BRMB - The 1972 proposals

Pages of neatly typed foolscap; and smelling like a dusty old bookshop.

The original BRMB commercial radio franchise application from Birmingham Broadcasting Ltd. makes interesting reading, 41 years on.  Turn the pages of the document which successfully secured the right to operate the first commercial radio station in England outside London.

The warped cover on this December 1972 epistle trumpets an ‘application for a programme contractors licence for an independent radio station in Birmingham’. The dirty word ‘commercial’ being a step too far back then, in the days when huge suspicion remained about radio being left to anyone else apart from the BBC.  Here was a country where, unusually, commercial TV pre-dated commercial radio; save for a few tentative steps in a pre-Corporation 1920s.

The document slid through the large Independent Broadcasting Authority letterbox, as one of four bids for the Birmingham crown in the first round of commercial radio beauty contests. This new IBA regulator was a hastily re-branded Independent Television Authority, thanks to a quick logo change and a few desks moved around, after the Sound Broadcasting Act 1972 was passed by the new 1970 Conservative Government.

Inside this doorstep loose-leaf volume, reminiscent of a hefty college project, a tale unfolds of a bygone age.  There are many characters still around today with considerable insight who could share juicy gossip from the time. I can merely leaf through the musty pages, typed, one suspects, on one of those duplicating stencils, using a battered old Remington.

The name BRMB was said to be "in line with international practice of call letters – easy to remember and easily set to music", "a natural abbreviation of the Company’s name" and "no connotation  which would offend" any of the "different communities". 

A little like the more recent Radio Authority/OFCOM licence applications, the text kicks off with  a list of the ten directors, including MD David Pinnell, an executive who’d worked overseas in radio and TV; and programme manager, John Russell, fresh from BFBS and the BBC. Non-execs included the principal of Solihull College, John Parkinson; and two directors from the largest shareholder, the Birmingham Mail group.  

Some members of this applicant group were probably a little bored with waiting, frankly, given Birmingham Broadcasting Ltd had been formed  as long ago as 1961.  The Birmingham Mail probably put the sherry back in the cupboard when Labour won the 1964 election.  Other shareholders  included: the Birmingham Chamber of Commerce; The Co-Op; Davenports and M & B Brewery; a trade union; Grey's and Lewis's store; ATV; newspaper publisher, Berrow's; some local manufacturers; and even Dennis Howell MP, with a careful assurance that no one shareholder had the ability, really, to influence very much at all.  

Read more about the journey from 1961 to going on air in my flick through the fascinating company board minutes here.

Revenues were forecast at £346,000 in Year One, rising to £692,000 in Year Three, yielded from an audience estimate of a 40% adult audience reach. Bearing in mind this estimate was framed before any other commercial station had gone on air; and research of existing ones was scant, the accuracy of this guess really merits a box of Mint Cracknels in recognition.  Little wonder the IBA later congratulated the BRMB team on the quality of its research.  £146k would be invested in studio cap-ex and the such-like, including £12,200 for a fleet of cars.  Whilst Trent had Allegros at launch, I gather BRMB had some Cortinas - and even 'the car you always promised yourself' - the Capri.  Total overheads amounted to around £600,000 by Year Three; profit was forecast in Year Two.

Alongside the dull costs which sit on every radio  P & L to this day,  there are a few which furrow a forehead.   Up to £100,000, by year three, was to be spent on musicians, and a similar fee for IBA rental.  Remember, though, that BRMB was pitching to be just a programme contractor; the IBA would transmit the programmes.

What became known as 'local support, was very much in evidence, the applicant had written to hundreds of local groups.  Back then, even that exercise would have taken weeks of effort by the typing pool.

So.  Programmes.  News first.  National content would come from the ‘all London news station’ (identity unknown); and local news would be assembled by seven journalists equipped, I suspect, with heavy UHER tape recorders and shorthand skills.  Their efforts would be supplemented by press, agencies and those lovely ‘stringers’. The research suggested the wisdom of shorter bulletins, broadcast weekdays from 0500- 2000. ‘Modern communication equipment’ such as 'radio-phones' (did they exist yet?) and a 'mobile unit' might be used. Local information would include lost animals, X-ray clinics, chemists' rotas and farming services.

This was a sensibly framed application, for its time.  It recognised that listeners no longer ‘sit by their sets in the living room’ and that ‘listeners tune in and out’; it highlighted too the importance of programme consistency; the appeal of music shows, and of focusing attention on daytime.  Its staffing levels were not over-arduous; and it established when it could afford local news and when it would rely on national. It also suggested people would enjoy "ever-increasing leisure time", which maybe it did get wrong.

The application recognised the competition as Radio 1 and Radio 2 (heard largely on medium and long wave, of course, back then).  It suggested it would target listeners from BBC Radio 1, 2, 3, 4, BBC Birmingham and Radio Luxembourg.  UK radio listening was seen as being at lower levels than overseas, apart from in Birmingham, where it sat at normal World levels.  I’ve just reminded Rajar of that.  The research appendix found only 54% of people had access to an FM radio. Mind you, 19% didn't really know.  Tony Blackburn was the most-liked UK 'disc jockey'.  Followed by Jimmy Savile.  

This is interesting. "Are people in Birmingham interested in a local radio station?", questioned the application.  "In the main, no", it boldly concluded.  The NOP/CODATA research suggested 34% of listeners quite liked the thought of a record programme for Birmingham folk, whereas 45% preferred one where anyone in the UK could participate.  It was asserted that listeners were cynical after the "failure of the newest radio service, (BBC) Radio Birmingham". Community leaders "scarcely bother listening". Thus, a music-intensive service, punctuated with information was the likely route. Having said all that, the  aspirant operator wisely stressed the importance of LOCAL, written, indeed, in upper case.  Yes, "local broadcasters talking to local listeners about local events".

How lovely is this, under the heading: 'underlying satisfaction of radio’. "Radio succeeds" because it helps an individual "feel part of his society, combats loneliness".  It also "bolsters self-confidence...and self respect, and counters boredom of the routine, none more than the housewife and mother". Indeed.  

Music? It was all about "familiarity, tunefulness, quality of lyrics, tempo and quality of performance, appealing to a wide range of age groups and musical tastes". Not "wallpaper music" nor the "endless Top 50".

62 staff would work on the station, with 29 in programming, 16 in sales and 5 engineers. 12 people were in admin.  Let's remember back then there were few computers, so ad logs and, well, everything, just relied on a chewed Biro. The general manager would earn between £9,000 and £11,000 per annum; programme manager, news editor, and sales manager at around £5,000. 'Announcers' were rightfully some way down the scale at between £2,000 and £3,000, around the same as the 'maintenance technician'; and just a little more than the person doing ‘cassette make up’ (copying ads onto cassettes for clients) at between £900 and £1,200.   The music programmer came out with £1,100 to spend on flares and flowery shirts, a little  less than the 'newsman' at £1,600-£3,000.  'Salesmen' were on £1,750 to £3,000. Women, it seems, were rarely envisaged. And no IT guy.  

The IBA had a fetish about ads being separated from programming; and indeed from each other.  This application suggested, accordingly, ‘an electric gong' or similar between ads, but wisely cautioned it could become irritating.  In other words, "yeah we’ll do that if you insist, but it’d sound bloody stupid".  BRMB would be launched within six months of  a licence award. I suspect the engineer did not type that bit.

One can unfold a draft programme schedule, showing ‘Start the Day Right’ at 0500; ‘Contact’ at 0800; and 'A DJ show' at 1100. 'First edition' followed at 1200, with 'Homespun' at 1400; and the legendary 'Tradio' at 1600, where listeners could swap unwanted items.  Including pets, it said: "Hey, my dog's a real pain, may I please swap it for your nice Collie".  I think they’d run out of programme titles by they got to naming the evening show ‘5 onwards’.  ‘Up to date traffic’ was a proud feature, warning of "delays which may affect the arrival time of other members of the family". That's how life was in pre-iPhone days. There was also a ‘housewife of the day’ feature. Of course.

It's easy to smile at the odd programme strand.  Overall, though, this is a more prescient document than I imagined as as it fell off the shelf.  Here were some people who'd spent considerable time considering their approach.  There is a firm foundation of solid radio thinking, melded with the sort of language which they sensibly knew the regulator would wish to read when discharging its statutory obligations.  It did not, however, over-promise on programme delivery, and made, potentially controversial, points with confidence and reason. 

The level of detail was some way behind the, maybe excessive, degree of detail requested in later licence rounds, where a regulator had to 'broaden choice' from stations which already existed.  The specific music stipulation and endless percentages of this and that, by which applicants later won their licences, and then asked to be changed, are absent.

And.  I know I'll get a few folks' blood boiling when I say this.  But when I read in these 1972 proposals of music flow, short news bulletins, a bit of information here and there, consistency, and doing a bit of good when one can, maybe we have not come as far as some suggest from what sensible people were once promising in markets which already enjoy excellent BBC radio.

Interested in what it was like inside early commercial radio? Grab my own personal memories of those days in the book 'Radio Moments'

LISTEN: BRMB - 1974 test audio and launch
LISTEN: Les Ross, last show
LISTEN: Les Ross in 1989
LISTEN: Tony Butler 1983
LISTEN: Two Strangers & a Wedding 1999
LISTEN: The Walkathon returns! 2011
LISTEN: Tom Ross - IRN Gold Award Winner 2011
LISTEN: BRMB Party in The Park 1997
WATCH: John Russell reflects in a video interview

Gigs from Hell

I smiled when John Myers Tweeted that he had been booked to 're-open'  the refurbished Spar shop where he'd officially cut the ribbon twenty years before.  He'd probably been paid back then in Spangles.

On stage with Erica in Nottingham

When we get into radio, we dream of being booked to introduce our fave act on stage in front of thousands at the O2; but the truth is that the public appearances we do get invited to are a little more everyday.  

Most radio jocks are now, quite rightly, seen by listeners as 'normal people'; rather than as uncomfortable  'cheap, local  mini-celebs', so even the invitations to 'open' local events don't flow in at quite the same rate nowadays.  In short, just not quite so many coffee mornings and Summer galas to open as there used to be.  Phew.

Peter Tait, rest his soul (Trent/Aire/Magic), often related the tale of one event he'd been asked to open, where he was paid live on stage in full view.  "Just before we go, we'd like to say  a  big thank you to Peter Tait. Thanks, Peter for coming.  This is from the committee'.  As the PA crackled, they proceeded to count out crisp tenners from a dirty envelope into Peter's hand, whilst still on-mic:  "Here you go. Five; ten; fifteen; twenty....'. Applause.

There was a memorable baby show I once judged on a steaming hot 80s Saturday. Never judge baby shows.  You make enemies.  The organiser hissed in my ear just prior to my announcing my finalists, demanding I pick a blend of colours and continents amongst my finalists.

My forsaking the L plates on my Ford Escort came late in life, so I'd arrive at gigs by taxi.  When duties were done, I'd wave like a star before running round the corner to hop on the bus home. I always felt uncomfortable taking the usual £25 Trent  expense payment, so often refused it.  By the time I'd spent a few polite quid on the  tombola, I was  usually out of pocket anyway. How can you take £25 when you know they're probably only raising £150?

Invited to open a new bed-shop

And there was the police 'It's a knockout' I compered on the wettest day in history. Thames Valley Police v Leics Police.  In a bid to brighten up the proceedings, I was disparaging of all competitors throughout.  They took it in good spirit, until the end.  As  I made my final announcement, they nodded to each other and ran for me in a concerted terrorist attack.  Never try to escape from an entire police force.  Having caught me, I was lowered unceremoniously into one of the huge water obstacles.  I walked away from the event in a dirty old over-sized police track suit.

Isn't it frightening seeing women fight. I once opened a charity event in a pub in a less salubrious part of town: a rowdy 'do', where I had to shout to be heard.  In the absence of any stage or PA system, I balanced precariously on the two arms of an armchair to declare the event, such as it was, open.  Shortly afterwards some dispute erupted over by the trestle tables and I cowered in the corner as two women shouted, spat, slapped, thumped, hissed and pulled hair.

You get accustomed to having to organise events yourself. Whilst  some are beautifully choreographed, with a full briefing dispensed on arrival; others require that you take off your satin jacket with your name on - and turn into event manager. They have clearly given nothing any thought at all.  Similarly, they struggle to remember who you are and where you're from as they prepare to they introduce you.  On the luckiest occasions, they trouble to hiss quietly 'who are you again?' before grabbing the, usually faulty, mic.

Then, of course, the unreasonable requests. You've been asked to open a Summer Fete.  On arrival, you discover they want you to draw the raffle. In six hours time. There are seventy three prizes; and most winners have sensibly long since departed.

Not being a driver meant people gave me lifts home; or organised taxis.  I recall one afternoon after a  Summer's afternoon gig, waiting in the organiser's kitchen.  Being a well-brought up boy, after finishing my tea, I washed my cup.  The handle came off.  What do you say? And then, and this is 100% true, I waved farewell and got into the car which had slowed down outside. It turned out not to be the taxi I thought it was.  I know the listener still remembers, as she got in touch ten years later.

Don't remind me of compering Miss Radio Trent 1985. There I was in sparkly suit, with a blue-dicky bow and matching patent shoes, trying to lend a sense of occasion to the proceedings at Nottingham's Commodore International. That was the sort of venue where  orange fluorescent posters boasted all its on-stage musical acts as being 'the fabulous...'.  As I described the young lady's attributes, which had been usefully written down for me lest I not notice, her heel got caught in the hole between two of the stage blocks.  She fell over.  I laughed uncontrollably. She wasn't a happy beauty queen (not the one pictured).

Groupies too; some truly frightening (that's quite another blog altogether).  You get the one person who simply follows every movement in your life with alarming tenacity.  If you announce you'll be in a park in Arnold at 10.30, you know they'll be there at 10.00, armed with a carrier bag of dubious contents.  The innocent organisers, delighted to be getting enthusiastic  visitors, allocate them a front row seat.  If you are dismissive of the 'fan', you are seen as 'not very nice'. If you encourage them, well goodness knows what will happen.

Wish I could remember more about the dogs' fancy dress show I judged.

And what about Long Eaton Carnival?  They suggested they would fly me in by helicopter.  This was exciting.  This was the Big Time.  Not as it turned out, though.  On this grey windy day, after touchdown,  I descended from the helicopter, swaying and spewing.  This was not the Bay City Rollers arriving at a Radio 1 roadshow.