Outside the Montrose comfort zone

RADIO REVIEW:HE HAS endured a torrid time of late, but if Ryan Tubridy is feeling sorry for himself, he isn't showing it. The ratings for his radio show ( Tubridy, 2FM, weekdays) may be in freefall, with his television viewership figures tumbling after, but, rather than wallow in self-pity, the presenter has recast himself as the nation's shoulder to cry on, the go-to guy for tea and sympathy in times of hardship.

There were moments this week when it sounded as though Tubridy was running a helpline rather hosting a chatshow, so ubiquitous were guests who had suffered mentally and fiscally during the downturn. He got the ball rolling on Tuesday by interviewing Alan Shortt, whose once-solid career in broadcasting and comedy (well, he starred in Bull Island) has evaporated in recent years, starting with his abrupt departure from the Dublin radio station Q102. As his guest spoke about clearing his desk at the station within an hour of his dismissal, Tubridy sounded gobsmacked, which says much about the RTÉ lifer's lack of experience in the Darwinian world of commercial broadcasting.

Soon Shortt’s debts had mounted to the point where, as he said, “you hit a wall, you hit a cliff”. He was open about the “darkness” that enveloped him, but his tale was ultimately redemptive. Peppering his conversation with self-penned aphorisms such as “when you face the fear of having nothing, you have nothing to fear”, he said he had refused to let his money worries overwhelm him: funds were still tight, but he now had a positive outlook.

Tubridy was by turns empathetic, inquisitive and even joshing with Shortt. He sounded similarly at ease on Wednesday, when he spoke to George Mordaunt, a Tipperary businessman who had seen his car dealership, property portfolio and stock-market investments implode during the credit crunch, leading

him to the brink of depression before “fighting back” against the banks. Somewhat chastened – he felt he was “50 per cent responsible” for his misfortune – but still confident, Mordaunt provided a good foil for Tubridy’s innately bright outlook.

It was a different case with Mary, a caller who spoke on Tuesday’s show of being trapped by increased debt, diminished income and quiet domestic despair. Despite her husband working (in a job he hated), her meagre and sporadic income as a house cleaner was often the only money with which to feed her children.

“I’m not living, only existing,” Mary said, her voice cracking. Tubridy handled his guest considerately but retained enough professional self-interest to invite her back on to the following day’s show, the better to continue the human-interest drama.

On Wednesday, Mary said it had taken her a long time to calm down after the previous morning’s call. Such statements were vaguely alarming, but, rather than cease his questioning, Tubridy persisted, drifting into amateur counselling: “I’m concerned slightly about you and your husband and the gap between you,” he said. Despite Tubridy’s attempts at advice, Mary’s sense of hopelessness was unyielding, leaving the presenter sounding uncomfortable by the end.

Tubridy’s instincts are admirable.

He clearly realises that many, many people are in far worse situations than his. But when confronted with the intractable desperation of everyday life, he seems in over his head. His intentions may be noble, but his talents lie elsewhere. As Clint Eastwood said, a man’s gotta know his limitations.

Those seeking adventurous, freewheeling radio are unlikely to tune in regularly to Tony Fenton(Today FM, weekdays). His midafternoon slot is, on the face of it, a textbook example of heavily formatted daytime music radio, where the presenter's patter can seem an afterthought beside the chart playlist.

As the former BBC Radio 1 DJ Simon Bates commented about his own similar show from the 1980s, “You could have put a coffee cup on that programme and you’d still have an audience.” Sure enough, Fenton’s shows early last week hardly rewrote the playbook.

The veteran jock shared rock-business gossip, hosted his regular music-knowledge quiz and spoke glowingly of recent guests on the show: twice, he called the rapper Professor Green “a heck of a nice guy”, using the same phrase to describe the singer James Morrison.

Fenton’s spiel sounded polished and relaxed, but it cannot have been easy for him. On Monday, he had been declared bankrupt, on the back of tax judgements of €880,000 against him. Yet beyond courteously acknowledging texts of support – without explaining what they referred to – he never referred to the drama unfolding around him.

(He has also survived two recent bouts of cancer.) His easy banter betrayed no hint of pathos: if anything, he sounded more upbeat than usual, praising a classic hit from The Smiths with the enthusiasm of a music aficionado.

In the end, the most remarkable thing about the performance was just how normal, even generic, it sounded. As he might say himself, Fenton is a heck of a professional.

Radio moment of the week

As the country's top-rated radio show, Morning Ireland(RTÉ Radio 1, weekdays) rarely feels the need to acknowledge any upstart pretenders in its timeslot. But on Thursday, when presenter Cathal Mac Coille flagged a report on recipients of ministerial pensions, he uttered only two names: "Bertie Ahern, with €152,000, at the top, to Ivan Yates, at the other end of the alphabet, at €74,000."

Mac Coille said he was just going through the “ABC of it”. That Yates also hosts the rival news slot Breakfast (Newstalk, weekdays), in which he regularly decries profligate public spending, was, presumably, a coincidence.