An enduring freshness

Press, 14 July 1980, Page 15

An enduring freshness

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Heath Lees

If necessity really is the mother of invention, .it’s probably true that repetition is its greatest enemy. It must be exceedingly difficult for broadcasters to function as fresh as ever, day in day out, in the same show, often in the same time slot and with a similar format underpinning the production. The temptation must be to loose all sense of reality and become just a chattering head. Yet some people seem to manage constant repetition with ease. Sharon Crosbie for example, who fronts the National programme’s “As It Happens” for three whole hours every weekday, sounds as though every hair is in place even though she’s been up and about for simply ages, and let’s open that window and enjoy all that nice fresh air. Yet the bonhomie (bonfemie?) is not forced, nor is it overdone. The lady is obviously blessed with a naturally pleasant personality which contrives to ignore the bags in our eyes yet soothes our rumpled dispositions.

Now and again she changes her accents and her modulations, no doubt to ward off the demon boredom — “This IS the National Programme and IT’S time FOR Jessica Weddell AND Viewpoint.” Understandably. Jessica sounds a little hesitant AFTER that. On the other hand Sharon knows what she likes, and if someone behind the scenes slips in an un-Crosbie-like (in every sense) song, she gives them a rap over their furtive knuckles — “That was a group called Focus; and that’s all you can say about them really.” Dead stop. Chief cook and bottle washer extraordinaire, Sharon reads the news headlines better than most, announces the music, greets the visitors, reads the letters, welcomes the short-wave listeners at 11.30 (what an event that always is!) and otherwise edits and presents

National’s daily magazine in sound. It’s only when you turn to 3ZB in the mornings that you realise the difference, which is a little like the difference between the passive and the attive voice. “As It Happens” is listenable and sure of itself. 3ZB’s mbrning sessions are faster and less predictable, if only because of the phone-in element.

The man who excels in keeping the sparks flying here is Robin Harrison, who seems to thrive on repetition. though admittedly he doesn’t host every morning. But. to take one example, “The Monday Conference” is a masterpiece of fluency. With skill and charm, Robin articulates what the hesitant caller is struggling towards, he foresees problems before they properly appear, he deflects the prejudiced and the badtempered. and keeps the whole pot bubbling away merrily. Yet he, too, doesn’t look as though he’s just going through the motions. It does sound real. Whether or not it can be kept up over a long period, when months stretch into years has yet to be seen.

Meantime, it’s there to be enjoyed. Robin is not easily bowed down. When Ann Hercus phones in all the way from Lyttelton to get a plug in for the Labour Party, Robin .often examines it with her, points out all the holes and promptly pulls the plug out again. Our Robin is nobody’s j'es-man. And, for wha’t it’s worth, he also does the best Glasgow accent in New Zealand. I kid you not — it is straight out of Sauchiehall Street; a kind of rhapsodic Charles

Endell Esquire. three octaves higher. 3ZB's answer to Richard Dimbleby. But . the broadcaster who not only thrives on repetition but also matures with age is John Gordon, back with the National programme again (and again, and again . . .) There .can’t be many broadcasting services left in the world which will allow an hour a day for the highly opinionated selections of music by one gentleman, no matter how spiritely a 70-year-old he may be. But I imagine that many elderly pairs of ears have a biological twitch that begins around 4 o’clock of an afternoon, and will only be stilled by keeping that appointment with John Gordon and friends — friends including Richard Tauber. Loritz Melchior, Maria Callas, and all the legendary names of a bygone. opera-orientated age. “People don’t talk about them now,” says John, “but you and I will remember them.” To someone like me that becomes something less than a compliment. Yet when he does finally play them, I often do remember them — admittedly not in the

flesh, but in their recordings. which seem familiar to me and which I know I have heard before. Is it because I have heard them in my youth, or is it because John Gordon keeps playing them?

In any event, the programmes are steeped in nostalgia, and to be honest I know 1 am different from his many listeners in managing tne atmosphere of lace, lavender, and the leisured classes for only a little at a time. 1 also feel that some of today’s performers are as good as, sometimes better than, many of yesterday’s. John Gordon gets away with some marvellously v prejudiced statements about music, and I’m sure that if you prised open his hand, you’d be sure to find the word “Callas” written there. Of New Zealand’s most frequent broadcasters, I imagine it’s John Gordon who has the largest following, gets the most satisfaction from his work, and counts every one of his listeners as friends — a late and largely inexplicable manifestation of Reith’s ideal of what broadcasting was all about.