The curse of morning radio

THE ECONOMY IS IN tatters, a succession of reports have uncovered abuses of power in civic and clerical life, and countless numbers of people sink daily into a morass of debt and despair. Ireland in 2012 has no shortage of subjects worthy of vocal indignation, but it seems that the best way to exercise the public’s emotions is to take a reliable old route: swear on air. Nearly 50 years after the late theatre critic Kenneth Tynan (deliberately) caused outrage by uttering a taboo four-letter Anglo-Saxon epithet on BBC television, Ray D’Arcy discovered that there’s nothing like a well-placed F-word to stir up controversy and its close cousin publicity.

On Monday the presenter opened his programme, The Ray D’Arcy Show (weekdays, Today FM), by conceding that he had had “an eventful weekend”, which is one way of describing the coverage of his assertion on the previous Friday’s edition that the Catholic Church had “f***ed up the country”.

Having already apologised for his language on the day, he nonetheless felt the need to clarify his position. Cussing aside, his ire had been directed at the hierarchy and not at devout congregants, such as his mother. But now, D’Arcy said, the hierarchy had taken offence and was demanding an apology. “Well, that won’t be forthcoming,” he said. “And there won’t be a retraction, because in my opinion the institution of the Catholic Church has caused well-documented damage to this country.”

D’Arcy’s steely tone underlined his convictions but also showed a shrewd mastery of his medium. His outburst was down to “live radio and your blood’s boiling”, but far from drawing a conciliatory line, his cool restatement of his beliefs kept the issue alive. In doing so, he buffed his credentials as the heir to the late Gerry Ryan’s mantle of the top daytime jock: gossipy pal, fearless firebrand and gimlet-eyed professional.

As a practical example of creating and controlling a story, D’Arcy’s moment of profanity was more illuminating and compelling than anything on The Media Show (RTÉ Radio 1, Saturday). Presented by the journalist Brenda Power, the programme sets out to take listeners inside “media powerhouses” and look at them “from your point of view”. The former goal is attained: interviews with players from the broadcast and print worlds abound. The latter aim proved more elusive, however. For all its professed interest in looking with a fresh outsider’s eye, The Media Show sounded curiously old-fashioned.

There was an item on RTÉ’s decision to close its London bureau, with contributions from academics and television executives. There was a follow-up interview with its acting newsroom chief, Cillian de Paor. There was a behind-the-scenes report from Storyful, the online firm founded by the former Prime Time host Mark Little that “curates” social-media information. There was even an editorial column from the Cork Independent editor Deirdre O’Shaughnessy about the metropolitan bias of the Dublin-based national media, a topic that is, oh, at least 80 years old.

All these subjects were treated seriously and thoroughly, with much interesting information imparted in the process. What was lacking, however, was any sense of innovation or playfulness, with no live feedback and, save a brief vox pop on newspaper readership, no input from the public. Instead, the programme was driven by the kind of authoritative journalistic voice it was supposed to eschew. It was only the second episode, but for a series that hoped to deconstruct its subject, The Media Show seemed curiously in thrall to hallowed conventions.

There need not be anything dull or worthy about a traditionally structured interview between media insiders, as was proved when Aine Lawlor spoke on The Marian Finucane Show (RTÉ Radio 1, Saturday). Admittedly, Lawlor was there not in her role as an RTÉ news anchor but as a cancer sufferer, an experience she spoke about with the understated candour of a good reporter. Her overriding purpose was to inform people about the facts of the disease and its treatment rather than share tales of suffering, stoic or otherwise.

After being diagnosed with breast cancer last year, she opted for a trial using experimental medication: “New drugs offer more chances,” she said. “You fight it with everything you can.” She spoke wryly about chemotherapy, wearing a wig and, more harrowingly, losing much of her breast. As she lost her mother to the illness, even her fatalism was pitched as a kind of preparation for the ordeal: “It was always something I figured was going to come and get me.”

It was less charged than Finucane’s interview with the late Nuala O’Faolain, who spoke emotionally about her impending death from cancer. But with Finucane following her guest’s unassuming cue, it was more hopeful, too, partly because of Lawlor’s ongoing recovery but also because she calmly demystified one of the terrifying spectres of modern life. And not a word of complaint.

Radio moment of the week

Monday’s Liveline (RTÉ Radio 1, weekdays) exemplified the way the show’s diet of disparate bugbears and random anecdotes can be transformed into the shouty aural equivalent of a stream-of-consciousness novel. After a bizarre account of a toddler being dangled over an Ardee overpass, it segued into alleged Garda misbehaviour and tales of petty crime before discussing the irrelevance of the Army. When an ex-soldier complained the Army hadn’t acted to prevent the last government’s “economic treason”, even Joe Duffy was nonplussed. “What are you saying, that the Army Rangers should have absailed down into the Dáil chamber?” All in all, a guilty pleasure.