horror podcasting

Earbuds, Imagination and Immersion: Looking Forward to New Kinds of Terror in New Kinds of Horror Thumbnail

Earbuds, Imagination and Immersion: Looking Forward to New Kinds of Terror in New Kinds of Horror

Posted by Danielle Hancock on May 13, 2015 in Uncategorized tagged with , , , , , ,

There is one last thing that I’d like to say about horror podcasting. Horror-podcasts – those short, creepy little audio-narratives that engulf most of my free time - are often described along the lines of “movies for your ears”. I disagree. I think that horror podcasting potentializes a very different horror experience to cinematic forms. Have you ever wondered, after a scary film, if you’re as safe in your home as you thought? Have you ever flicked on all the lights, peered through the window, checked the cupboards, just to make sure? In lone horror listening, that uncertainty

Horror Podcasting and Zombie Radio – A Special Kind of Creepy Thumbnail

Horror Podcasting and Zombie Radio – A Special Kind of Creepy

Posted by Danielle Hancock on April 30, 2015 in Blog tagged with , , , , , , , ,

Radio is the ghost-trace behind every iTune. If video killed the radio (star), iPod was born of its remnants - taking the best and leaving the rest. iPod, that anti domestic, anti-connective, personalised sound-bubble machine, jettisoned all that made radio both homely and, (as the homely often is), cloying, intrusive, and restrictive. iPod gave not only mobility but freedom from advert breaks (or at least the option to fast-forward), time schedules, crappy songs, DJ waffle, knob-twiddling and crackling reception. We moved on from radio, our dead friend. So beneath our streamlined podcasts

Horror Podcasting: Cyber Folktales at the Digital Campfire Thumbnail

Horror Podcasting: Cyber Folktales at the Digital Campfire

Posted by Danielle Hancock on April 09, 2015 in Blog, Danielle Hancock tagged with , , , , ,

This is a blogpost about precisely what it cannot provide - a sense of sound, tone and rhythm; a lone voice to be shared with a group. So, for a moment, try to forget the page.   And listen with me.   Chords are struck on a banjo, a low voice tells a homespun tale, short but enthralling in its horror and simplicity; they assure us that this story is absolutely, one-hundred percent true, that it really happened to the teller, or his friend, or his friend’s friend; at the story’s close, those banjo notes return, alongside the invitation to tell your own creepy story, to listeners u