Levitt’s studio of tapestry and cushions is in
Toronto (Shutterstock)Today, Levitt is rerecording the opening line of a new sleep meditation, which is called “Gently Back to
Sleep”. The Calm founders rarely comment on Levitt’s content, but one of them, digital entrepreneur
Michael Acton Smith, has requested that she soften the first line. It is, “Hi, this is Tamara.” Levitt’s voice
has undergone a kind of pleasant erosion in the 4 1/2 years she’s been recording for Calm, every remaining
edge sanded down. Recently I noticed that the session I listen to every night had been swapped with a new,
silkier recording. Levitt used to present her meditations “more announcer-like”, she says. Now she’s “a
little bit more relaxed”. She’s more intimate.
Levitt disappears behind the screen. Sunshine puts on some spacey music. Levitt tries the line – “Hi, This is
Tamara” – and her Calm voice crackles pleasantly in the editing bay. Then she coughs and slices back in
with her real voice: “See, it becomes sexy if it’s too soft. Let me try it again.”
After recording the line five or six times, Spencer plays the clips back to her, instantly stitching each option
into the full recording, and Levitt chooses the one she likes best. She not only writes and records the
meditations but oversees the editing, too. Later she will deliver precise instructions for how long each pause
ought to be between each line – eight seconds, or 16, or one minute, 50 seconds. As I listen to her, dictating
the editing of the meditation from behind the screen, it strikes me that she is among the most valuable
content creators on Earth. Imagine if much of Netflix content was conceived, written, performed and edited
by the same person.
For all the talk of the podcast revolution, its forms are basically recognisable. Vox’s The Weeds is a youthful,
progressive spin on panels like The McLaughlin Group. The Joe Rogan Experience draws from the sprawling
programmes of AM radio, one part Imus in the Morning, one part Coast to Coast AM. And comedy podcasts
are a rollicking extension of late-night talk shows.
But mindfulness apps represent something that feels totally remote. Listening to them can seem, at first,
like padding around a science-fiction film, absorbing ambient noises while forging companionship with a
kind of audio gynoid. In addition to Levitt’s meditation recordings, Calm offers a whole range of relaxation-
adjacent audio experiences: audio tracks adapted from Bob Ross’s The Joy of Painting, recordings by ASMR
YouTubers, the sounds of distant owls and strong winds recorded in the wilds of Northern California, and
bedtime stories for grown-ups narrated by people like Matthew McConaughey, who is a natural. “Let your
mind drift with me for just a minute,” McConaughey begins. “Let’s ask the question: how often do we
ponder the depth of the present moment?”
There is a choose-your-own-relaxation feeling to Calm. Most meditation content is evergreen, so the app
can invest in customisation, drawing the listener into the process. A user can choose her session’s theme,
length (options range from about a minute to about an hour) and signature nature sound. “I’m the guy who