Radio GaGa

Radio: The warm pampering ass-fuck that drives us insane. By Giles Skerry

Recently I lost my Ipod. More accurately, I lost my bag which contained my Ipod and my father’s favourite book. This, combined with severe lack of funds, has led to me consider new ways of entertaining myself on those long walks through fields and along rivers. I am currently dabbling with radio. Not digital radio, mere lowly FM. Now my current routine is to switch between Radio 1 and Radio 2. I’m not sure why, maybe its my masochistic streak. I cant really abide Radio 1 on account of its inane DJs, inane music, and inane listeners. Radio 2 has its ups and downs. For instance I like Steve Wright but I hate Chris Evans. See? Simple really.

The point of this diatribe (yes, it is a diatribe) is not to celebrate or condemn each channel but actually to talk about one particularly despicable and risible element common to both. It is something a lot of my least favourite programs on TV and radio have in spades: namely, members of jonny public telling the world about their problems and how they’ve suffered. On Radio 2 this normally occurs on the Jeremy Vine show (Mon - Fri, 12 - 2). On it the smug and listing Vine invites listeners to participate in a discussion about various news stories of the day. I happened to catch the end of the show yesterday and they were talking about a drug being developed that could erase specific memories. It sounded like one of those ‘and finally’ stories about cats performing an emergency tracheotomy on their owner who was choking on a piece of gristle. What followed was truly shocking. Apart from all the cranks who saw it as one step away from total thought control, several callers saw it as a means of removing burdensome memories of past traumas from them, thus enabling them to live a full and rich life. As far as I can tell, there are only two arguments; both of which are happily exemplified by a text sent in and a caller. The text was from a woman who wished she could remove the memory of her husband who hung himself in their living room. Every day she cries, apparently. Vine remained remarkably nonchalant; I think he played Dr. Hook straight afterwards. Nonetheless her argument was that it would be good to be able to remove traumatic memories. Fair enough. Following the light relief of Hook M.D., Vine tried to eke out the reasons for the next caller getting in touch. This wasn’t very difficult. The guy was all too pleased to announce on national radio that “basically, when I was eight, I was raped”. The caller, an archaeologist, claimed that the drug was a bad idea because of the didactic strength of the past. Not bad, although I was always taught that academics hate this argument about the benefits of history. He undermined my respect for his intellect, however, when he subsequently argued that if you had the memory removed then you’d have to go through it all again when you bumped into someone on the street and they said "ooh, wasn’t it awful about when you were raped aged 8". I’m not sure if that’s dinner party conversation. What struck me was, firstly, my grotesque voyeurism and how I revelled in others’ misfortunes and, secondly, the sheer self-indulgence of these people. Everyone loves sympathy. The warm pampering arse-fuck of someone consoling you is one of the greatest pleasures known to man. Its like being hungover. Its shit, but the feeling of gradually returning to normal far outweighs the pain you’ve been through. People who want to ‘open up’ about their problems, which seem to be of ridiculous proportion or nature, should do so in the correct setting. Not on some pithy radio show presented by a wad of toilet roll stuck together by wanking too much.

The sheer antipathy of Vine, and his ability to empathise one minute before laughing and listening to yet another disco track, leads me nicely onto Radio 1’s equivalent shitstorm of self-indulgent grieving: Changing Tracks. Now presented by Sara Cox (in the absence of plastic-faced indie giver of handjobs Jo Whiley) it attempts to show the power of music by reading out the story of one person’s traumatic experience and the song that turned it around. It is fucking laughable. Sara Cox is so vapid that she cant even speak sometimes. She was clutching for the word ‘identify’ for about a minute today in the following sentence: “It’s a story a lot of people will er…um…will er…um…“and so on. Anyway, the joy of Changing Tracks is that the detestable self-indulgence of it all is easily countered by the listeners’ responses via text message and more significantly the complete contrast between the gravity of the story and the strength of the song. Now, bear in mind the stories are very rarely as shocking as boyhood rapings or being the sole survivor of a family trip to Disneyland. They are a bit less grim than that. One girl wrote in about her boyfriend. They were together for years until he admitted cheating. She broke up but missed him so much they got back together. He cheated again. They split up but got back together. By now he was physically and mentally abusive. She found text messages on his phone from another woman. Are you following so far? They split up, again, got back together again, before another final bout of cheating put the kibosh on the whole thing. I don’t know what part of that story I like the most. The guy had it sweet. What a dumb bitch. Anyway, that’s not the point. Regardless of my personal feelings about the story, she really was trying to change her life and she heard the song in question when out in taaawn on a night out with her mates and it made her realise that things can only get better. You’re dying to know what song aren’t you? 'Its All Over Now', 'Baby Blue'? 'The Rat'? Not quite. It was actually Ultrabeat’s 2003 smash hit 'Pretty Green Eyes'. Jesus fucking Christ. Unbelievable. Or at least I thought. Maybe a one off?

Unfortunately not. Today, on my bi-monthly walk to the Job Centre I tuned in for my fix of misery. It was the turn of some pregnant lady who’s grandmother died a few months after the birth of their kid, Kitty. Now I don’t know about you but that really isn’t anything to worry about. And yet, here’s Sara Cox reading out this pitiable email in her dulcet northern tones. “Trauma sadness blah blah blah misery blah then this song came on” and here’s the really important bit, “it made me realise that I needed to care for my child and that she needs me to be a good mother”. Does this mean that before she heard this particular song on the radio she was a neglectful violent mum? She used to beat the kid out of sheer frustration at the death of her lovely old gran? If that’s the case, maybe it was a stunning song. Take That’s 'Rule The World'. Hmm, I’m not so sure about this. I’ve heard the song and its really, really shit. But, this is very confusing, because a woman texted in to the show to say that her gran died and it gave the song new meaning. And a teacher trying to write reports ended up blubbing over her laptop, which is pretty dangerous. Maybe her pupil will write in next week about the death of their favourite teacher by electrocution. Maybe then Radio 1 could be tried for manslaughter? Maybe I should stop writing, get a knife, upload Take That onto my Mp3 player and go give my Nan some Shipman-style attention. Oh wait, I forgot, I lost my Ipod. Thank god for that.

Words: Giles Skerry