their success, Brazilian podcasts face challenges. Podcasters must compete for audience attention in a crowded market, and they often rely on sponsorships or listener contributions for revenue. The lack of stable financial support can hinder smaller creators, though many persist due to the passion and loyalty of their fanbase.

Looking to the future, Brazilian podcasts are expected to continue evolving, with emerging technologies like AI and interactive platforms potentially reshaping how they are produced and consumed. As the market matures, the diversity and depth of Brazilian podcasts will likely only expand, cementing their role in modern Brazilian culture and media.

Conclusion

Brazilian podcasts have carved out a unique space in the digital media landscape, providing a platform for creativity, discussion, and innovation. With a wide range of genres and topics, Brazilian podcasts offer something for everyone, reflecting the diverse interests and identities of Brazil’s population. Whether you’re a fan of comedy, a true crime enthusiast, or someone looking for insightful commentary on news and politics, Brazilian podcasts have become a vibrant part of the country's media culture, and their influence is here to stay.

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topstoryusa0 · 1 year ago

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moku-and-his-madness · 2 years ago

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get nerded, love

:0!! the tables are reversed!! well, im already a nerd so your nerdcast bounced off of me and onto you. get nerded, love.

#al was here!#hector estaba aqui!#ask #anon ask

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skellybonesandtrees · 5 years ago

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kay, biting the bullet - binge watching Tiger King just because my favorite podcast is probably releasing a podcast on it sometime tomorrow. Wish me luck.

#deniblogginstuff #tiger king #nerdcast

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thatwritingcorneroftheinter-blog · 6 years ago

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The Mistery of William Faraday

The characters in the following story - with the exception of Jonathan Caldwell, Elizabeth Caldwell and Dr. Willows - are original from Nerdcast, a brazilian podcast about all the nerd things (and RPG), mainly from the episode 549 - Call of Cthulhu 1: The Mistery of William Faraday.

As I write this down, I cannot believe I have been lead to do so. It is a strange story and if those words have any capability of translating what that night in the Newcastle Asylum was, so be it.

This story starts at Thomas E. Faraday’s home, an immense old English mansion, located at the very heart of London’s aristocracy nest.

It was 1936, and the horrors of the World War were not yet out of the good men’s mind. Still, we used to gather together at least once a year so that those memories could remain just memories instead of terrible cases of mental and body illness.

Every year, my husband and I would leave our home in Rye to meet with our comrades - or rather his comrades. Jonathan was one of the many men who fought the World War and by the time it was over, the trenches had given him good friends and horrifying stories to share with them.

Those meetings were not always merry in the ways their memories used to lead, but Jonathan needed them, as much as I needed them to keep Jonathan sane. So, I accompanied my husband for as long as he could, given the state of his leg injury, one of the many wounds that the War had left behind; being cut in the thigh by a treacherous enemy who had slipped under the camp’s barriers, Jonathan was never again able to walk without his cane and the conditions of the injury would not get better with time.

Eventually we were no longer allowed to travel away from home by Dr. Willows, which brought our friends to Rye two years in a row. However, third time was not a charm and Jonathan passed away, leaving me in a cold stone manor in the middle of nowhere, alone and unsupported.

At that time, turning to my own family was not an option, for they had never been too keen about my marriage with Jonathan; in their eyes, Jonathan’s low quantities of material possessions were certain proof of my lack of self-respect. The only ones that could continue to support me were Jonathan’s friends. My friends.

So there we were, gathered once again - this time in London, at Faraday’s.

Thomas Faraday was a man guided by Reason, with capital R. Professor at the University of Oxford, Faraday would proudly conduct me through corridors and corridors of British science history, discoursing about the novelties in America, with his basset Billy running around his feet. The proud owner of a small belly, Faraday was the absolute embodiment of a good living. I had been with him since Christmas; at the time, as if noticing my unwillingness to return to the country side, Thomas invited me to stay a few more weeks, at least until the meeting, to which I gladly agreed.

Pleasant reading days and slow walks amongst the trees at the Regent’s Park helped to keep away from my mind the upcoming reunion, the first one without Jonathan. Of course, they were all present at the funeral and aided me into my first days of grief, and surely, they have suspended the next year’s meeting to allow me more time, but they were not without judgment. I had been a widowed woman for nearly two years now, an individual to be reckoned with, and not just Jonathan’s wife anymore. I had no idea if that would change anything between our little strange group, but I was about to discover.

James K. O'Flanagan was strangely the first one to arrive. As Irish as an Irish man can be, O’Flanagan was a man of his own convictions; one could never argue with him without the impression of being left deeply insulted. A former red-haired man, he was now the bearer of a completely gray head and a very thick mustache, laid upon thin and somewhat mordacious lips, which was not able to turn his fit figure any less elegant. As I have mentioned, O’Flanagan had no filter when it came to the Great Britain’s way of life, being a fierce critic and feeding the wildest fire within his guts against the British Empire. Yet, somehow, he had managed to find accordance while being in the same room as Thomas Faraday, the personal representation of a British Golden Era of old family riches.

Upon O’Flanagan’s arrival, I could smell the Jameson emanating out of his pores. His first step into the Faraday’s mansion was followed by a nod to the butler, handing his wet hat and vest to a steward and sipping from a small liquor flask.

“Mrs. Caldwell! You have made it through this rain!”

O’Flanagan came to me with arms opened, as I did to him. Reaching for a reassuring hug, O’Flanagan kept me inside his arms for quite a while, before Faraday entered the room.

“I have been in London since Christmas, James, there was no need to worry”, I said, unable to retreat my smile towards the enthusiastic man. “Thomas has been a wonderful host, enduring bravely through all my complaints.”

“Quite the opposite, I would argue. You have been the most patient and condescending listener of all, Mrs. Caldwell”, Faraday replied, offering his hand towards the other. “Welcome, O’Flanagan. I take you had some trouble with the big city’s weather.”

“Ay, I had some trouble with the weather, but I would not go so far as calling a shite hole such as London a big city”, O’Flanagan retorted, shaking the offered hand.

“Boys, a little more civility would be desired, yes?”

As I tried to calm the nerves in the front hall, there was a new knock. The butler reached once again for the main hall door, welcoming a tall and slim figure, weathered to his soul.

Stephen H. P. Venkmman’s round glasses slid down the bridge of his nose, revealing a small quirk when he pushed up the frame with his finger.

“The skies are falling, I say”, Venkmman stated while handing the soaked overcoat to the steward, barely eyeing the boy at all. “Never seen a day in London when I could see the next step in front of me, there is always water gushing from the sky.”

“Oh, but it’s the big city’s weather, Venkmman” taunted O’Flanagan, making room on the large colonial sofa in the main living room. Raising a glass that was already somehow filled with Scotch, the Irish man let out a scornful smile, and drinking slowly from the golden liquid, O’Flanagan lost himself at the bottom of the glass.

Faraday took no more than a few seconds staring at the man sitting on the couch. Crossing the room and heading to the hall, he patted the good doctor on the shoulder.

“Glad to see that you have decided to come, friend. I have not received any news concerning your whereabouts in the last months, so I assumed tha—“

“I have been engaged in my most recent research, Faraday, I do not have time to spare when it comes to science, as you well know. Being as far as Africa goes, I got… caught up with... uh... work.” Venkmman cleared his throat and paced away from the hall.

Stephen Howard Phillips Venkmman was, above all, a scholar. Graduated and mastered by the University of Oxford in Practical Physics, Venkmman started his academic life teaching and demonstrating the Laws of Nature, to which his interests developed to a more obscure outlook on science and lead him towards studying and researching about Parapsychology and unnatural events. Throughout the last years, Venkmman had been the last one to arrive at our reunions, always apologizing for his delays and never explaining the reasons for such lateness, restraining his narratives to the natural beauties of the uncharted lands he went to in his unknown studies.

Thomas would survey Venkmman’s works in secret, thinking that his own envy and childish quarrel were well hidden under his politeness and high breeding, but a mindful woman is always able to delve into a man’s ego and I can tell you, Faraday nourished some hatred against Venkmman. Theory versus Practice, Word versus Speech, Study versus Experience. I believed that confrontation to be more than natural in the Academy, given that they were both brilliant professors, however the intellectual strife shed through the Oxfordian walls, creating an endless sensation of unease between them.

Physically, Venkmman was a strange man. He had a long pale face, adorned by round golden glasses, with eyes mostly gazing away from the common focus. His lengthy body gave away the lack of commitment to a routine of physical exercises and his shoulders and back slightly arched forwards indicated nights of heavy reading. Overall, Venkmman was aeons away of being a horrifying creature to look at. The man was nothing more than peculiar.

After the guest and the host had traded subtle sparks, I approached O’Flanagan, circulating around the sofa and resting my weight against its backrest.

“What is your guess this time? The Luba tribe, the Mongo tribe, the Tigrayans, the Maghrebis?”, I questioned, nodding towards Venkmman, who was staring out the window, looking distracted by the flow of the rain. O’Flanagan sighed and drank the last of his whiskey.

“To be quite honest, I could not give any less fucks. The man is insane, dealing with savages, barbaric rituals and whatnot. It does not surprise me all the gibberish that comes out of his mouth.”

“Should you be judging the man? Were you not closing deals on armaments and fumes the last time we spoke?” I walked around O’Flanagan, sitting beside him. “You look insane to me, dealing with savages, contributing with barbaric rituals and whatnots. And the gibberish is called ‘science’, you should get used to it.”

“You amuse me, Mrs. Caldwell. You take me for a man that cares. For all I know, those African tribes could be putting my guns up their arses at this exact moment.” O’Flanagan turned to me with half a smile and took my hand on his calloused one, stroking it. “Your snarky comments have been dearly missed, Elizabeth.”

While we kept on with the amenities, there was one last knock on the door for the night. As we could all guess, it was Giácomo Di Monti, the last one of our small group of survivors.

Giácomo was an young Italian stud: tall, strong, built as a marble beam, he was on the top of the most influential boxers at the time, with the unbelievable score of no losses over the five years he had been on the business. Giácomo met my deceased husband first, while taking care of the wounded and arranging transportation for the dead. As a church-raised man, Giácomo went to war with the sole purpose of helping those who needed, secured from the real conflict by the Catholic Church, which kept him alive while he tended for the dying ones. Nevertheless, Di Monti saw as much terrors as any other man, witnessing in firsthand the bloodbath and helping Jonathan stitch and sew living and dead bodies.

Giácomo has always been a scenic man, which explains the constant need of shouting and speaking loudly. Entering Faraday’s living room – or any other room, for that matter - the first thing in sight was his broad shoulders, highlighted by the light-colored suit. Born in Italy, the Italian in Giácomo was mainly concentrated on his facial features, giving him a well-defined bone structure and tanned skin. Besides being strikingly handsome, Giácomo Di Monti was a sweet oaf in the way of dealing with people, at least outside the box ring.

“Were you all waiting for me? I'm here now, we can start with the dancing and the celebrating!”

“Unfortunately, times are not auspicious to dancing and rejoicing, my big friend”, Faraday warned, placing briefly his hand on Di Monti’s back. “If you could all take a seat, I have with me news that will require the attention and the sympathy of the whole room.”

(Continues)

#the mistery of william faraday #nerdcast #nerdcast de rpg #call of cthulhu #part 1 #help me write #horror #terror #cthulhu #lovecraft #lovecraftian #victorian

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