It's Not What You Think (19 page)

10 Work Experience

  9 Broadcast Assistant

  8 Assistant Producer

  7 Producer

  6 Executive Producer

  5 Head of Department

  4 Assistant Controller

  3 Controller

  2 Network Controller

  1 DJ

Greater London Radio
was to become a very special place for me and one without which I would not have achieved much of what you most likely already know about.

GLR’s ethos was that it should be a much bolder station than its predecessor Radio London had ever dared to be, based on the fact that the local BBC station for London was in many ways a one-off. London is, after all, one of the most famous cities in the world—people come to live and work here from all over and the new GLR wasn’t going to be embarrassed to acknowledge this. It was decided it would capitalise and seize upon all the opportunities such a rich and fertile environment had to offer and would stop pretending to be like all the other local BBC radio stations.

Big ideas call for big names, so once again I witnessed a small army of well-known personalities drafted in to fill the schedules—many of whom had been more used to telly, some having never done any radio before. This is where I came in.

I was charged with the task of producing a young lady by the name of Emma Freud, who was slated to host the mid-morning weekday slot. Emma was a much-respected television broadcaster and one of the sharpest cookies in town. She came from one of the most famous dynasties of modern times, her great-grandfather being Sigmund Freud—
the father of psychoanalysis—and her own father the eccentric, intellectual and much-loved though now sadly departed Sir Clement. As a result of such breeding, there was nothing Emma wouldn’t tackle, her confidence knew no bounds—or at least that’s how it seemed, although underneath she was actually quite a fragile little soul. She took to radio, however, like a duck to water. Failure was not in her vocabulary—she was totally brilliant.

Emma typed all her own scripts for every single show; she prepared her research notes more thoroughly than anyone I had ever worked with. Not only that but she insisted on learning how to self-operate the studio, something a lot of ‘celebs’ shy away from. She was never late and was never once antsy or starry, no need for talent management here—Emma was the real deal, a consummate professional, the best of the best, a joy, what more can I say? I loved working with her.

As Emma’s show grew in stature and popularity, I was now labelled as the kid who taught London TV types how to do radio and as a result was given my next charge—a shy, retiring young man by the name of Danny Baker.

Danny was an old television colleague of Emma’s from LWT’s
The Six O’Clock Show.
It was a show I’d never seen as it came off air before I arrived in London but by all accounts it was a very big noise for several years, a fact Danny was very keen not to let pass me by.
The Six O’Clock Show
was a Friday teatime show designed to start the weekend off with a bang. This was another prophetic coincidence as Danny and I would one day work together on a similar show at a similar time and on a Friday night. You know the one.

I will never forget the first time I met Danny. He came for a cup of coffee after Emma’s show one day—Jesus Christ (and I don’t often take the Lord’s name in vain)—he just talked and talked and talked and he’s been talking ever since.

Danny really is a one in a gazillion—the most energetic man I know as well as one of the cleverest. No one can hold a torch to Danny when he is on form. He is alight twenty-four seven and is now one of my best friends. That first day, however, I wasn’t sure if I ever wanted to see him again, let alone work with him in a confined space twice a week for the next year.

Danny had been asked to host the new weekend breakfast show, a real shot in the arm for the listeners as the lady who’d been doing it for the
previous hundred years was a more ‘traditional’ broadcaster, shall we say. Her audience didn’t have a clue what was about to hit them. Nor did I for that matter.

Danny’s opening link on his first show, his first-ever link on the radio was at six a.m. on a Saturday morning and consisted of the following sequence of events. He opened the fader connected to the microphone and when the red light came on he immediately started to bang on the console of his desk with his fist, like a warmonger whipping up the mob:

‘GOOD MORNING LONDON’, he bellowed. ‘THIS IS RAW MEAT RADIO, THERE’S A NEW SHERIFF IN TOWN AND FROM NOW ON THIS IS HOW IT’S GONNA BE—HEAR YEE, HEAR YEE.’

With his other hand he then proceeded to ring a handbell for all it was worth before next producing a huge old-fashioned bell horn and honking it profusely.

What the hell was this mad man doing? The banging on the desk was making everything distort so much no one listening at home would have been able to understand the first word of his radio revolution. And what was all the shouting? Was he trying to broadcast the first ever radio show that didn’t need a transmitter, let alone a microphone? Whatever it was, though the method needed a little fine tuning, the intention was clear, to me at least, if maybe not anyone else as I was probably the only one who could hear what he was saying.

Danny was going to do it his way—period. The listeners were either going to love it or hate it. Fortunately for everyone, once we’d fitted a new microphone and they could hear him—they loved it: Danny was a hit, a humungus, unstoppable, unpredictable, hairy, raw-meat-radio hit.

Like the majority of the best, Danny was a leave-alone guy: once he’d grasped the basics of what he needed to know, which took him no more than a couple of shows, there was little he needed from me. I just spent the next few months benefiting from the first-hand experience of witnessing another mad genius at work but I got the added bonus of the pictures as well as the sound—exhausting but great fun.

I wouldn’t want to be in Danny’s head for a second but I want him in my life for ever.

For the first time in a long time after Danny had settled in and probably the first time in my career, I felt myself cruising—a very dangerous place to be. I was a BBC staff member, I was on a very good wage—but I was treading water. Both the station and the shows I was involved in were doing well, all I had to do was keep my eye on them, but as you get better at something, inevitably you learn less and less. This is precisely what was happening to me. I concluded that if I wanted to keep moving forward I needed to take the next step, wherever that was and whatever that might be.

10 Going to watch Timmy at Old Trafford

  9 The phone call from Andy

  8 The Dude

  7
The Big Breakfast

  6
Don’t Forget Your Toothbrush

  5
TFI Friday

  4 Making a load of money

  3 Losing a load of money

  2 Fame

  1 Matthew Bannister

When you’re hot in the London media scene,
everyone tends to know about it. Fortunately for me it wasn’t long before the word was out that there was a sparky young producer over at GLR who might be ready for a move. This just happened to coincide with the need to fill a vacancy over at the mighty Radio 1.

I was twenty-five years of age and about to be offered a producing post on a national BBC network. It was a job which I would accept without hesitation after completing the obligatory boarding process, of course. A year or two before, I couldn’t even imagine being allowed to look round Radio 1, let alone actually get a job there. All I had to do now was tell Matthew, who was still my boss at GLR, that I would be leaving.

I owed Matthew plenty and this was a sad occasion for both of us. After discussing my circumstances, Matthew said he understood my position and couldn’t blame me for wanting to advance my career. What an all-round top man. He helps make you what you are and then he sends you off with a hug and a pat on the back. We shook hands but then as I went to walk out of his office, history was about to repeat itself

‘Er, Chris…just one more thing.’

I thought he was having a laugh by reminding me of the first day I met him when he called me back to ask about my tie.

‘Sure, what is it?’ This time I was a little less squeaky but equally surprised.

‘Is there
anything
I could say that might change your mind?’

He wasn’t joking and I was touched by the sincerity of his question but nevertheless the writing was on the wall, I had to take the offer from Radio 1 if I wanted to progress my career.

‘Honestly, Matthew I am flattered that you even ask but really there isn’t. Radio 1 versus GLR. It’s a no contest.’

‘Alright…what about…if I gave you your own show?’

‘
What?
’ What did he just say? Did he say, ‘What about if he gave me
my own show!
’

I didn’t do the on-air thing any more. I was a producer now. My presenting days were over—done and dusted, dead and buried, not only that but this was London, the home of ‘all killers, no fillers’ when it came to hiring talent. What on earth was he talking about?

‘How about you produce Danny on Breakfast at the weekends,’ he continued enthusiastically. ‘And then you stay on and do a Saturday afternoon show yourself?’

He both looked and sounded like he meant it.

‘But me—why?’ As far as I knew, he wasn’t even aware what I sounded like on the radio.

‘Because I think you might be good, you’re funny.’

Christ on a bike
, Matthew was offering to put me back on the air and not just anywhere—on the BBC and in London—regional accent and all.

Radio 1 would have to wait—for both of us!

10 Know your audience

  9 Play on your strengths

  8 Avoid your weaknesses

  7 Reflect the day

  6 Reflect the world

  5 Empower the listeners

  4 Never forget music is your friend (The Beatles are always on hand if you need them)

  3 Be yourself but just a bigger version

  2 Put yourself down before anyone else has the chance to

  1 Content, content, content

I now had a new show to create
and this time my own. I couldn’t wait to get going.

Whenever I’m faced with the prospect of a new show, all I do is consider each hour as a clockface, an hour of time to fill and the better the things you fill it with, the more effortlessly and entertainingly it will pass by. The content should also, when it comes to light entertainment, leave the listener or viewer in a better, more relaxed, or more thoughtful frame of mind.

Break it down, break it down, break it down. That’s what I do, that’s the key.

To plan an hour of radio I actually draw a clock, I use a CD to draw around—it’s the perfect size. I then fill in all the things that
must
happen at the corresponding times, shade in those areas and then see how much room there is for anything else to happen. That’s the
me
bit.

I still use this method today. Over the page is a drivetime clock from my Radio 2
Drivetime Show.

For this, my first London radio show, it was very important for me to trade off the back of what I knew the listeners were guaranteed to like, i.e. quality records and information and then nip in and out with a bit of my stuff. I would do this gradually for the first few weeks then as my confidence and relationship with the listeners grew, I could start to exchange more of the solid gold musical bricks for those speech-based ones of my own.

After the news, which was usually around three minutes, to open each hour I decided to play two records back to back instead of just the one, that’s another eight minutes. My first link would be a menu telling you what’s coming up on the rest of the show followed by another record—another five minutes. Then I’d do my first feature, a phone call or an interview followed by a fourth record—another nine or ten minutes.

If you do the maths here, it’s already close to half past the hour. Suddenly being on the radio is not such a formidable prospect!

I wanted this show to be informal, that’s how I would make it different. I was nowhere near as slick as some of the polished pros around me—so I decided to make a virtue of a far more conversational, relaxed and open style. I was also conscious of the fact that this was a local London show and I was an out and out Northerner, somewhere along the line I would have to come up with an idea that would get me round this issue.

The show went on the air under the title
Round at Chris’s.
It was a title I thought would help. I wanted to convey the idea that this was my home and anyone was welcome. I genuinely encouraged people who knew me and who might be listening to drop by—which thankfully they did.

Covering the London angle was a little trickier but it was the weekend and our listeners were more doers than talkers; they loved to get out there, in amongst it, and seeing as it was Saturday afternoon—how about a what’s on guide?

Not the most groundbreaking idea, I admit, but it was simple, useful and effective—after all we were in one of the most exciting cities in the world, there was always loads going on, how about we just let people know when and where. If some kind of what’s on guide could be delivered in an upbeat and entertaining way, I thought it was more than justified being part of the programme. Shows always need pegs to hang their coats on and the more pegs the better—the imparting of information is a great way to do this.

The what’s on guide would primarily be based around things I knew little or nothing about, so I concluded it was probably best to get someone else to present this segment. Who was the most London person I knew? How about the crazy lady with the cockney voice as loud as a foghorn? Carol the traffic girl from Radio Radio—my future wife! She was London, remember.

Carol, having never actually been on the radio before, jumped at the chance of having a go. I have to admit she was a little clunky to start off with but weren’t we all? She found her radio voice soon enough though and in no time at all was hailed as our very own
Time Out
Totty.

Carol was all over the social scene and knew exactly what was going down, from designer sales to the latest new comedy clubs. When she arrived at the studio, she was always totally prepared and impeccably dressed—although sometimes still a little hungover from another late night out. Not that this was a problem—on the contrary it added to her character as she regaled the audience with her tales of the previous evening’s merriment. This only served to enhance the weekend feel we were trying to achieve. Well done, Carol, and the listeners loved her. She was very good and she was very funny and for some bizarre reason the majority of our listeners also thought she was black, something to this day I’ve never quite understood.

Carol’s what’s on guide popped up in each of the three hours around the quarter to mark, with a telephone guest at each of the half hours, along with a couple of competitions and the odd set piece—bingo—we were home and dry.

Round at Chris’s
was a show by the people for the people and it was only a matter of weeks before members of the public started turning up asking if they could be in the audience. The thing was, we didn’t have an audience, it just sounded like we did but the more the merrier, we invited
them in and more and more they continued to come. It wasn’t much longer after that we were also inviting those listeners who did come in out to party with us for the rest of the day. Very quickly this is what the show became known for—a party on the radio that spilled over into real life when the show ended. A blueprint of things to come!

Going for a drink with the audience afterwards became a regular occurrence and something we would talk about the following week on the air. The more we talked about it the more it happened and the more fun everyone was having. As I look back on things, the lines of show business and the real world were pretty much blurred from the start. We were happy to show up and more than happy to do our bit, but the thought of going home never entered our minds. We were having a blast.

Carol and I would often be the last two left standing, usually ending up in a bar near her flat. She was the most fun, full of stories and tales of adventures, often including outrageous behaviour. If she’d have been a man I’d hate to think of the number of fights she’d have got into but because she was a girl she could get away with murder.

She also had another attractive quality which I was becoming ever more aware of—she had the greatest legs I’d ever seen. And they were so long. The longer we stayed out the longer they seemed to get. Sara and I had long since split and somewhere in amongst the broadcasting, the booze and the bun fights, the thought of Carol’s legs consumed me and one day I found myself asking her if I could take a closer inspection. It was a weekday afternoon, the sun was shining and she was wearing the cheekiest of white pleated short skirts.

As in life—when it came to passion and romance with Carol, there was no holding back. She was all woman and there was no volume control. A fact to which her neighbours would no doubt testify.

The Saturday show started to get talked about for all the right reasons by all the right people. It was so uncool it became cool. We were taking London by the scruff of the neck, this was our time and it wasn’t long before the show was moved to the more prestigious Saturday morning slot.

Matthew, the boss, happy that his hunch about the quirky, ginger-haired kid from up North had paid off, decided maybe I had yet more juice in the tank and offered me an additional regular evening slot. He said he’d
like a show for school kids and students that ran weekday evenings, Monday through to Thursday. As this was the exact same timeslot as Timmy had been doing in Manchester and a show I had been brought up with, I couldn’t wait to get started as I already knew the format inside out.

I called this latest show
The Greenhouse
and filled the studio with plants every night, I needn’t have bothered of course—this was radio, after all, but I thought it added to the on-air effect plus any guests who came to visit us would hopefully be struck by the memorable sight of a studio packed full of foliage and flora—something a little different to remember us by.

The Greenhouse
was not a big ratings winner—it was never going to be—but those who did listen enjoyed it immensely: they recognised it had a heart and a purpose and was tapping into what kids needed at that time of the night. Once again we were succeeding—know your place, know who’s out there, give them what they want and sneak in a bit of what you think they might want and hope for the best. They’ll soon tell you if they don’t like it.

By this time I was living in a three-storey mews house in Belsize Park on the north side of Regents Park. It was as funky as you like with a big sliding window out from the living room on to the street and a spiral staircase from the kitchen on the ground floor all the way up to the bedrooms. I was renting and although it wasn’t cheap, I didn’t need my money for anything else. There was also a new car on the scene, a 1972 MK III Triumph Spitfire—I was living the dream.