For all that it's important to stay informed, tuning into the morning news is rarely conducive to a bright start to the day. When not depressing listeners about the next charge coming down the tracks, breakfast bulletins are clogged with global disasters, international atrocities and domestic crime, with any horrors involving children guaranteed to receive particular attention. It's little wonder that an increasing number of people are skipping the catalogue of gloom that is Morning Ireland in favour of less depressing fare.
For those who deem Marty Whelan, on Lyric FM, one frothy step too far in the other direction, Breakfast (Newstalk, weekdays) has been providing a more palatable take on the morning news, steadily increasing its audience in the process. It's a tribute to its presenters, Ivan Yates and Chris Donoghue, that they can turn a story involving such cheery topics as old age, mortality and, worst of all, the provision of Government services into an uplifting item.
It's all the more impressive as, in the course of Monday's interview with the economist Pete Lunn, Yates and Donoghue reveal themselves to be glummer than most of their compatriots. Lunn is on to discuss happiness, or more precisely those surveys that measure it internationally. When he asks his hosts to rate satisfaction with their lives on a scale of 10, both presenters score themselves at six. This, Lunn says, is below the national average of seven.
But while Yates describes himself as “a moody old yoke”, the item is marked by larky humour, as well as by thought-provoking analysis. That Ireland is consistently rated among the happiest countries in the world seems surprising, given that efficient public services are a key factor in national happiness. A slightly perplexed Yates thinks the high Irish score must be because “we’re on the lash: when the guy comes with the clipboard we’re semiconscious”.
But, amid the wisecracking, Yates is alive to the nuances of the subject. The happiest nations, Lunn says, are Scandinavian, which while wealthy and well run – qualities notably absent in contemporary Ireland – are also “small countries with a strong sense of national identity”, a crucial attribute that we share. “There’s a much closer sense of intimacy in a small country,” Yates says, contrasting it with the “impersonality” of our larger (and unhappier) island neighbour. As a father with grown-up children, Yates also correctly guesses that freedom from the stresses of raising a family is another key factor in personal contentment. He is, however, incredulous that people in their 60s and 70s are happiest of all. “I think they put on a front,” replies Yates, reverting to moody mode.
The interview is entertaining yet strangely profound. Although Yates and Donoghue don’t always get the balance right, it’s a mix that works well for them, particularly when their show enters its final hour and turns from being an opinionated if slightly under-resourced news programme to being a stimulating magazine format.
A more subdued Yates turns up on Marian Finucane (RTÉ Radio 1, Saturday and Sunday), an increasingly hidebound show. The interview covers Yates's career as politician, bookmaker, bankrupt and broadcaster, and it has arresting moments – notably his description of the failure of his betting business as "a tits-up disaster" – both parties can sound like they're going through the motions.
Yates talks about his stress as his fortunes unravelled, but with little of the honesty and vulnerability he has previously betrayed when discussing the subject. But he is only taking his cue from Finucane, who sounds as if she has all the conviction of a bored call-centre operative. Her low-key questions seem soft and uninterested rather than gently coaxing, and her attempts at toughness merely sound cack-handed, as when she says that her guest came across as a crybaby when he lived for a year in Wales when bankrupt. This prompts little in the way of revelation from Yates.
This lack of engagement is even more in evidence during Finucane's talk with Donna Hartnett, the Cork woman whose newspaper letter about the strain of working at the expense of her children's company went viral earlier this month. With its blend of personal experience and wider social relevance, it's the sort of item that should naturally lend itself to compelling radio.
Instead Finucane runs through her questions perfunctorily. When Hartnett talks about her lack of long-term financial stability – a concern for many listeners – Finucane doesn’t bother to explore the theme, preferring to utter “grand” and move on to the next question. It’s a pattern repeated throughout the interview.
That their discussion occurs nearly two weeks after Hartnett’s original letter was published – she has since been hired to write a newspaper column – is symptomatic of a lethargy that can be masked by the constant chatter of Finucane’s loud panels but is more evident in such stilted one-to-one encounters. It’s all so dull that you almost look forward to the news.
Moment of the Week: Clive James's bitter-sweet swansong
The Book Show (RTÉ Radio 1, Saturday) is a magazine programme that always mixes keen literary judgment with an innovative sensibility, but it hits a new peak when its presenter, Sinéad Gleeson (who also contributes to The Irish Times), devotes an entire edition to a wonderful interview with Clive James. The Australian writer and broadcaster is as sharp as ever, but the croaking voice and occasional gasping betray his terminal illness. The result is poignant and philosophical but also darkly funny, as when James discusses Japanese Maple, his recent poem about the imminent death that has yet to occur. "What I've got to do now is stop writing poems where I say I'm going to die tomorrow," he says, "because what if I don't? You see my problem?" Whatever happens next, it's a typically brilliant valediction.
radioreview@irishtimes.com
