The Guardian (USA)

Alexa, who are you? New book identifies Amazon’s secret voiceover artist

- Oliver Milman in New York

The voice of Alexa, the virtual assistant developed by Amazon, is provided by Nina Rolle, a Coloradoba­sed voiceover artist, according to a new book. Amazon has never revealed who provides the default female voice that responds to commands and questions given to Alexa, but the author Brad Stone said he identified the voice as Rolle’s after “canvasing the profession­al voiceover community” for his new book, Amazon Unbound: Jeff Bezos and the Invention of a Global Empire.

Rolle, who is based in Boulder, has conducted voiceover work for clients including Honda, Jenny Craig and Chase bank. According to Stone’s book, she was selected after Amazon spent months assessing various candidates, with the final choice signed off by Jeff Bezos, the company’s founder.

Stone writes that Rolle said she was unable to talk about the role when he contacted her in February.

Amazon has sold more than 100m devices that carry Alexa’s voice since it first incorporat­ed it into the Amazon Echo device in 2014. The voice has been alluded to in various adverts and comedy sketches ever since.

According to Stone, Bezos initially wanted dozens of different voices to emanate from the device, each for a different task. This was deemed impractica­l, so Amazon engineers set about finding the right voice that would allow it to compete with Google and Apple in the virtual assistant market.

This process wasn’t without hitches – the book details how Bezos questioned whether developers could gather enough data to successful­ly launch a well-rounded virtual assistant.

A series of clandestin­e tests were then conducted in rented apartments and houses in Boston, Seattle and other cities, according to Stone. An army of staffers worked to capture voices and speech patterns in an array of different conditions. This sometimes led to unexpected problems.

“The constant flood of random people into homes and apartments repeatedly provoked suspicious neighbors to call the police,” Stone writes, in an extract published by Wired.

“In one instance, a resident of a Boston condo complex suspected a drug-dealing or prostituti­on ring was next door and called the cops, who asked to enter the apartment. The nervous staff gave them an elusive explanatio­n and a tour and afterward hastily shut down the site. Occasional­ly, temp workers would show up, consider the bizarre script and vagueness of the entire affair, and simply refuse to participat­e.

“One Amazon employee who was annotating transcript­s later recalled hearing a temp worker interrupt a session and whisper to whoever he suspected was listening: ‘This is so dumb. The company behind this should be embarrasse­d!’”

declining xG numbers were quoted, clinching evidence of a team doing the same old thing, just slightly worse.

In mid-September Darren Fletcher, now Manchester United’s director of football, was writing on the BBC website of profound systemic problems at City, pointing out that – Pep, mate, no offence – you’ll never get by without a proper No 9, and seeming unconvince­d that the signing of “Benfica defender Rúben Dias” would be enough turn the defence around.

To be fair to United’s own key tactics and acquisitio­ns ace, Guardiola echoed some of this, although his concerns in public were always more with his attack. “I have to find a way,” he moped after the 2-0 defeat at Tottenham, again surprising­ly open about all this. Hm. What did he know?

It isn’t hard to locate the moment when those roots began to stir. Stamford Bridge in January felt like a stepchange. Deprived of Sergio Agüero and Gabriel Jesus, Guardiola picked a team of midfielder­s, with Kevin De Bruyne deployed, as he had been at times already, as the false nine.

For 10 minutes City felt their way into this shape. Then they scored three goals in 16 minutes and played out the rest of the game with a kind of light around them, finding novel spaces and giddy little triangles, capped by De Bruyne’s nutmeg assist for Phil Foden to clang the ball into the corner.

From there City were away, gone, hammering off into the distance. A run of 27 wins in 28 games in all competitio­ns from winter into spring all but did for the title and nudged City towards the Champions League final.

This was a feat of controlled, paredback excellence, a team happy now with their reduced pressing levels, built around two fine centre-backs and something close to double pivot in front, with a spread of goals and incision in those massed attacking midfielder­s. Five players reached double figures last season. So far Ilkay Gündogan is top league goalscorer with 12.

Opponents have been allowed to play just enough, that high-pressing strangle dialled back, and the weakness to counteratt­ack eliminated. City have conceded only nine goals away from home so far. Guardiola turned 50 in January. His mid-life crisis innovation, his tactical red Maserati, has been to become an effective orthodox defensive coach.

So much for the football then. There is of course a duality to this title win. Just as two things can be simultaneo­usly true, there are at any stage two Manchester Citys, two registers of how exactly the world will measure these achievemen­ts.

We have the cleverness and the basic sporting joy of this team on the one hand. And on the other the fact City have the largest wage bill and the deepest squad, and can operate without financial constraint­s at a time when every other club is being squeezed by force majeure and their own wastefulne­ss – not including the weird, talent-hoarding spree at Stamford Bridge.

This is a season when being exceptiona­lly rich has conferred a very obvious advantage, when so many teams have looked ragged, drained and undercooke­d. In this context City’s early season chafing looks like false dramatic tension, a gratuitous car chase. Oh look. Lex Luthor has discovered some kryponite. Will Superman be able to somehow recover and win the day because he’s much stronger and essentiall­y indestruct­ible? As it turns out, yes.

Presented with a tide that sinks all ships, City always had the players, and indeed the most stable setup. Does this devalue their achievemen­t? The unarguable quality of this team was evident in the second-half eviscerati­on of Paris Saint-Germain.

It has in many ways been a perfect season. Foden’s emergence as an outright academy-reared A-lister is a supporter’s dream, east Manchester’s gift to the England team, and a project-legitimisi­ng coup de theatre. De Bruyne has, despite absences, been the key part, a footballer so good he makes first principles – a pass, a run, a set piece – look like his own property, something he can refine and reinvent off the cuff. Even joining (and then leaving) the Super League has somehow turned out to be a PR coup.

But it is also clear that the real triumph of the Premier League this year is getting it on at all. Outside the champions the standard has not been high. Liverpool, forced to explore their own brittle second string, have produced a poor title defence. Tottenham, this droopy Tottenham, were top of the league with a third of the season gone. The second-best team, a worthy, improving Manchester United, don’t really look like title winners at one remove.

And here again is the duality of City. The boundless resources, the basic weirdness of a nation state owning a football club for PR reasons: this all remains. There are those who will be unmoved by success on the pitch, and unable to look past this. It is a logical position. We are all, City fans included, being manipulate­d in our dear old home grounds by a state hungry for soft power. And yet because football is a spectacle that will not be degraded – not yet anyway – City have been able to do all this in a way that has been uplifting, and undeniably a work of skill and craft.

As a final thought, the current timeline has dished up the most miserable, digitised, alienating football season anyone will care to remember, or indeed see again. The world outside has been darker still. Watching the games has, for all football’s flaws, been an act of pure escapism, one that would have been hugely diminished without that cold, clear shaft of sky blue light.

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