DJ Rob Rocks The House

I love Radio. OK, The TVs on a lot in the background, but I listen to the Radio. There’s nothing better when you’re doing something you have to do than finding something to occupy your head while you’re doing it. I’ve got lots of jokes here about mundane activities and listening to music, but it’s too early to get distracted so let’s focus only on the theme of Radio.

Countless long drives have been shortened by being whisked away to another world. There’ve been World Cup qualifiers in places I’ve never heard of and Test Match Specials with cake after cake after cake, lots of banter and sometimes, if its not raining, some cricket. There are plays on Radio 4 almost every day where you can time travel hundreds of years just by the announcer saying “And now our play, It’s 1492…” or “it’s 1942…” or “it’s 4129…”. The opening sound effect kicks in and you’re there, wherever that is, on a boat waiting to discover America, on a plane attacking a boat on the way to America, or a space ship visiting the planet where America used to be.

And there wasn’t even time to mention comedy like Round the Horne or Old Harry’s Game, pathos like Simon Bates’ Our Tune, quizzes or the Charts from the time when it mattered, it really, really mattered whether Ultravox or Joe Dolce was No. 1.

You might be the same as me and vary how much you listen? Sometimes I don’t listen to the radio for a while, at other times it’s a constant companion. In the early 80s, when I lived and breathed music, the presenters of the Monday to Friday evening shows on Radio 1 devoted themselves to finding the best new music to play. Richard Skinner, David Jenson and Mike Read occupied the 8 to 10 slot for differing amounts of time but there was always one constant, John Peel. I hated switching off before midnight in case I missed the next unmissable song he was going to play, and he might never play again. Whatever happened to One Syntax One? From Dewsbury?

This was the world before instant replay. No catching up with Listen Again, no Tracklisting online and no Youtube. Just two two-hour shows by DJs who had a passion for unearthing the best new music whether it was on vinyl or cassette! I listened because I trusted their judgement and, to be realistic about it for a moment, they didn’t have any real competition. Southern Counties Radio, BBC Surrey? I don’t think so.

At some point Radio 4 and its comedy programmes came into view over the horizon and the new world was mine to discover. Admittedly, a world full of Nicholas Parsons and Clement Freud, Humphrey Littleton and two of the Goodies, was always going to be a slightly dangerous place to visit but these people made me smile when I was cooking the dinner, washing up or doing any other little job that had to be done. And I still hate Quote Unquote as much as Humph did.

And that’s the USP of Radio. Anyone can do something mundane and listen to the radio at the same time. Its multitasking even I can do. Radio enhances what we’re doing by entertaining, informing or educating us. If it’s good it might do two of those things. If its brilliant, it might do all three. John Peel’s show was brilliant.

Over the years my life has been enriched by things I’ve heard on the Radio. About 15 years ago I was painting the kitchen in my flat when Radio 4 or 5 broadcast a science programme about putting an artificial reef off Cornwall made of old car tyres. Apparently, there would be benefits to sea life creatures and the environment from the new habitat created. The next feature was about a scientist who’d put a radio transmitter inside an artificial rock he’d made so he could monitor coastal erosion. He dropped the rock on a beach, waited for the tide to go up and down and then found the rock to see how far it had moved. He’d learnt to paint the rock bright yellow to help him find it again easily. At the time I lived about 50 miles from the sea, but it got me thinking about the power of nature. Every now and then that programme pops into my head again. Sometimes I wonder where the rock is now and how far along plans are for that artificial reef.

I remember Peter Powell playing the world exclusive of Spandau Ballet’s “To cut a long story short” while I was watering the garden for my mum. I don’t know who was more excited about this musical landmark, Peter or me, but I do know my mum wasn’t. She just wanted me to turn the radio down so I didn’t annoy the neighbours. She never liked New Romantic music. Can you blame her?

A few years ago I listened to the first half of the Champions League Final between Liverpool and another team of foreigners while I painted the kitchen at my first house. As Liverpool crumpled to 0 – 3 by halftime, I put an extra coat on the ceiling too, sickened by their uselessness. And then, one of the greatest fightbacks in a big match, EVER. I admit that, as the second half unfolded, I did run in the living room to watch each goal after it went in, before returning to my roller. By the end of the game, there must have been a few paint specks on the carpet, and the paint on the ceiling might have been a bit thick in places, but those walls and ceiling were whiter than an X factor judge’s teeth.

Radio matters because it is life enhancing.

Radio Matters.

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