There’s not a great deal of sparkle around RTÉ at the moment, but amid the gloom that has enveloped Montrose there’s some corner of a D4 field that is forever Blingland. Shining through the fog of despondency with the incandescence of a giant LED-laden sphere on the Las Vegas skyline, 2FM remains a riot of glitzy gossip and raucous ribbing, even as storm clouds hover over its future. From the opening sugar rush of 2FM Breakfast (weekdays) to the antics on Drive It With the 2 Johnnies (weekdays), the pace rarely lets up, lifting the spirits or testing the stamina, depending on one’s disposition.
Either way, one has to admire the energy of Doireann Garrihy, Donncha O’Callaghan and Carl Mullan, the dependably animated hosts of 2FM Breakfast. More than two years into their partnership, the trio still manage to sound unfeasibly excited as they swap trivia and titbits at 6am. Whether the topic is mundane (the misery of cleaning fishtanks) or highbrow (the imminent completion of the Sagrada Família in Barcelona), the presenters’ approach never wavers: a few factoids and lighthearted personal anecdotes accompanied by much cackling and promiscuous use of the phrase “ah, lads”.
That said, the chemistry between the three hosts has altered, or rather gelled, with Mullan and O’Callaghan playing less of a supporting role to Garrihy than previously, while the razzing and giggles are distributed more equally. That’s not say things have calmed down: innuendo is never far away. News of a baby beaver being born in London for the first time in 400 years predictably prompts a flurry of tittering double entendres.
RTÉ executives must pine for the simpler times when verbal gaffes rather than secret deals were the biggest scandals that could befall broadcasters
Add to this the constant blur of jingles and music beds, and the atmosphere is so bright and noisy as to make an amusement arcade seem like a Zen temple in comparison. Given it’s a morning show, this isn’t a criticism: once you’ve heard the hosts in full flow, there’s little danger of falling back into a slumber.
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The buzzy vibe continues when Jennifer Zamparelli (2FM, weekdays) takes over the reins, though there’s less of the overstimulated kindergarten atmosphere of the breakfast slot. Zamparelli still enjoys stirring mischief. To howls of dissent, she insists that the gritty ghetto gangster film Boyz n the Hood belongs to the frothy teen-movie genre, before giddily mixing up the Hollywood star Alicia Silverstone with Sarah Silverman, “the Jewish comedian”. (“Keep digging,” her sidekick Emma Power chuckles at the host’s discomfiture.)
But Zamparelli’s show is given ballast by more considered items, ranging from human-interest segments such as her conversation with the blind Paralympian Peter Ryan to her discussion with the child-development consultant Ollwyn Moran about getting kids back into the school routine. The latter encounter, though it chimes with parents old and new, suggests that much of Zamparelli’s audience is older the youthful demographic that her station ostensibly targets. Equally, however, it underlines the way that Zamparelli, for all her in-your-face image, has a broader appeal than her berth in 2FM allows.
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The 2 Johnnies have made themselves at home after their shaky start on the station last year. (The podcasting comedy duo were suspended for offensive remarks on social media about women: how beleaguered RTÉ executives must pine for those simpler times when verbal gaffes rather than secret deals were the biggest scandals that could befall broadcasters.) Once the problem pupils, Johnny “B” O’Brien and Johnny “Smacks” McMahon now appear to be the star students. Their online following is finally translating into listener numbers, with more people now tuning in to the duo than to their 2FM peers.
Not that success has changed them, or at least their formula. Just as garrulous but decidedly less glam than their colleagues – not least Tracy Clifford (2FM, weekdays), who on Tuesday brings back interviews with the Edge and Adam Clayton from her trip to see U2′s pyrotechnic residency at the aforementioned Vegas dome – O’Brien and McMahon stick firmly to their personas as sound country lads. Opening Wednesday’s show with the battle cry of “Rev up your engines!”, the pair expend much airtime weighing the merits of their listeners’ breakfast preferences in characteristic style, from suspicion of metropolitan fads – “They’re all gone mad with the chorizo cakes” – to wincing sympathy for consumers of multiple Weetabix: “He’ll be quare regular after that.”
2FM is squeezed by vibrant regional stations such as Dublin’s Spin 1038 and outperformed nationally by Today FM, making it a less coveted brand than it might appear
There’s something vaguely awe-inspiring about the pair’s ability to spin such stodgy fare into three hours of unflagging chatter, often inventive and frequently funny, even if they rarely stray from slagging mode. When McMahon admits to crying easily at movies, it’s played purely for laughs. With their approach paying dividends, however, it’s hard to imagine the 2 Johnnies taking a different direction.
[ The 2 Johnnies: the blokey swagger is wearing very thinOpens in new window ]
But if 2FM’s surface sheen is all outsized personalities, relentless volume and the same few tunes going around the schedule as if they were on a sushi conveyor belt, the station isn’t immune to the anxieties pervading the rest of RTÉ. Though no Tubridy-sized scandal befell any of its roster, its presenters didn’t escape controversy. Garrihy shot a porridge ad in her studio without permission, while her colleague Lottie Ryan filmed an unsanctioned car promo on the RTÉ campus, adding to the impression that the national broadcaster was as much bazaar as place of work.
Meanwhile, speculation simmers that 2FM could be sold off to help staunch RTÉ’s haemorrhaging of funds. The station’s lack of an obvious public-service remit makes it an obvious target, though the practicalities seem tricky: it broadcasts from the Montrose campus, while most staff work for the wider network. Moreover, 2FM is squeezed by vibrant regional stations such as Dublin’s Spin 1038 and outperformed nationally by Today FM, making it a less coveted brand than it might appear.
In this context, the on-air fizz of Garrihy, Zamparelli et al seems less like identikit music radio and more akin to an act of defiance. Time may be running out on RTÉ, but 2FM continues to party on regardless.
