Why I left...

And what I want to see in its place.

Nov 27, 2023

Pushkin Industries staff retreats: 2018, 2019, and 2021

Pushkin Industries started in October of 2018 with four people: me to lead podcast content and production, Heather Fain to lead marketing and guide thinking on our audiobook strategy, Malcolm Gladwell to inspire and create content, and Jacob Weisberg to run the business. The goal, as I understood it, was to build a small, independent production company that specialized in high-end, smart and funny content with a strong point of view. We had deals pending with some of the best writers and thinkers in the country, and we were building it off the back of Revisionist History, one of the most successful podcasts ever up to that point. We had a board of directors who also acted as funders. I know I met at least one of them a few times, but from my perspective they were pretty hands off. They were primarily friends of Malcolm and Jacob, and it seemed like whatever decision making they were doing happened at private dinners and hikes and other inner-circle meetings. I wasn’t part of those meetings and despite being curious about them, I had my hands full trying to staff up this new company, especially since our first Pushkin original show - Broken Record - was to launch in six weeks. We’d been developing that show at Panoply, but in September of 2018, the whole content team (including me) was laid off so we were starting from scratch at this new company. By the end of 2018 I’d hired two full time producers and an engineer, we got Broken Record out the door, and we were off and running.

By the end 2019, our first full year in existence, we’d hired 11 more people and launched three original podcasts, three shows for Luminary, one branded podcast, the audiobook of Malcolm’s Talking to Strangers, plus new seasons of Revisionist History and Broken Record. It was a lot, but it was exciting. Then things really took off.

In 2020 - despite the pandemic - we added four new originals, three branded shows, one partner project, one book, and 18 new hires.

During review time that year I was asked to figure out how to “scale production” and I spent the next many months restructuring the production team and pushing my most experienced creators into management roles to support all the new shows and staff that I couldn’t possibly manage myself. Some of them really thrived in the role (even though none of them asked for it), and some of them struggled. Those struggles bubbled up to me and I found myself in endless problem-solving meetings and moving further and further away from the deep production and storytelling work I loved. Still, I was committed to my team, and I dove head first into improving my management skills. I still felt good about what we were building. We had a solid development team by then and we were considering all kinds of exciting new projects in addition to maintaining the tentpole productions we already had.

My kitchen counter in March of 2021, trying to figure out a sustainable and “scalable” structure for the production team.

In 2021 we added seven new originals, three audiobooks, and two branded projects plus 28 new hires.

We now had a solid infrastructure with six different production departments, an audiobooks team, a marketing team, a development team, a business team, and some incredible support staff including a much-needed HR person. Not all of our shows were hits, but we felt we had a good balance between big successful productions, branded shows, and smaller, riskier projects. We’d definitely hit some production challenges (all shops do) but we’d managed them the best we could, and we were constantly adjusting our processes to be as efficient as possible while also trying to maintain some of the fun. Morale was high. And then came what I’ve come to see as the pivotal moment.

It was late September of 2021. We were about 60 people by then. COVID restrictions were finally tapering off and we decided to hold a company retreat at Mohonk Mountain House - a gorgeous resort in the Shawangunk Mountains near New Paltz, NY. Staff flew in from all around the country to spend a couple days hiking and sharing meals and reflecting on what we’d achieved. Many of us were meeting in person for the first time. It definitely felt extravagant, but we had every reason to celebrate. We had worked incredibly hard to build the company to that point and it felt good to take a few days to acknowledge all that work in this beautiful setting. On our first night I pulled together a slide show that laid out Pushkin’s history - from our first early meetings in Jacob Weisberg’s NY apartment, to the various office spaces we’d inhabited as we grew. The purpose of that presentation, in my view, was to explain our early days to the new hires so we could all be on the same page moving forward. It was like an indoctrination - a passing down of the company lore and culture. Yes - we had grown a lot, but we were still small enough to all know each other and to share a collective vision. To me and many others in that room, it felt like we were just the right size to do that.

The next morning, our business team took the floor to present their vision for the future of the company. And the theme was… GROWTH.

It all came down to one slide. A single chart. And what that slide showed was more, more, more. More podcasts, more books, more staff, and, of course, more profit. To be clear, we all wanted more profit. We all had equity in the company. But I and others thought we’d achieve that profit by focusing on our core properties and building on what we already had (which was a lot!) There was so much more we could do with our current shows: more episodes, live shows, merch, spin-offs, so many ideas using our existing resources. But this slide showed primarily new content, and lots of it.

Hands shot up in the room - questions about how we were going to achieve that kind of growth. Why we were adding so many shows? How we would add that many shows in such a short time frame? How big were we actually going to get?

The people who made that slide saw profit in that projected growth. But for me and others who understand how production works… what we saw is cost. In that moment I felt the first twinge of what was to become full-fledged burn out. I had already done so much hiring to get us to this point and I was already doing so much to support my direct reports and keep the company culture alive. How could I possibly maintain that pace of hiring and training and management for another year or more?

Our business team gamely fielded all the questions and essentially left it as, “This is one vision of the future. It’s not set in stone.” But sure enough, after the retreat, we went into hyper growth mode.

The retreat ended on October 1.

During the November review cycle I fought like hell to get raises for my direct reports who were now consistently managing both people and shows - more than what they signed up for. I got them some extra money - but there was only so much to go around. The message for the upcoming year was to continue making more, but to do it for less. Suddenly, it seemed, the shows we had launched in 2021 were not performing well. Download numbers were down across the board. There wasn’t enough marketing support to go around. The books and branded shows that were supposed to bring in extra money were taking more time and production resources than expected. Morale was flagging.

And still we grew. Some of the shows we added were with well-known names who weren’t really committed to the work of making a podcast but who were promised an “easy” way to expand their reach and make some money, too. We signed on for some client projects that required constant management and tested everyone’s patience. In many cases we were making promises about download numbers that we just couldn’t keep.

I started sitting in on budget meetings where our head of finance would show us carefully-constructed spreadsheets that demonstrated how we would need to shave costs down in order to be profitable. We would need to make shows even faster and with even fewer resources. Could we produce twice as many episodes in a year? Could we create bonus content to offer our Pushkin+ subscribers? Did we really need an editor on that show? Could we use library music instead of original composition? Could producers work across multiple productions at the same time?

I felt equally responsible for meeting the demands of the finance team and also keeping the production team happy and motivated. It was an impossible job.

In 2022 we were on our way to adding 11 new original podcasts, two branded shows, and four books in addition to the 14 shows we were already producing.1 Plus we hired 17 more staff. By July, I was exhausted. I was getting no joy from the work and I saw no path for improvement. I asked to take a 6-week leave of absence. I needed some time to rest and to think. That time was granted and I returned in August with a renewed drive to continue helping make the company what I truly believed it could be. Then a few things happened.

First, Pushkin acquired Transmitter Media along with their 12 staff and multiple shows. Their CEO, Gretta Cohn, and I were aligned about how things should be run and I knew she’d bring great energy to the company. Jacob Weisberg and I had already discussed that Gretta would take over my job running production and I would become Head of Content - though what that actually meant remained unclear. I asked for some help figuring out my new role. I was told to wait - that things would become clear in time. Meanwhile I became the default showrunner on two very problematic shows. By November, I was back to being miserable. I put in my notice on December 6 - I’d be leaving at the end of the year.

My stated reason for leaving was that I wanted to get back to more creative production. And that was true. But also I felt that the vision for the company we started out with was gone. We were no longer the small, “creator first” production house that focused on smart, funny, content with a clear point of view. I no longer had a decision-making voice in the company - and I now question whether I ever had. In the early days, when it was just four, then 10, then 30, and even 50 people in the room, I felt like I had a say. But as we continued to grow, the decision making seemed to shift to some other room somewhere… a place where I was not invited. It was a place where promises were made and money changed hands and where, I’m willing to bet, no one knew anything about how shows actually get made.

There are about a million articles written about what happens when a company passes the 50-person mark. And Pushkin is no exception. But there’s another level to it - and in it is my answer to the question “What happened to Podcasting?”

People ask me this question all the time. And depending on my mood and whom I’m talking to I’ll say it was greed or hubris or trying to grow too fast or hiring hosts who aren’t truly committed to doing the work of audio storytelling. And yes the advertising market is fidgety and the economy is always doing something and long-form narrative is time consuming and expensive… All true. But the bottom line is this:

The people who are ultimately making the decisions are not the people who know how to make shows. And if we’re going to “fix” our industry? That needs to change.

As an aside, there are people who know how to make podcasts who built podcast companies. And they have made some truly great content. And in a universe where growth and profit for a handful of private investors is not the ultimate goal, more of them may have stuck around. But that is not the universe we’re currently living in.

I’m not one to cast blame. Our industry was built on collegiality and kindness and I intend to keep it that way. But I can’t help but wonder what might happen if instead of growth, we focus on sustainability. And if instead of the money (and therefore decision-making power) being in the hands of a wealthy few who don’t understand how the sausage gets made, the money is in the hands of the sausage makers.

To that end, I’ve spent the last few months learning about cooperative ownership.

(Did you know The Associated Press is a cooperative?)

I’m focusing on a cooperative idea for the Entrepreneurial Journalism Creators Program that I’m in until mid-January. And I just started a free online course that walks you through the steps of building a cooperatively-owned business. Lesson number one: a cooperative is an ownership structure, not a business plan. You need to have BOTH to run a successful business. And the business of podcasting is hard. There are only so many ways to make money: advertising, membership/subscription, and sponsorship/branded content. And we are in a down market to be sure. But that will change.

According to the 2023 Infinite Dial Report from Edison Research, listenership is up and is expected to continue to grow over time.
And according to the IAB’s 2023 Podcast Advertising Revenue Report, advertising dollars are projected to continue rising as well.

And here’s one more bit of good news. Storytelling is ancient. And it isn’t going anywhere.

So here’s here’s how I envision this happening.

Creators should organize into a series of cooperatively owned ventures. Some have already done this - notably Defector, Maximum Fun, and 404 Media. There are others. But there are so many more opportunities to do this. Everyone who has been laid off recently can reorganize into cooperative groups. They can create governing bodies for themselves and decide for themselves what work to take. They can pool their resources and come up with a set of best practices. They can use their experience to decide how much a project will cost and how long it will take. They can (and will have to) find appropriate funders and clearly and accurately explain what those funders will get in return. They can essentially keep doing what they’ve been doing, but they will be the ones to make the decisions, which can include setting goals of sustainable employment, not impossible growth.

In my dream scenario, every person who’s been laid off recently or had their contract work dry up will sign on for this new vision, so anyone who wants to make a podcast (individuals and corporations alike) will have no choice but go to a cooperative to get their show made. Likewise, all of the shows that have been canceled will rebuild in this new model - bringing their existing audiences with them. And then, people who still have jobs will get tired of business as usual. They’ll leave by choice and bring their shows with them - choosing instead to make their shows within a cooperative ownership structure.

Ultimately I want nothing short of a revolution. I want to take all media and put its control in the hands of the writers and producers and editors and hosts and engineers and composers and marketers and publicists. I want the creators to control the finances and the timelines. I want the creators to benefit when something they make becomes a hit, and I want them to live sustainably when something they make performs just OK. Audio storytelling is not and will never be “easy”. It takes a whole lot of hard work to make a good show. Then it takes as much if not more hard work to get that show noticed and heard. And then it’s even more work to keep the show going and keep it fresh and innovative and interesting for both listeners and creators. But I believe the creators should benefit from that hard work.

That’s my vision. Who’s with me?

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