Loath as one is to dredge up the hoary issue of differing work rates in the public and private sectors, listening to the Colm and Lucy Breakfast Show (Classic Hits, weekdays) it’s hard to avoid thinking that commercial radio presenters have to work harder than their RTÉ peers. The duo of Colm Hayes and Lucy Kennedy are on the air for a marathon four hours every morning, one more than their rivals over on 2FM Breakfast. (And that show is hosted by a trio.) True, it beats a zero-hours contract in a menial job as a gig, but even with the bulk of airtime given over to chart oldies, that’s still a lot of bants for Hayes and Kennedy to get through.
If Kennedy is to be believed, it’s not just the hours that compare unfavourably with the national broadcaster. On Wednesday she chuckles about her station’s “staff canteen”, dismissively describing it as “a room with a kettle”: it’s a long way from the Montrose campus for the pair, both of whom had stints with 2FM. But if they harbour longing for their erstwhile employer, there’s no evidence of it. The pair burst out of the blocks at 6am in a blur of good cheer and larky chat, and sustain the lively atmosphere for the duration.
The show rests on their likeable personalities. Kennedy’s broadcasting career, not least her TV show Living with Lucy, has been based around her natural affability and mischievous irreverence. Hayes is also an amiable figure, possessing a daytime jock’s wide command of factoids and occasional urge to hold court. There’s just enough mismatch in personas to generate the requisite on-air chemistry, and sufficient ease (or perhaps age) to ensure it rarely gets too tiresome: though the patter is relentless, it has none of the overworked freneticism of so much zoo radio.
Snoring
It goes without saying that the topics of conversation weigh in at the gossamer end of the scale. On Wednesday, they tackle snoring – possibly a relevant issue for anyone just out of bed, in fairness – by asking listeners to share their experiences, and indeed recordings of noisy bed partners. Sure enough, clips of snuffling spouses are duly aired, including one of Hayes himself, going full foghorn after a “particularly late night”. Kennedy’s voice has a gleeful lilt as she sympathises with her co-host’s wife: “That’s terrible, God love her.”
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This is about as earnest as proceedings get. Otherwise, the bill of fare includes Hayes musing on the relative attractiveness of former US first ladies (he’s a fan of Michelle Obama but not Melania Trump) and Kennedy declaring that, ahem, “it’s very important to check your dog’s bottom”. Truth be told, this cheeky, chirpy air can grow samey after a couple of hours, particularly for anyone with a finite love for the pop hits of the 1980s and 1990s. But otherwise, Hayes and Kennedy do a decent job. Their station gets its money’s worth out of them, but listeners seeking a carefree start to the day won’t feel short-changed either.
When it comes to putting in the hours, fellow Classic Hits presenter Niall Boylan has never been a shirker: for years he helmed an afternoon phone-in show followed by a four-hour late night iteration, five times a week. Having somewhat curbed his nighttime duties, the host is less Stakhanovite in his output these days, but judging by his daytime programme (the Niall Boylan Show, Classic Hits, weekdays) he's lost none of his capacity to provoke or indeed offend.
Contentious topics are his stock in trade. On Wednesday, prompted by actor Johnny Depp’s case against ex-wife Amber Heard, Boylan asks if domestic abuse against men is underreported in Ireland. “Men are probably the stronger of the genders,” he says, but also thinks that “women can be quite controlling”. He talks to Pat, from a domestic-abuse support group, who thinks men in abusive relationships with women are reluctant to come forward, while adding that “a woman is always going to be looked at as a damsel in distress”.
Physically assaulted
Boylan may be correct that such abuse is more common than assumed – he also plays a message from a man telling of Garda indifference after reporting being physically assaulted by his female partner – but it makes for uncomfortable listening. But that’s probably what the host wants. While Boylan stresses that he regularly discusses the issue of men abusing women, he’s an enthusiastic believer in airing all sides of an argument. “That’s all that’s wrong with politics and society today,” he says at one point, “Just because you don’t agree with them, you silence them.”
But debate also requires a range of opinions, and in this instance key things go unsaid, such as the disparity of lethality in domestic violence: abusive men kill women. Moreover, the show’s robust style seems to disproportionally attract callers like the man who delights in “snowflakes having a river of tears”.
At such times, the programme veers perilously close to the toxic American talk radio format, described by cult US musician Steve Albini as “right wing a**holes calling other right wing a**holes”. But Boylan moves beyond such caricatures. His devotion to free speech has its limits: he opposes hate speech. “I believe you have to be responsible for what you say,” he states. Nor is his cause helped by the fact that his gruff timbre sounds more naturally attuned to outrage than empathy.
For all that, Boylan’s priority is creating on-air heat, no matter that the resulting conversations often resemble angry social media threads. Discussing whether 16-year-olds should get the vote, he sounds perplexed when his callers all oppose the idea. “Is no one going to argue for it?” he wonders, in mock exasperation. When one caller proposes that teens could only vote if educated on political issues, his host wonders how this could be determined. “I don’t know,” the caller meekly admits. “I didn’t mean to kill your argument so early,” Boylan replies, “I apologise.” No wonder he’s sorry – if people aren’t arguing, he’s not doing his job.
Radio Moment of the Week
Northern comedian Patrick Kielty shows his serious side on Sunday with Miriam (RTÉ Radio 1), as he talks honestly and thoughtfully about the legacy of the Troubles. Her astute questions aside, O’Callaghan gives Kielty the time to recall his father’s murder by loyalists – he talks of “the fine line between things being fantastically ordinary and changing drastically” – and his own tentative processing of the event: “Do I really want to take the foot off the cellar door and see what comes up?” Kielty talks about the compromises required for peace, but he’s ultimately positive, embracing such ambiguities: “These things are untidy and it’s maybe our job to navigate through that.” An eloquent, reflective and compelling interview.
