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Anarchy at Radio 2 Jonathan Ross once reported that he'd been called 'the bad boy of Radio 2', and suggested that it was like saying he was really misbehaved, like he didn't look left and right before crossing the road. What's he doing there? Anyway, I guess it means I am a fan of Radio 2, something I never thought I would say. I remember when he first started on television, and people did not know how to receive him - clumsy fool with a lisp, or anarchic counterpoint to his more polished contemporaries. He has become established as the latter, like a punk rock presenter challenging the smooth composure of television personalities. I try to listen to him when I can, on his Saturday morning programme. He's recently had both Joe Strummer and Kim Wilde in the studio. Strummer sounded the worse for wear, his speaking voice more wasted than his singing one. He has released a new CD and Ross reflected how fun it would be if he played with the Clash again. I tried to picture him in the studio, but all I could see was the gaunt youth with spiky hair in leather jacket and jeans. Kim Wilde sounded warm and sweet, talking about how much she now enjoys gardening. She was no match for Ross's sharp wit, claiming that a Greatest Hits compilation of her work made no sense - that she only had about two successes. I pictured the sultry blonde writhing around in jeans and 1980s pop videos. Ross is the ideal spokesperson for the current fondness for the 1970s and 1980s. He grew up in that era; he was there. At 40 years old, he talks about his age with ironic sadness, and recalls his youth with nostalgic pleasure. Like dressing in bin liner clothes, trying to see a punk band at The Marquee. Musical veteran John Peel claims that his favourite record of all time is Teenage Kicks. Apparently it brings tears to his eyes. Perhaps this is what it is all about: a fond recollection for delightful, painful, adolescent years. And more poignantly: where did that time go? Comedian Alan Davies was on the show too. His laid-back and unassuming humour was - unusually - quicker than Ross's aggressive repartee. Like two naughty teenage boys, they agreed how attractive Ross's wife is. Davies understands comic targets more quickly than Ross. The husband in question is known for praising her abundant mammary attributes, indeed choosing her partly for the aforesaid. His enjoyment of all kinds of films includes the ironic genre of Russ Meyer. Ross claimed
watching Big Brother for 9 weeks felt like viewing pornography, and
then remembering that it was not real. He and Davies mocked and impersonated
the different characters noting that removed from the relevant house,
they looked both ordinary and embarrassingly out of place. The camera-encrusted
house gave them a significance they otherwise lacked. However, over
the next few weeks we can expect to see the lower end of newspaper life
printing their photographs and telling their story. The £70,000
prize is only part of the picture. If the right person advises the lovely,
vacuous Helen, she might begin to understand that her relationship with
the unpopular Apart
from his characteristically aggressive wit, Ross is renowned for his
slightly offbeat musical taste. Classic Bowie punctuates his programme
and he has been known to remark that contemporary music has lost its
way, full of manufactured bands and computer generated textures. One
of the phone-in people remarked that she liked 'proper music with guitars',
echoing Ross's own preference. Ross described Kim Wilde as a 'rock chic',
suggesting a by-gone time when they existed: when popular musicians
had something to say, and music was a form of iconic expression. Most
contemporary female singers could not - sadly - be called 'rock chics'.
Perhaps what we need is a resurgence of punk rock. But these things
are cyclical. And the significance of that development was its shock
effect - though admittedly, part of a wider tradition of anti-establishment
rebellion. |
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