What do mag covers tell us about teasing?

Even WH Smith suddenly seemed alluring today as I whiled away the windy minutes on the platform, awaiting the North-bound HST.

Inside, I stared at a towering magazine rack from which I had the intention of purchasing absolutely nothing.

I dimly recalled, however, that on one occasion, when trying to help a surprisingly receptive presenter keep listeners riveted to a piece of imminent fruity content, I had mumbled something about "what would they say about that on a magazine cover". 

The mag rags wouldn't say "Inside: We've been interviewing Robbie", they'd cut out some mad single juicy quote or topic, exaggerate it hugely, take it out of context and stick it on the front in a horrible fluorescent splash. Simply because they needed you to be sufficiently curious and interested to lay out a few quid to buy the trashy thing. 

Their front page is our 0755 link, I guess.

Still bored  - and probably being observed on the monochrome CCTV by a crinkly bloke in a crimplene uniform -  I jotted down a few of the front page mag splashes to see if my theory held water, or if it was just the usual pointless ramblings of a programmer.

Heat struck me. "Charlotte Crosby - my shocking nose job diary".   That sort of works, I guess. Suitably specific to tempt me, if I were interested in people's nose jobs. It's certainly better than "We've been talking to Charlotte Crosby - and we'll be playing out that interview after the news".  I've heard that sort of stuff. And 'diary' suggests secrets are about to be revealed.

Grazia tries the same trick with "Inside Kate's debauched divorce party". Now you're talking. Leave them in no doubt about what they're about to miss, but never give the pay-off.

Alas, nothing arose from my peering at the front page of Rail magazine. 

Nor from the numerous mags which did lists of things like: '"5 reasons to retire"(The Lady). 

'65 things about orgasms' (I just made that up) might have worked better, but I'm not entirely sure the old journo numbers trick works too well on radio.  By the way, that's apparently: 'Number or trigger word + adjective + keyword + promise'.

Maybe try that magic on your website and social media click-bait. On-air, though, hand-pick one thing from the list, pull that apart, caress it, squeeze out the value -  and you might have something.

The Traveller fared slightly better with a '"The results are in' about something or other.  But the girls' mags excel: "She changed her Tinder to women only - and it got interesting" (Glamour). There's a radio plot.

The Radio Times promised "The most irritating TV ad ever". Now, who doesn't want to know which one that is - even if only to disagree. That's like 'the Number One' on a list or chart, 'the best song ever', or the 'worst song ever' (don't try but the latter, I'm just illustrating a point here). You cannot stop nosiness about which it will be. If you can elicit genuine curiosity in a tease, it works. There's a world of difference between 'In just a sec, the brand new song from Adele... Have a listen, see what you think" and "Adele's next". Implied or explicit questions are good.

Whatever the format, you want listeners to carry on listening - or to come back later.

Keeping people listening is really about forward momentum. Making your show difficult to leave because it's enjoyable and/or interesting - and satisfying a need. Making it a programme you want to come back to later - and tomorrow. Great content, of course, is key, and, dependent on the format, how it makes the listener feel - and helping the presenters become the listeners' friends and family.

'Teasing' can be a useful part, although not the whole, of the strategy. But the pointless previews and 'so what' teases which riddle British radio like a disease - probably do little else apart from delighting naieve programmers.   

If you're going to tease, it needs to be more than a yellow AA signpost.

It needs to be an unfinished story, preferably with integral value, that arouses a pang of hunger.  

Otherwise, readers will buy the next mag along, and listeners will have moved on.

Damn. Bloody train's late.



More about teasing in my book 'How to Make Great Radio'. Proceeds to the Radio Academy.

This Thing Called Radio

A favourite song cheering a sullen moment in a grey teenage bedroom.

This thing called radio.

Hoping to hear the name of your school when the snow fell.

This thing called radio.

That birthday shout-out the day you were spotty sixteen.

This thing called radio.

The noisy album you won, aged 17, and wrote your name on.

This thing called radio.

The soundtrack to Summer journeys with your best friends in your first car.

This thing called radio.

Smiling on the way to another dark day in a dull job.

This thing called radio.

Upset because they moved your favourite presenter.

This thing called radio.

In bed. Wrapped up. Rain on the window pane. Cromarty. Dogger.

This thing called radio.

Stuck alone in a motorway jam. Knowing you're fighting it together.

This thing called radio.

Objective news reporting in a former dictatorship.

This thing called radio

A wind-up set pulsing out life-saving messages on AIDS across Africa.

This thing called radio.

Risking imprisonment in Germany listening to Long Wave from London in the dark days of War.

This thing called radio

A captive Terry Waite chained to a radiator in Beirut, hearing a World Service birthday message from his cousin.

This thing called radio.

It’s for good reason that nine out of ten people around their Globe spend as much as a quarter of their waking hours with this delightful one hundred year old medium.

Celebrate this thing.

This thing called radio. 

On World Radio Day.  

                                                 -----------------

13th February is World Radio Day - A day to celebrate radio as a medium; to improve international co-operation between broadcasters and to encourage major networks and community radio alike to promote access to information, freedom of expression and gender equality over the airwaves 

This year, the UNESCO theme for World Radio Day is 'Radio in time of Emergency and Disaster'. Radio still remains the medium that reaches the widest possible audience in the quickest possible time. 

My book 'How to Make Great Radio' is out now. Proceeds to the UK Radio Academy 

No more radio ads with talkback effects, please

No no no.

Why do so many ad copywriters and producers believe the tinny sound of talkback effects works in a radio ad campaign? 

I've said it before - but now this new contagion of ads bearing such effects is getting me very, very annoyed.    

I can think of no TV campaign which is similarly obsessed with the intricacies of TV cameras, scripts or acting -  nor a digital campaign obsessed with the intricacies of how the internet works or the font colour.

Why do we get this talkback theme repeated again and again, alongside juicy references  to 'voiceovers', 'voicing' and 'we've got thirty seconds'?

These radio ads are presumably hatched by producers who just don't get radio.  They don't get the relationship radio has with its listeners. They don't get that radio lives in the mind and hearts of its listeners. They don't get that radio excels in storytelling. They don't get that listeners don't see radio is a thing manufactured in a studio with panels and switches, but as a friend who shares their life.  

Listeners don't see a mixing panel, they see a face.

I presume these creative folk are good at working with other media, so may I suggest they just concentrate on that. Or talk to a few radio listeners about the place that radio enjoys in their lives.

The tinny talkback effect is familiar to those of us who spend our lives in a radio studio. It means very little to those who do not.  It is simply not part of their world. It relates to the life of copywriters and not to the listeners.

And, anyway, why on earth would you want to enhance the impression that the VO guy is absolutely nothing to do with the company advertising its wares  - and is being told what to say by someone else?

As for the verb 'to voice'. It is only ever used in the media world. Normal people do not talk about voicing or 'voicing'.

Radio is gifted with storytelling.  We remember the great TomTom 'quicker journeys' campaign (DDB Tribal Wordwide) with huge affection. A great simple theme of an uncomfortable car journey, illustrated with truly brilliant scripting and high quality acting. That's the way to do it.   

We think back to the forces recruitment campaigns with young recruits speaking of their motives and dreams. 

We recall the  hugely powerful Cancer Research UK (Anomaly/Mediacom) fly on the wall campaign in which people affected by the disease spoke honestly about their diagnosis and everyday life - in other words, the very conversations they'd be having with their closest friends.  The audio worked on TV - and probably even more powerfully - on radio.

"A yes (to a mortgage) can mean pencil marks on the wall as you watch your children grow ", says the current NatWest campaign. Visualisation and emotion in one great line. That works.

I quite like the recent Dreams radio campaign on the jolly theme of how long ago you last changed your mattress. How can any listener resist answering that dirty question in their mind?  There, you just did. But why does the campaign not feature punter voices responding to that very question? It's interesting to note that on their website, they've troubled to do a video showing, well, vox pops with people. The soundtrack to those would have worked on radio too.  Folk who do great video often cannot see the value of the pictures on the radio - and the power of real voices.

Dear radio campaign creatives, please, forget the studio, forget thirty seconds, forget voiceovers and talkback. Imagine a listener sat in a car in a world of their own and talk to them.  It's not difficult.

My book, 'How to Make Great Radio', has lots of stuff on this theme. It's out now!

Farewell, Terry

How on earth did this lovely, quietly mumbling man attract an audience of millions?  

No teasing.  Little ‘sense of the day’.  No callers.  No stunts.  No giggling sidekick.  Not slick. No crazy competitions.  No showbiz.  Few weather forecasts.  Incestuous talk about his radio team.  Interminable ramblings about the mundane.

But, like most great breakfast shows, he broke the rules and won.  The phrase ‘radio legend’ was made for Terry Wogan. 

Despite his audience of millions, Terry enjoyed true intimacy with the listener.  Every listener felt he knew them  - and that he understood them.  From the shawled-pensioner in an icy semi to the savvy student from a magnolia flat; each listener heard a different show in their own head.  Although he likely earned a touch more than either of them, they felt this seemingly self-effacing man was still ‘one of us’. Like Blackburn, this man grew not to take himself too seriously, with some success.

The Wogan vocabulary was his weapon.  With enviable skill, he carved each sentence; turning a mundane anecdote from a black and white photo to a colour film with a beautiful array of words, delivered with vocal warmth through an increasingly fruity voice.  

Tales founded on fact  would be emebellished with a Wogan flight of fancy.  A few words from a 'listener' on Basildon Bond turned to gold in the hands of the master.

His artful pauses too.  Terry possibly made as much money in his career from saying nothing as saying something.

View image | gettyimages.com

A little like Bernie Taupin, his rich career began when a chance newspaper recruitment ad rescued him from the banking world.  Presumably charming the interviewers, he was signed up to RTE.  As the early recordings of Moyles suggest too, distinctive  broadcasters do not begin their careers with their trademark styles; but you can hear just a hint of the endearing future Tel on this early clip from the Emerald Isle.

When work began to dry up in Ireland in 1966, Terry rattled out a quick missive on the Remington to the BBC.  Auntie responded with the offer of a few programmes ‘down the line’ for the Light Programme, before a fledgling Radio 1  beckoned.  In the days when programmes had titles, he hosted the wonderful ‘Late Night Extra’.  After some relief presentation and holding the JY fort, afternoons became his home, simulcast by BBC Radio 1 and 2.

Terry ascended the Radio 2 breakfast throne in the Decimal days of 1972, entertaining the Nation with his ramblings, interrupted only by JAM jingles and pan-pipe music.

He signed off from Radio 2 in 1984 to dedicate more time to his TV career, wearing those brown suits we all wore back then.  Whilst he did TV possibly as well as most radio folk, he was still at his best when, as in the Eurovision, we couldn’t see him.  Like many in the radio fraternity, you got the feeling he did his best work when he felt no-one was really watching.

Come January 1993, he returned home.  Terry was one of very few presenters ever to host two long spells on a significant breakfast show on the same station.  By now, he’d become the eponymous hero of ‘Wake Up to Wogan'; and he'd truly found his act.  That's the stage at which a performer truly matures; and the audience give them permission to behave unthinkably on-air.  One got the feeling that detailed show prep was not high on his list of priorities, but it mattered little. A listener's broadcaster, not a radio anorak's.

As a professional, he carried himself through his career with skill.  Being sufficiently true to himself when speaking about the Corporation's idiosyncrasies, but stopping short of going too far.  His humour and stature softening comments on music policy, radio, or BBC antics which might have sounded unwise from others.

His handing the Radio 2 breakfast baton to Chris Evans at the end of 2009 was text book.  One could detect the signs of two performers respecting each other’s very different talents.  I suspect it was well-choreographed too; but one got the distinct feeling that he agreed with this unlikely succession plan.  If he did, he was right.  Here he was, fondly letting his mischievous radio ‘son’ have a play now, probably shaking his head lovingly at the Evans antics like a tolerant father.

If proof were needed of his talents, watch his farewell speech below. Radio is rarely perfect, and that’s why we love it.  But this is.  Truly perfect delivery. As mentioned in my book, the pace was 165 words per minute, a little faster than his normal speed, but slower than most broadcasters. Terry delivered every valedictory word from the heart, as if to a close friend sat together in the living room. In truth, Tel was surrounded by producers and the nosey, gazing at a typed script, and read every word.  Immaculately.  Note how he gazed into the eyes of his listener throughout, never those milling around; possibly the secret of his art in those 28 successful years on earlies. 

Wogan returned for what his to be his final broadcasting home in 2010 for Weekend Wogan on Radio 2. Whilst a live audience situation was arguably not the best home for the Wogan skill, 30,000 people were said to have applied for a seat in the audience, gazing at his mastery.

"I’ve always said that I hope I’ll have enough sense to get off the beach before the tide comes", said Terry.  He did.  We'll miss him and we'll remember him.

Alan Dedicoat and Ken Bruce reflect in 'The World at One' on Radio 4 
Terry's last 2009 breakfast show in full, thank to Andy Walsmley



My book 'How to Make Great Radio' is published by Biteback

Congratulations, OC!

When Christian O’Connell began on breakfast across the UK, 86% of households didn’t have digital radio; the best-selling phone was a Nokia; and Mike Baldwin died.

Ten years on breakfast is quite a landmark on any radio station, not least one in the aggressive London and UK market.  

Congratulations, Christian. You’ve done a great job, growing from boy to man in the transition from rebellious Xfm to vigorous Virgin and Absolutely beyond.

His arrival in 2006 attracted acres of coverage. Mind you, the mighty One Golden Square press office has an enviable reputation of being able to conjure up coverage for the arrival of a pizza in reception.

Lovely Lynn at the Guardian, who'd presumably woken early to listen, observed:  “I don't think he is the new Chris Evans - he is less frantic, less bullying, more likable, with a much drier sense of humour. And he is much less laddishly offensive than most of the other pop DJs.”

Christian's time in the London limelight was preceded by an apprenticeship at 2CR in Bournemouth, and an early spell delivering ballads to the dying in the disinfected wards of a Hampshire hospital.

This man, habitually clad in his black leather jacket, is a pro. A single-minded, clever operator. Witnessing his art at the Arqiva awards was always an education. One’s peers are always the toughest audiences. He measured the mood; with the fun poked at the big boys not the little guys. 

On-air and off-air, a sharp performer with the skill to prep well and deliver as if he hadn’t. 

He's serious about being funny; willing to draw on his own life; and watches others with skill to harvest observational riches. He studies his influences with diligence; and, unlike some other great performers, knows just how he does what he does.

Christian pulls off deadpan on radio - alongside sounding as chirpy as one needs breakfast jocks to.  A grown up 'lad' on a male station with easy female likeability. He boasts pure comic timing and - well - the sort of face that does funny well with eyes and mouth telling different stories. 

The broadcaster manages his managers excellently, and is commercially astute, helping the station and himself earn the money they deserve; a skill which likely owes something to a first-hand experience of what hard sales is all about. And good luck to him. 

His efforts have spun off into TV and, on radio, he's heard on 5 Live too. The book he penned, 'The Men Commandments', appears still to be at full price on Amazon, which is always a good sign, and his stand-up tour is very much still standing. His appearance at last year's Radio Festival was a mouth-watering appetiser.

I worked alongside Christian for an all too brief period in 2007-08. He's good to deal with, and able to detach the person from the performance for the sake of programme analysis. Hungry for anything at all which might help tomorrow’s show get better; and pretty impatient if it doesn't.

Congratulations, OC. Have a good show, Sir. Radio is proud of you.





My book 'How to Make Great Radio is out now, proceeds to the Radio Academy

Our Dennis

If you don’t live near Nottinghamshire, you may not have heard too much about him. That’s probably the point.

Dennis McCarthy MBE belonged purely to the city he came to call his own.  That’s why the streets were lined for his funeral route twenty years ago – and why he remains so fondly remembered to this day.

Dennis joined BBC Radio Nottingham shortly after it launched in 1968, persuading his way through the York House door by brandishing some promising material about dogs.

His weekly Sunday show - purring out of large VHF sets on 94.8 or Rediffusion Channel C - was to become compulsive listening; echoing round every terrace in St Ann’s and every boulevard in Bridgford.

Dennis's quiet conversation truly engaged; delivered in a natural voice of real depth, warmth and quality. Although his rich tones did not resemble those of his community, he understood his people perfectly and became a true companion to this proud manufacturing city as it prepared itself for demolition and reinvention.

The weekend show comprised an array of ostensibly dull features, turned into magic in the hands of a master. Every ‘Swap Shop’ caller was played to huge advantage as they offered a storage radiator or some ‘hard core’ to be collected from Sneinton. Dennis’s dead-pan delivery and comic timing was a true art.

‘Wanted Column of the Air’ was another classified feature where Dennis helped listeners' quests and turned them into entertainment.  Never ridiculing, he conducted parallel simultaneous dialogues with listener and caller. 

'Giveaway' became an excuse for an amusing faux-harrumphing exchange about why the listener didn't want the offending item any more. 

When a listener he'd dialled up failed to answer the qualifying question for 'Family Jackpot', he'd still instinctively exploit any latent opportunity: "Are you having mint sauce?".

On one occasion, however, the recipient of such a call explained she'd just been bereaved. In the hands of any lesser broadcaster, the moment would have been far from the compassionate, dramatic radio that ensued.

When the occasion warranted, Dennis could just as easily slip into a quality current affairs or personality interview. On local matters, from the arrival of one-man buses to the closure of Victoria Market's mushy peas stall, he felt the City's heartbeat

The McCarthy contribution was extended to a regular daily show, 'Afternoon Special', in 1974, which was later to be networked across the East Midlands by 1980. This programme featured ‘Where are You Now?’, where listeners tracked down those they cared about so much that they’d lost touch. Dennis used it as a cunning vehicle for local anchoring: "Wasn't that the pub on Derby Road?".

In those contesting days, we’d be treated to prizes such as, and I quote, a “£15 shopping spree on Arnold Market" – or a 45 rpm record. The unwritten rule was that winners of the 45s should generously refuse them and say "give it the ‘Ospital, Dennis". I suspect Nottingham’s QMC was actually built on a foundation of obscure vinyl freebies.

Dennis broke the rules. His programme often included deliberate gaps you could drive an NCT bus through. If a caller said she'd seen an unusual bird at the bottom of her garden, he'd ask her to go to see if it was still there. You'd hear the click of the latch on her door - and await her return. Dennis felt under no obligation to say anything, often for minutes. It was strangely riveting. 

This great communicator is recalled now, not through Tram 214 which bears his name, but for specific memorable moments of radio.

The shows were huge, dominating East Midlands’ listening. In later years, by which time I was working in radio, a plan was half-hatched to persuade Dennis to leave the BBC and launch ‘Radio Dennis’ on Trent’s AM frequency which it was hurriedly re-purposing.

He is still recalled as frequently as he was a decade ago. On Paul Robey's excellent Sunday show, heir to the McCarthy throne, listeners will voluntarily cite Dennis, just as they'd talk about an old friend. He was a listener's presenter, not an anorak's. Humbly little material is to be found on-line about the perfect performance of this gentlemen - who chose to complete his programme, on feeling ill, before passing away at home later the same day, aged 63.

I shall leave others who knew him personally to reflect on the man inside this hugely-gifted, dog-loving, washing machine and tripe salesman who'd been evacuated to Nottingham aged eight; and who'd appeared in a couple of films, including 'One of our Aircraft is Missing' two years before he'd left London. Most inspired broadcasters are complex characters, yet forgiven in equal quantity. I was but a loyal listener in my radio shed at the bottom of the garden.  

I did meet him twice, though – the first time as I claimed my prize in a car-theft jingle contest he'd staged on his programme in conjunction with the Notts’ bobbies.  I was the runner-up, by the way, but bear no malice to the winner. I hope my rival’s been happy in life.

On the second occasion, Dennis turned up in his brown suit to open a British Legion coffee morning. He showed his face at a lot of events – a lesson for anyone seeking to own their market.  On this occasion, he’d been invited by my mother. As the picture suggests, my wonderful 'Hyacinth' mum had no intention of playing second fiddle to the invited star. But, again, he played her like a caller.

Dennis's family became our family, as his children, Tara and 'Digger' 'The World's Youngest DJ', played their part in the show.

His is a rare talent. Dennis was the sort of personality on which BBC local radio was built. Steeped in his area, a broadcaster who understood his audience and spoke to them on a level. 

'Our Dennis' numbers among the greats. Over the years, there have been others of his ilk across the BBC local network, each hugely valued by their audiences. Sometimes more so than by their management. 

Looking through the BBC Yearbooks over the years, his contribution merits a single, lonely mention - in the edition for the year he died. Just maybe the BBC of today should vow to take more care in identifying these great communicators, give them the environment to do their best work - and then celebrate them.

How many of today's broadcasters will be spoken about by their listeners twenty years on?

Enjoy a full hour-long tribute to Dennis, with contributions from family and colleagues


Thanks to Owen McCarthy (Digger) and former colleagues for their co-operation and contributions.

Grab a copy of my book 'How to Make Great Radio' now, from Amazon. Proceeds to the Radio Academy.

Five years of Capital UK

The Capital network launched five years ago - on 3rd January 2011, bringing together the eponymous London station with a clutch of heritage 'Hit Music' and Galaxy stations across the UK, reaching 7.1m listeners. 

Its UK audience has subsequently stood up well over the period - in what can be a worrying radio demographic. Taking the brand offshoots into account, listenership has grown.

London ad agencies love the network's simplicity and I can only guess at the sudden impact on national Galaxy revenues. Having managed half of that non-London brand for a few years, it was always a frustration when, despite best efforts, its revenue yield failed to live up to its audience stature.

Whilst the previous brand-names are regarded with huge, huge affection by many, including me, the logic for the strategic move was clear. Assembling stations in targeted brand clusters where they could fight powerfully for ad revenue and market themselves effectively against both powerful UK-wide BBC competition and rival media. Without at least some attractive and powerful national brands amongst the industry offering, I would have feared for the long-term future for commercial radio.

Had the commercial radio industry launched in the 70s with some national mainstream brands, and an icing of sustainable locals, life would have been altogether simpler. And if the commercial industry itself had been launched a few decades earlier, that would have been better still. It's true too that some executives in the early commercial radio industry fought persuasively - and perhaps wrongly - for continued local FM expansion rather a national counterpart.

With only one national commercial FM network available, and that devoted to a classical format, there was no other option than to bundle together existing FM frequencies. The re-branding was discharged boldly and efficiently on-air, and accompanied by what is widely recognised as one of the best ever TV ads for radio. In an ever more competitive world, its target audience loves it, just as I loved its predecessors when I was their age.

Enjoy here a medley of the well-co-ordinated opening moments across the UK.

At the end, enjoy Hirsty's Daily Dose, on the huge 1m+ audience station in Yorkshire.

Hirsty closes her opening link with the words 'this, for the very first time, is Capital FM'. Save for the 'FM', she had recreated the first words on London's Capital in 1973. just as Moyles repeated Radio 1's first words when he arrived on the breakfast show at last. I am not a fan of incestuous 'in' talk on-air - but both these two asides are clever enough to be lost on the many and treasured, with a fond smile, by the few.