Why one Florida city wants to build a two-mile tunnel to the beach

Local leaders are in talks with Elon Musk’s The Boring Company to build a two-mile tunnel underground from downtown to the beach and offer rides for between $5-8. Miami also appears to be considering using Musk’s company to dig a tunnel and divert car traffic from crowded surface streets. Mayor Francis Suarez said last month that Musk had told him a local project, previously priced at $1 billion, could be done for closer to $30 million, and finished in six months.Then earlier this month he reported having a productive meeting with The Boring Company regarding “groundbreaking improvements” to transportation. Suarez has spoken of building a “signature project” for the world with the Boring Company. Projects could be done for about 1% of typical tunneling costs, according to estimates leaders say they’ve received from Musk’s Boring Company.Florida has only two tunnel projects in the whole state, but Musk appears to have convinced state leaders to embrace them. Tunnels are generally considered an infrastructure choice of last resort, according to Brian Gettinger, who leads tunneling at the infrastructure company Freese and Nichols.”You see them where nothing else works because they’re generally more expensive,” Gettinger said. Tunneling technology has progressed significantly in the last generation, he said. Pressure is applied at the face of the new tunnel, preventing water and earth from flooding the excavation site. This has made tunneling viable in more places, according to Gettinger.But Florida’s dry land — and the lack thereof — brings unique challenges for tunnel builders.Florida’s limestone can make it harder to optimize a tunneling machine because there are natural holes in it, Gettinger said. Tunnel builders prefer when rock is solid, he said. It’s easy to customize a machine for consistent conditions, like solid rock or soil. Climate change also adds risk for tunnels, due to sea levels rising and tunnels potentially flooding. In Mayalsia, Gettinger said, tunnels have been specifically designed to manage flooding. Florida has high levels of groundwater and gets more rainfall than most states. Some of Florida’s limestone include underground aquifers, which need to be protected given potential impacts on groundwater, according to Greg Raines, global tunnel practice leader at Stantec. Sinkholes and settlement will also need to be controlled for in Florida, Raines said.These kinds of complications could impact tunneling costs. Florida’s unique challenges would make it very difficult to estimate tunneling costs, Raines said. The Port of Miami tunnels, which is nearly a mile, cost $1.1 billion and took four years to build. Tunneling costs worldwide have ranged from $175 million per mile to $3.5 billion per mile, Raines said. The Florida mayors declined to say if they would insist on any provisions in a contract related to cost overruns. The Boring Company did not respond to requests for comment for this story.But the risks haven’t deterred Florida’s leaders, who see additional places tunnels might help.The Boring Company, which has yet to open a public project, will still have to prove it can deliver on the huge price drop. Musk has led breakthroughs at Tesla and SpaceX, but he’s also made a habit of missing deadlines and falling short of his projections.Florida leaders are excited, and point to Musk’s successes. They aren’t expressing worry that the Boring Company could struggle with some of the unique challenges of tunneling in Florida. “I see this as a revolutionary opportunity to rethink transportation in South Florida and other regions around the country,” Fort Lauderdale Mayor Dean Trantalis told CNN Business.The mayor declined to reveal if the government would subsidize tickets, akin to public transportation, or if operating revenue would go to the government, or the Boring Company. A spokesperson said that discussions so far are preliminary.Trantalis said that growing train traffic in his city risks worsening vehicle and ship traffic as they compete for space. He had wanted to build a tunnel for trains under a stretch of the city, but had been told by state officials that it was too expensive. But then Trantalis said he saw a recent Twitter exchange between Musk and Miami Mayor Francis Suarez, which inspired him to reach out to the Boring Company.The train tunnel would need to be 24 feet in diameter, twice the size of The Boring Company’s existing tunnels. The wider a tunnel is, the more it costs to dig. Trantalis said he expects they’ll start on a simpler project, the two-mile tunnel to the beach. Fort Lauderdale and the Boring Company are currently studying the local geology to determine what path to take, Trantalis said. A contract hasn’t been signed yet, he said.Trantalis said meeting the Boring Company has opened the city’s eyes to other opportunities, like using a tunnel network to alleviate on-street traffic.The Boring Company offers a system it calls Loop, in which people can ride in Teslas around a city in underground tunnels. Loop has also drawn criticism from transportation planners, who say it makes inefficient use of tunnels. The Boring Company’s first Loop system in Las Vegas is expected to open this summer.Trantalis said the initial tunnel to the beach could carry hundreds of people per day. For comparison, that would mean it carries fewer riders than about half of Broward County Transit’s bus lines, which operate in Fort Lauderdale.Gettinger, one of the tunneling experts, believes tunnels in US cities will become increasingly common as populations in big cities grow. The more expensive land is, the more it makes sense to utilize every square foot, whether for a train tunnel, car tunnel or sewage tunnel, he said. No matter what comes next, Musk may not be using the tunnels much himself to visit Florida’s beaches. He’s said he only enjoys going to the beach for a few days. “The idea of like lying on a beach as my main thing just sounds like the worst, that sounds horrible to me,” he said in a 2013 interview. “I’d be super duper bored.”

Israel’s COVID-19 Vaccination Rollout Is Slowing at a Critical Moment. That’s a Warning for the Rest of Us

Now that nearly 60% of Israel’s roughly 9 million residents have gotten at least one shot of a COVID-19 vaccine, the New Jersey-sized Middle Eastern country is offering the rest of the world an enviable glimpse of a future where most people are inoculated against the coronavirus. While it’s still too early to tell the full extent to which vaccination is having an effect there, Israel’s rate of virus-related deaths has dropped faster than global figures since it started vaccinating (see chart below and methodology at bottom). Meanwhile, the latest real-world evidence collected in Israel suggests the Pfizer-BioNTech vaccine—the country’s most commonly administered shot—is preventing nearly 99% of deaths from COVID-19, while also curbing viral spread.

Israel’s mass vaccination efforts got off to an impressive start, with more than 10% of the population receiving their first dose fewer than two weeks into the national vaccination campaign. By comparison, it took the U.S. 57 days to reach the same mark, the U.K. 45 days, and the European Union still hasn’t matched it. Today, Israel is the worldwide leader in vaccinations per capita, at 108 doses administered for every 100 people, per the New York Times (the Pfizer vaccine requires two doses). But Israel’s breakneck rollout is beginning to slow, according to data from the Israeli Ministry of Health. While the country was administering first doses to as much as 1.5% of its population every day in early January, it’s now distributing fewer than 0.2% of initial doses daily.

That’s a problem, as Israel remains short of the 70% mark that public health experts say is the minimum required level for mass vaccination to turn the tide against the pandemic in a given country.

A closer look at the data reveals that not everyone in Israel has benefited equally from the vaccine rollout. Only 67% of Arab-Israelis and 70% of Israeli Haredi Jews (a group sometimes referred to as “ultra-Orthodox” Jews) over 16 were vaccinated or had recovered from COVID-19 as of March 4, compared to 90% of the rest of the population, according to data shared by Weizmann Institute computational biologist Eran Segal. However, Israel has recently had success targeting older—and thus more vulnerable—members of those communities. By March 4, 84% of Arab-Israelis and about 80% of Haredi Israelis over 50 were vaccinated, up from 68% and 72% respectively on Feb. 22, according to Segal’s data. Aside from being the right thing to do on moral grounds, better vaccinating these groups could push Israel over the critical nationwide 70% mark. To achieve that goal, Israeli public health officials have been working to address two major problems: vaccine hesitancy among these and other groups, and a failure to reach some residents who live in remote areas with less access to vaccination facilities and trustworthy information. Its efforts could be instructive for the U.S., which is also struggling with comparatively lower vaccination rates among some demographic groups, and for similar reasons. The Centers for Disease Control and Prevention only has race and ethnicity data for just over half of the vaccinations administered in the U.S. as of March 15, but of those shots, nearly two thirds have gone to white Americans, while less than 10% have gone to Hispanic or Black Americans, who make up 18.5% and 13.4% of the U.S. population, respectively.

In Israel, some groups are more vaccine hesitant or skeptical than others. A January survey from the Social Policy Institute at Washington University in St. Louis found that 51% of yet-unvaccinated Arab-Israelis and 42% of Israeli Haredi Jews weren’t planning to get the shot, for instance, compared to just 34% of those who identified as either secular, cultural, or Reform Jews. There’s a similar phenomenon occurring in the U.S., where 42% of Republicans, 35% of rural residents and 35% of Black Americans said in December that they probably or definitely will not get the vaccine, compared to just 27% of the general public, per the Kaiser Family Foundation. Only 29% of Israelis overall say they trust the government, while 25% of Arab-Israelis say the same, according to the 2020 Israeli Democracy Index. Some Arab-Israelis have been angered by discrimination and hostility towards their community, as well as by Israel’s treatment of the Palestinian territories like the West Bank and Gaza, where vaccinations have barely begun. Some Haredi Israelis, meanwhile, feel their culture and belief system is incompatible with what they view as Israel’s secular mainstream society, and many trust religious leaders over secular authorities. During the COVID-19 outbreak, Haredi groups have butted heads with government officials over lockdowns and restrictions; some have gathered for holidays and funerals despite restrictions against large groups. In an August poll, more than half of Israeli Haredim said their community’s trust in the current government was shaken amid the pandemic. All of this is relevant to the vaccine rollout, experts say, because people who distrust the government for any reason may be less likely to listen when it pushes a vaccine. “Sometimes, politics really goes against the interest of public health,” says Hadas Ziv, head of projects and ethics for medical nonprofit Physicians for Human Rights Israel. Arab-Israelis, Haredi Israelis and other Israelis have also been exposed to anti-vaccination messaging and misinformation on social media platforms like WhatsApp and via word of mouth. Some of the U.S. groups expressing relatively high vaccine hesitancy are similarly distrustful of the government—just 9% of Black Americans told Pew in 2019 that they trust Washington all or most of the time, compared to 17% of white Americans, for instance. Former U.S. President Donald Trump’s politicization of the virus and vaccine approval sowed further skepticism, experts say—after Trump promised a vaccine by last year’s Election Day, about 62% of Americans told Kaiser that they were worried a shot would be green-lit for political reasons before it was proven safe and effective. Moreover, inadequate access to care and longstanding mistreatment by medical institutions has contributed to distrust of healthcare providers among Black Americans and other non-white groups. Misinformation about COVID-19 vaccines, meanwhile, runs rampant on American social media networks, as it does in Israeli online communities. While vaccine hesitancy has been dropping in recent weeks, according to a TIME/Harris Poll conducted earlier this month, it remains a major issue for U.S. health officials.

To help solve the credibility issue, Israeli public health officials have turned to trusted voices in communities with low uptake. This approach “turns the gaze of the community to the experts to the local expert—and then the local expert does the persuasion,” says Saad Omer, director of the Yale Institute for Global Health. In December, Aida Touma-Sliman, an Arab-Israeli member of Israel’s national legislature, tweeted a picture of herself being vaccinated to encourage other Arab-Israelis to do the same. “As someone who is very well known as part of the opposition, saying that in this situation, do not follow your mistrust of the government, but follow the best interest of your health—it sounds more like something to believe, than coming from Netanyahu: that despite my opposition, I am telling you, you should do it,” she says, referencing Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu. Yitzchak Zilberstein, a prominent ultra-Orthodox rabbi, shared a similar message with his community in December. “The risk of the vaccine is minimal compared to the many risks of the corona epidemic,” he wrote. Prominent Americans from Michelle Obama to Dolly Parton have similarly shared photos of themselves getting the vaccine in recent days. Access is also emerging as an increasingly vital issue in Israel. Many of the country’s 9 million people live in urban centers, like Jerusalem and Tel Aviv; it’s been relatively easy for people there to walk into a vaccination site and get the jab. However, it’s been more challenging for the country to vaccinate people in historically underserved areas and communities, which are often largely Arab. “You can’t have places to get it in every tiny village,” says Orna Baron-Epel, a professor of health promotion at the University of Haifa. Similar patterns are playing out in the U.S., where access is suppressing vaccination rates in many predominantly Black neighborhoods, for instance. Israel has recently been working to make the vaccine easier to get across the country. Aiman Saif, a former government official who’s been tapped to lead Israel’s COVID-19 response among Arab groups, told Jewish-American news outlet The Forward in February that Israel boosted the number of vaccination locations in Arab-majority areas from five or six to over 50, while also adding 30 buses as mobile vaccination stations. Leaders in Israeli Orthodox communities have organized vaccination drives and seminars at religious schools and other locations to boost uptake as well. In the U.S., health systems and local governments have deployed mobile vaccination clinics in rural areas and high density, low-income areas, and the Biden Administration has spearheaded efforts to distribute vaccines at community health centers serving low-income and minority patients.

Although Israel has shown that a lot can be done to reduce vaccine hesitancy and improve access, public health outreach to each of these groups must make up for decades of lost trust. While Israel has been making inroads in vaccinating some of the most vulnerable members of underserved groups, critics say leaders there were too slow to address these often predictable problems. Baron-Epel, for one, fears the government failed to invest enough resources in Arab communities earlier on, in particular. “The ideas are good, what they’re doing is good,” she says. “But it’s not enough, you know, and not fast enough.” The key lesson from Israel for the U.S. and other countries, then, may be a challenging one: hesitancy and access need to be addressed well before they become stumbling blocks late in the vaccine rollout. Methodology note: The number of COVID-19 deaths in Israel peaked on Jan. 25 at 0.74 fatalities per 100,000 residents, compared to a global peak of 0.18 one day later, according to data from the Johns Hopkins Center for Systems Science and Engineering. While Israel’s peak value was much higher than the global average, its death rate has declined at a much steeper rate since the peak, though it’s too soon to know to what degree this can be attributed to vaccinations. For the sake of comparison, the first chart above presents both Israeli and global deaths as a percentage of the peak value—what’s called “normalizing” the data—so they can be easily compared. —With reporting by Chris Wilson

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In ‘Genius: Aretha,’ Respecting the Mind, Not Just the Soul

When she started preparing for the National Geographic series “Genius: Aretha,” the showrunner Suzan-Lori Parks did what one often does before tackling a biographical project: She crammed. Her approach was a little unusual, though.“I spent months and months reading about what she said, and also noting what she didn’t say,” Parks said of the singer, songwriter and activist Aretha Franklin in a video conversation last month. “Jazz musicians will remind us that the music isn’t just the notes, it’s the stuff between the notes, the silences.”And there were plenty of both during Franklin’s extraordinary life — the focus of the third season of “Genius,” which premieres on March 21 with the British actress and singer Cynthia Erivo in the title role. For Parks, that presented both an opportunity and a challenge: Franklin tried hard to control her public persona, which didn’t seem to be a huge priority for the subjects of the two previous seasons of “Genius,” Albert Einstein and Pablo Picasso, whose sometimes less-than-stellar behavior might have even enhanced their mystique.But for Franklin, a Black woman who rose to superstardom amid the Civil Rights conflagrations of the 1960s, the stakes were different.“I think she very much wanted to be seen in a certain way,” said Parks. “As Black American people, we are very aware of our marketability, and as Black American artists, we are maybe even more aware of our marketability.”“My challenge,” she added, “was: ‘How do I tell the truth about this Black American woman who is a brilliant icon? And how do I tell the truth and be respectful?’”There was certainly a wealth of material, given Franklin’s decades in the spotlight as one of the world’s most famous singers. Franklin made her first album at 14, signed with Columbia Records at 18 and went on to record and perform well into her 70s, earning 18 competitive Grammies, a National Medal of Arts and the Presidential Medal of Freedom. By the time she died in 2018, at age 76, she had sold tens of millions records, scored 20 No. 1 R&B hits and was the first woman inducted into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame.Erivo, who won a Tony, Grammy and Daytime Emmy for her role in the musical version of “The Color Purple,” was tasked not only with portraying the woman whose undisputed nickname was “the Queen of Soul” but also with singing like her — Erivo performed the vocals for Franklin’s tracks. She tried to look at the bigger picture.Erivo, an accomplished singer and songwriter, worked with a vocal coach to capture Franklin’s essence in the studio and onstage. Richard DuCree/National Geographic“I was more interested in telling the story as truthfully as I possibly could, as opposed to mimicking,” Erivo said in a video call last month — though her interpretations are eerily spot on, too.“I would want to know: ‘Where are we right now? What is this coming out of or what are we going into? What is the feeling here?’” she added. Erivo and a vocal coach would begin by trying to zoom in on the finer details of Franklin’s technical virtuosity and her subtle emotional inflections.“Then you let it go,” Erivo continued. “No one wants to watch someone singing analytically. No one wants to watch someone doing the notes. You learn them, you understand them, and then you let that go so that there’s a freedom for it to just move through you.”For Parks, zeroing in on truth in a series called “Genius” began with reflections on the meaning of the word and what it implies. She has, herself, been given that label, having received a MacArthur Fellowship — known as the “genius award” — for her playwriting. She was the first Black woman to win the Pulitzer Prize for drama, for “Topdog/Underdog,” and she recently penned the screenplay for the film “The United States vs. Billie Holiday.”Doing the series was an opportunity, she said, “to talk about Aretha Franklin’s genius, specifically, and what Black female genius might look like.” One important aspect was Franklin’s ability to build bridges, particularly during the Civil Rights era, often alongside Martin Luther King Jr., played by Ethan Henry. (King is the subject of the next season of “Genius.”)Another, which Parks contended was among Franklin’s most distinctive achievements, was the way she “alchemized her pain into sonic gold.”Parks said she drew from “mountains of research” to depict the biographical elements for that alchemy, toggling between Franklin’s adult life and her adolescent past. Central to the story is Franklin’s father, the Rev. C.L. Franklin (Courtney B. Vance), with whom the young Aretha (played by Shaian Jordan) had a close but complex relationship. The leader of the New Bethel Baptist Church in Detroit, C.L. was a celebrity in his own right and segued smoothly from indulging in earthly delights on Saturdays to preaching heavenly sermons on Sundays.Courtney B. Vance plays Franklin’s father, the Rev. C.L. Franklin, a man of enormous charisma and many contradictions.Richard DuCree/National GeographicAretha was 6 when her mother, a gospel singer and pianist, left C.L. because of his infidelities. (She died four years later.) Left in charge, C.L. cultivated his daughter’s talent and began taking her on rowdy gospel tours from age 12. The reverend could be domineering, but he loved his daughter, whom he affectionately called Little Re, and was supportive; in the series, he surrounds her with enviable role models, including the singer Dinah Washington and the jazz pianist Art Tatum.Still, life as a charismatic preacher’s daughter on the road could be fraught. Little Re had two of her four sons by the time she was 15.“I think I would be a mess if I had a child whilst doing all the things I’m doing right now,” said Erivo. “I don’t know how she did that, because I don’t believe she was ever half-doing anything.”The series doesn’t shy from less savory details of Franklin’s biography, including difficult relationships and the impact her ambitions sometimes had on loved ones. Her first husband and early manager, Ted White (Malcolm Barrett), is portrayed as petty, incompetent and physically abusive. Her sister Carolyn (Rebecca Naomi Jones), another gifted songwriter and performer, gets into a bitter dispute with Aretha after Aretha snatches away some promising material.Getting to the bottom of Franklin’s life has often proved difficult. She left so much out of her autobiography, “From These Roots,” that a frustrated David Ritz, who had been hired to help write it, went on to pen the much more detailed and revealing biography “Respect.” She condemned it as “a very trashy book.” A similarly contentious episode involving a Time cover story is enacted in the show: When the article is published, she feels betrayed by both the journalist and his sources — including her own husband.Aretha Franklin in 2015 at the New Bethel Baptist Church in Detroit, singing at a memorial service for her father and brother Cecil, who were ministers there.Elizabeth Conley/Detroit News, via Associated PressAttempts to put Franklin onscreen have been knotty, as well. Franklin sued multiple times to block the release of the Sydney Pollack documentary “Amazing Grace,” which chronicled the recording of her electrifying double-platinum 1972 gospel album of the same name before a live audience at a Baptist church in Los Angeles. (Asked after its wide theatrical release in 2019 why he thought Aretha disliked the film, Chuck Rainey, the bassist on “Amazing Grace,” said he believed the film was too focused on style and the celebrities in the audience, including her father and the singer Clara Ward. “It was like she was wallpaper,” he said.)A public and continuing feud among Franklin’s heirs has continued to muddy the waters since her death. Earlier this year, her son Kecalf Franklin said on Instagram that “Genius” did not have the family’s support. (He has similarly attacked MGM for its long-delayed biopic, “Respect,” scheduled for August, for which Aretha handpicked Jennifer Hudson to star.)However, Brian Grazer, an executive producer of “Genius,” said that before filming started, the production received the endorsement of Aretha Franklin’s estate through its trustee at the time, Sabrina Owens, the singer’s niece. “We had the estate 100 percent on board, and the trustee to the estate granted us this,” he said. (Owens, who resigned as trustee last year, referred queries to the current lawyer for the estate, who did not reply to multiple requests for comment.)Through it all, however, there is the music, which is the central, and perhaps most memorable element of the series — appropriately, given Franklin’s supersized influence on modern music.“She was able to redeploy the melisma by giving us these testimonies about Black womanhood, about Black humanity within the context of the soul-music genre,” said Daphne A. Brooks, the author of “Liner Notes for the Revolution: The Intellectual Life of Black Feminist Sound” and a professor of African-American studies at Yale. “It transformed the pop-music landscape: We now have a kind of standard form of pop singing that comes from Aretha Franklin.”As such, many of the most illuminating scenes in “Genius” deal not with Franklin’s private life but with the way the often shy, soft-spoken musician shaped her own work.Aretha Franklin’s drive sometimes created tension with loved ones, including her sister Carolyn (played by Rebecca Naomi Jones, left, with Erivo, Patrice Covington and Erika Jerry).Richard DuCree/National Geographic“When you start getting to know what it takes to make a hit song, to be in a recording studio, to work with musicians who, in the case of Muscle Shoals, are all white men in 1967 — that is a huge, brilliant triumph for her,” Parks said.The full scale of Franklin’s contributions to her own music has long been obscured. She was a gifted songwriter and a superb pianist. In the studio, she was a taskmaster, pushing herself and her collaborators until they captured the exact sound she heard in her head — not easy for a Black female musician of her time. In the series, we see her have to ask to be credited as a producer on her biggest-selling album, “Amazing Grace,” the making of which is given an entire episode.“I knew right when I started this project that that was going to be the place where the magic happened,” Parks said. “The story of ‘Amazing Grace’ revolves around something that is, again, not said. Watching the documentary, which is beautiful, I wanted to know the story behind it.”“Amazing Grace” is pure gospel, which was Franklin’s emotional and spiritual anchor. But the show also demonstrates her uncommon fluency in most dominant genres of her time, including jazz, blues, Tin Pan Alley, funk and pop — “Aretha is Black, female, American,” Parks said, laughing. In her music, as in her activism, Franklin tried to reach as many people as possible. It clearly worked.“This is the stuff, in my opinion, of Black female genius,” Parks said. “She brought people together for the greater good.”

THE SCOOP | Yannick Nézet-Séguin Breaks Silence On Met Opera’s Treatment Of Musicians

After nearly a year of silence regarding the Metropolitan Opera’s musicians being furloughed without pay, music director Yannick Nézet-Séguin has officially weighed in.In a letter obtained by the New York Times, Nézet-Séguin stated the Met should work towards a deal with musicians or the risk of losing them.According to the Met Orchestra committee, 10 out of 97 musicians have formally left the orchestra since the Met stopped paying them.“Of course, I understand this is a complex situation,” Nézet-Séguin wrote in the letter, “but as the public face of the Met on a musical level, I am finding it increasingly hard to justify what has happened.”“Protecting the long-term future of the Met is inextricably linked with retaining these musicians, and with respecting their livelihoods, their income and their well-being,” Nézet-Séguin added.“The orchestra and chorus are our crown jewels, and they must be protected. Their talent is the Met. The artists of the Met are the institution.”The letter was sent to Peter Gelb, the Met’s general manager, members of the negotiating committees representing the chorus and orchestra, and Met Opera’s board of directors.The Met replied to the letter stating, “We share Yannick’s frustration over the lengthy closure and the impact it has had on our employees.”This past week, the Met orchestra musicians accepted $1,543 a week on a temporary basis. It made a similar deal with the Met chorus just over a month ago. This marked the first time they have been paid since April 2020.Met Opera musicians were among the last professional organizations to reach a deal to compensate musicians financially amid the pandemic. Despite being furloughed without pay, Met artists were kept on contract, which was viewed as a mandatory unpaid leave rather than layoffs by the American Guild of Musical Artists, which represents the chorus and singers.#LUDWIGVANGet the daily arts news straight to your inbox.Sign up for the Ludwig van Daily — classical music and opera in five minutes or less HERE. Michael Vincent is the Editor-in-chief Ludwig Van and CEO of Museland Media. He publishes regularly and writes occasionally. A specialist in digital media for over 15 years, he has worked as a senior editor and is a former freelance classical music critic for the Toronto Star. Michael holds a Doctorate in Music from the University of Toronto.Latest posts by Michael Vincent (see all) Michael Vincent is the Editor-in-chief Ludwig Van and CEO of Museland Media. He publishes regularly and writes occasionally. A specialist in digital media for over 15 years, he has worked as a senior editor and is a former freelance classical music critic for the Toronto Star. Michael holds a Doctorate in Music from the University of Toronto.Latest posts by Michael Vincent (see all)