Life
Radio ga-ga
by Bill Ralston
Could RNZ National’s hosts at least sound like they’re alive?
I am not sure when it happened. It’s a little like losing lifelong friends as, without even -knowing you are drifting apart, you gradually stop seeing them. Then one day you wake up and find they have died.
So it is with the now execrably named Radio New Zealand National. It is dead to me. That is probably entirely understandable because so many of its hosts actually sound dead themselves.
Indeed, I believe the entire public radio network is now dedicated to servicing an audience that also passed away years before. Listening to its dreary output, I have to conclude it is admirably suited to broadcast into the afterlife.
A disclosure at this point: I work as a host on another radio station, but for many years I turned to National Radio for news and information. Several months ago, while waiting to ply my trade in the house of ill repute that is commercial talk radio, I realised RNZ National was intolerably boring.
I twiddled the dial. After fleeing the rantings of Michael Laws and Leighton Smith and incidentally, but unnecessarily, discovering the benefits of homeopathic remedies for erectile dysfunction, I found a new home on the Auckland Maori hip-hop station Mai FM. Aside from developing a taste for the new R&B, I have no idea why I’ve done so except for the fact the hosts sound as if they still live, breathe and have fun.
Actually, it does not matter if commercial radio is good or bad: you can simply change stations. It doesn’t cost you a cent. If public radio is bad, it costs you well north of $25 million a year, whether you listen or not.
The dreadfully smug, hand-wringing liberal contortions of RNZ could originate only from its home in Wellington, a literal stone’s throw from the politically correct Parliament it derives its not inconsiderable income from. RNZ National is the voice of Helen Clark’s New Zealand: smug, self-righteous and desperately dull.
Yes, I am a baby boomer. That does not mean my musical taste is firmly bedded in the 1960s, my concerns revolve solely around the imminent end of the planet, or that I continually require Sue Kedgley’s advice on what to buy at the supermarket.
I don’t want to hear the ramblings of somewhat dubiously qualified media critics whingeing about every news outlet except, of course, RNZ National.
In fact, I don’t always want to hear holier-than-thou people of my age and older prattling on about the not-so-urgent issues of the day. What disturbs me is the almost complete lack of fresh young voices on RNZ National who might inject new insight and, God help us, some fun into the network.
There are dozens of young innovative broadcasters operating in the ghettos of youth TV and radio who could be usefully incorporated into a more balanced diet of public radio. We are currently being served an insipid menu of stewed apple and bananas, admirably suited to the rest home RNZ National has become.
I know, good old Sean has a go every now and then, Kim is still Kim, and Jim Mora talks beautifully, but this is an organisation that is considerably less than the sum of its parts
I’m not sure if the audience has deserted the network or if the network has abandoned its audience. However, I am convinced these days RNZ National is broadcasting almost solely to itself and the few dozen people who control its funding. It is impossible to tell how many people do listen because it no longer participates in the industry ratings survey, preferring to run its own polling and surveys that invariably show it is doing its job admirably.
Inspired by this innovative idea, I have rejected the magazine industry’s surveys of readership and circulation for my own system. I have discovered this column has been warmly embraced by almost the entire nation, 100% more people read me than read the Listener itself, and I definitely deserve a raise.
Why has the public radio become so joyless? I think it comes from being a beneficiary. Because it derives its income from the state, it has decided the only stakeholder it must appease is the one that gives it the cash to pay the rent.
As long as politicians and public -servants have the chance to hear themselves babbling on demand, they are happy – despite the fact Sean may occasionally be rude. Secure in that knowledge, RNZ National is content.
Oh well, it doesn’t really matter. My radio is on and apparently I am in some place called Tamaki Makaurau; some young lady is singing she got her body “from her mama”; and the guys who fill the silence between the tracks at least talk as if they live on the same planet I do.
