Over dinner in my favourite Indian restaurant in Nottingham recently, I was rambling intolerably about 'my book' to one of my cynical but lovely radio friends. I told him I'd learned loads whilst writing it. 'What like?', he asked, as he stuffed a naan bread in his face.
So, when the Jiffy bag finally arrived from the publishers last week, bearing ten lovely-smelling first copies of my humble publication, I thumbed gingerly through the pages, to remind myself what I hadn't known when I started to write it.
Every day in radio is a school day, not least when you're trying madly to justify, or disprove, those 'radio assumptions'.
I thought I was the only competition cynic until I stumbled across the words of legendary American programmer, Bill Drake: 'We did a lot of on-air promotions at KHJ, and we did almost none at KFRC in San Francisco. Both stations were successful'. In his opinion, 'most contests are garbage'. He's surely right; far too many offer little in the way of witness value. They are either too demanding, too dull or too exclusive; with prizes seen as unattainable and mechanics focused on the minority taking part, not the majority listening. Gone are the days when the radio station was the only place you could win a decent prize. BBC Local Radio, which suspended contesting in the days when it was discredited, would likely concede that their stations are better without many of them. Cheers, Bill. Nice to stumble across substantiation for my prejudice.
Isn't it annoying when 'major names' pop up on radio who fail to grasp the 'one listener' thing. That 'You' thing. They drone on about 'anyone out there' and getting my 'thinking caps' on. For goodness sake, anyone who knows anything about our great medium knows that the most important word is 'you'. If it's good enough for Ken Bruce: 'People respond to one person – talking to them as one person'; and Wogan: 'Radio engages because you talk to an individual', it should be good enough for the rest of us. I also cite some early crackly recordings from the 'first' disc jockey, Christopher Stone, from 1927 who said in his show: 'I know you'd like to hear some more of that, and so would I'. Almost a century ago, and at the very beginnings of our medium, he'd nailed it.
Few candidates in the last General Election stood up to make a speech without offering an anecdote about the chap they'd 'bumped into' the night before. We know that story-telling works. The greatest presenters master the art on radio. The greatest ads call upon it. Vocabulary, pace and detail create colourful pictures. In researching the book too, I was drawn too to the words of John Cleese, who spoke of the mental 'skip' the listener makes from the start of a tale to the punchline. In that skip lies the pleasure and amusement. Too large, it fails, Too small it offers no satisfaction. One word can make a difference. Even if just a swear-word: 'You were only supposed to blow the bloody doors off!'
Why do some newsreaders whine every sentence and inexplicably draw out the last word, regardless of its significance? Accomplished voice coach, Kate Lee, suggests that great reading is often about 'sounding even more yourself'. She observes how some readers appear almost intimidated by the importance of the material. Once they say to themselves 'this is news', she believes their brain then promptly ignores all all the natural nuances of conversation. Contemporary, conversational news delivery is a real art.
Fascinated by the way the 'mood' in a studio can change what comes out the speakers the other end, it was great to hear the anecdote about a leading performer who used to play the Cagney & Lacey theme tune before starting his show. Off on that tangent, I then stumbled across how both David Cameron, and indeed Enoch Powell in his time, observed that a full bladder kept their mind alert and their speeches powerful. Maybe not one to try.
I stumbled across some fascinating material about the voice and how it engages so well on radio. Including the theory that the 'disembodied voice' on the radio connects with the listener as does a mother's voice to a child in the womb.
And who would not want to know the story of the birth of tight, Top 40 format radio in a bar in Omaha, Nebraska. Next time one of your listeners complains about hearing the same song over and over again, you'll want to know that tale too.
And so the list goes on. I learned a little more about mic technique; commentary; interviewing; the psychological response to words; and getting callers on-air. I mused about dealing with over-enthusiastic listeners; spoke to some great producers; and delved into the use of social media. I stumbled across some brilliant old research about the relative merits of male and female voices; and I counted the words per minute which Wogan deployed as he said his last breakfast farewell.
I was persuaded to add a chapter about how to get into our medium; and I volunteered another about how to keep your job. And some necessary caution on risk-taking, 'stunting', research, law and compliance.
Given that text books are boring and the chances of any publisher agreeing to my autobiography are slim, I've littered the book with anecdotes from my lucky time in the business. Lest I forget the two occasions when the police have called into reception; Dale Winton's interview techniques; or the words of advice Mrs. Thatcher's daughter proffered on programme preparation.
Many thanks to the likes of Matthew Bannister, Christian O'Connell, John Myers, Ben Cooper and Nick Ferrari for offering generous early reviews. What's useful is that they suggest it's by no means just a book for beginners.
Radio is rarely a matter and wrong. Some of the greats break the rules brilliantly. And those who disagree with my mad assertions or theories will hopefully concede that the debate itself is likely helpful. Or they can write their own book.
Please grab a copy (on offer at £10.49 PB, £7.47 eBook) from my friends at Biteback Publishing. Proceeds to the Radio Academy.