Seize the Day (9 page)

It became
de rigueur
at any dance, disco or party, whether respectable or of ill-repute, to play ‘Relax’ as soon as I walked in. The expectation varied, apparently, between me wrecking the place, storming out, becoming apoplectic and breaking the record. I disappointed many an expectant throng by simply dancing – to the best of my ability, that is. There were erroneous reports that I’d punched the lead singer, Holly Johnson, and tales of heated arguments. Nonsense. I even gripped the olive branch and did the voice-over for their first album.

Twenty or so years later I was at lunch with some silver-screen luvvies at the Cannes Film Festival. As I sat at a table on the beach with a glass of something that was warming up as fast as Icarus’s wing wax on his attempted escape from Crete, a smiling stranger plonked himself opposite. But he wouldn’t be a stranger for long, for it turned out that we shared a page of musical history. This was none other than Bernard Rose, the miscreant who’d directed that leather-laden video. The chance meeting, a few prawns, a hint of Chablis, a soupçon of verbal jesting and the circle was complete. What made the whole thing even dafter was that only Holly Johnson was performing on the single and the group strenuously and robustly insisted that it was about inspiration. But then, as Mandy Rice-Davis might have said, ‘Well, they would, wouldn’t they?’ Only after it had sold a couple of a million did they fess up that it wasn’t actually about inspiration. I saw Holly a year or two back in Soho and we posted a selfie on Twitter. Hell, we may even have invented the term that day.

I was asked recently if ‘Relax’ would be banned in 2014. I had to think about it. In the ’90s or first ten years or so of the 2000s, no it probably wouldn’t, but I had to admit that ‘yes, I rather suspect the video
would
be banned in the current climate’. To that end I checked it out on YouTube, which revealed that after more than one and a half million hits, the video is now not available to view. Maybe that will catapult it back to number one.

In May 1985, after five and a half years, my tenure of the breakfast show came to an end. There’s never a specific reason, these things just evolve. New bosses are appointed, new ideas are mooted and new brooms come in, ‘to sweep the dust behind the door’. The press eagerly raided their ‘damning vocabulary’ drawer and liberally spread words like ‘axed’, ‘chopped’ and ‘sacked’ across the headlines and front pages. Not strictly true, of course, as I was simply changing positions on the field of play. The main thing, as far as I was concerned, was that – for now, at least – the crazily early mornings were over.

I was certainly getting opinionated after leaving the breakfast show. The headlines were full of my immediate plans: ‘Bossy Read aims to revive tired Radio Two’. I’m surprised no one pushed me up against the wall and uttered dark threats. ‘They are doing everything wrong at the moment,’ I opined, ‘it’s all bits and pieces with all sorts of odd bods working there. Teenagers don’t want to hear Donald Peers.’ (Donald Peers was a Welsh singer first recorded by the BBC in 1927 and, unaccountably, still enjoying regular outings on Radio Two nearly sixty years later.) ‘The departure of disc jockeys like David Hamilton and Johnnie Walker have left the place in a shambles,’ I ranted. I made some pretty rash statements. ‘I would lay down guidelines which would guarantee Radio Two the biggest audience in the land.’ This was risible stuff at the time, but the vision I had gradually happened and the unthinkable occurred. Radio Two now consistently beats Radio One in the ratings. Always listen to the crazy man … you never know, he might just be right. I was always that guy, the one with the flag, first
out of the trenches with more ‘gung-ho’ than actual planning. Do it first and think about it afterwards.

As it turned out, I stayed at Radio One until the end of 1991. I did weekend shows, I did evening shows, I depped on daytime shows. I fronted the newly devised Sunday Roadshows, which got fantastic ratings, but when my then producer, Chris Lycett, pointed this out to a less-than-impressed controller, the reply was, ‘Yes. Ironic, isn’t it?’ At that time I’d co-written Cliff Richard’s latest hit, featured heavily on Slade’s new single (their first top thirty hit for seven years), and was producing the premiere of my Oscar Wilde musical. These days, when multi-tasking is encouraged and is often financially essential, it seems strange that Radio One was suggesting that I should decide whether I wanted to be a broadcaster, a songwriter or a stage producer. I was having to choose between apples, oranges and grapefruit, but I couldn’t eat them all. What nonsense. I needed my ‘five a day’ before it was advocated.

I’d had a couple of meetings with Capital Radio’s Richard Park, as he was trying to encourage me to jump ship to his outfit, who’d got the nod that they would be given the franchise for the first national commercial radio station in the form of Capital Gold, their oldies station. Always to be relied on for a good sporting analogy, Richard affirmed, ‘I’d like you to open the batting for us.’ After two false starts, I signed up. It made sense … go when you feel the time is right. In doing so I avoided the infamous ‘Blood on the carpet’ moment when the chariot wheels of the new Radio One Controller, Matthew Bannister, scythed down several of the station’s broadcasters. Only once I’d leapt across the great divide did Capital decide against going for the national franchise. Great. However, the station had a strong line-up including Tony Blackburn, Kid Jensen, Paul Burnett, Kenny Everett, David Hamilton and Dave Cash, so all was not lost.

I arrived at Capital Gold at the tail end of 1991, in time for the station’s third birthday. Richard Park commented, ‘It’s great to welcome Mike to our all-star line-up. He has a huge following and his presence
can only add to the success enjoyed by Capital Gold.’ I was hired to present the drivetime show, and I also fronted up Capital Gold’s Work Experience Scheme, which was designed to help schoolchildren to prepare for working life. This was becoming increasingly important both for London’s young people and for prospective employers, so the idea was to provide pupils approaching their last year at school with short periods in various organisations in order for them to get a taste of the working world and what might be expected of them. Hopefully people became more switched on.

That can’t be said of everyone at the station, though. On one occasion I was at an awards ceremony, sharing a table with a mix of sales, management and broadcasters. As something indescribable but creamy appeared on our plates, looking like a mass entry for the Turner Prize, the sales guy I’d been sitting next to all through lunch wiped his mouth and cheerfully asked, ‘Well, Mike, what are you up to these days?’

‘Me? I’m on the drivetime show every day from four o’clock.’

‘Really? Which station?’

‘The one that you do the sales for.’

My drivetime slot meant that I followed Kenny Everett. The studio, once Ken was done with it, was like delicatessen fall-out, but after a quick mopping-up process while Kenny said something surreal like, ‘Ooh, I’m going home to count my toes,’ all was presentable again. Kenny shared a passion with me for the Lettermen’s version of ‘The Way You Look Tonight’. Every so often he’d shoot me a sly glance, take a deep breath and whisper, ‘May I borrow
it
again?’ The problem was getting the single back from him. It was like tug of love with a vinyl child.

I heard the announcement that he had HIV when I was on my way to the studio, so I stopped at a florist in Oxshott and bought a small bunch of flowers. At Capital I walked into the studio with them. ‘Damn! You’re still alive. I wasted money on flowers.’

He teetered between the emotional and the comic. ‘Thank God
for someone with a sense of humour,’ he said, and gave me a hug. It seemed that no one had come into the studio as they hadn’t known what to say or do. He then proceeded to lie on the floor, placing the humble bouquet on his chest. ‘So this is what it feels like to be dead! I’ll kill that bloody waiter when I get up there,’ he said, referring to the guy who he assumed had infected him.

When the day of reckoning came for Kenny, and one assumes a second reckoning for the waiter, Richard Park asked me to put together a tribute. With only an hour’s preparation, we dug out songs he’d recorded such as ‘Knees’, his TV theme tunes, clips of him on the pirate ship with Dave Cash, sections of his radio cartoon serial,
Captain Kremmen
, multiple sketches and characters from his TV show and some of the songs that I knew to be his favourites, including, rather inevitably, ‘The Way You Look Tonight’. It could have been emotional, but like a funeral, you’re too busy to grieve. That comes later.

In 1994 Capital Gold overtook Radio One in the ratings for the first time, their share going up to 7.6 per cent in London, while Radio One’s went down to 5.8. Pretty decisive. The press release announced: ‘Drivetime host Mike Read has increased his audience by a phenomenal 41 per cent.’ At this time I was also writing a weekly showbusiness column for the
Tonight
newspaper, Mike Read’s Capital Chat Show, and interviewing many American artists who I’d never met. Among the most engaging were Johnny Tillotson, who’d topped the UK chart with ‘Poetry in Motion’ and whose ancestors included Oliver Cromwell, and John Denver. John was a great storyteller as both songwriter and interviewee, as was Roger McGuinn, who even let me sing and play with him on the Byrds classic ‘Mr Spaceman’.

Way before TalkSport, Richard Park laced the station’s output in the later part of the day and the evening with football talk and football commentary. In some ways he was a visionary; in others he had his own brand of leadership that wasn’t everybody’s idea of man management. I know that several of the broadcasters felt intimidated by his style. One DJ went to talk about a rise and emerged delighted to still
have a job. Another, who had been at Capital for almost twenty years, was frog-marched from the station without being allowed to collect anything from his desk.

I was asked to have a think about doing the breakfast show. I wasn’t happy with that because Tony Blackburn was presenting it and, for my money, doing an excellent job. I was then informed that there was going to be a change round, just to mix things up a bit. Well, that happens, so I promised I’d think about it over the following week. I was still in need of some guidance when the day of the meeting arrived. ‘I have been thinking about it,’ I said.

‘Oh, it doesn’t matter, I’ve already made the decision.’

Well, at least that shows positive management. ‘And the decision is?’

‘You’re fired.’

‘Sorry?’

‘You’re fired.’

‘But you’ve asked me to think about doing your flagship show.’

‘I know, but I’ve changed my mind.’

‘But hold on … my ratings are good.’

‘Yes, not bad.’

‘So this is the reward for working hard, getting good ratings and being a team player?’

Emerging from the meeting I was met by a sea of expectant faces. ‘Well, are you doing breakfast?’

‘No, I’ve been fired.’

Gales of laughter.

‘No, seriously.’

More gales.

‘I can’t even hang around. I have to leave the building immediately.’

Stunned silence.

I drove home listening to someone I’d never heard of presenting my show. I seem to recall one or two others left the building that day as well. Even before my somewhat abrupt departure from Capital Gold I had misgivings. When I started, the station had some six or seven
producers, but by the time I left it had one. My main frustration was a lack of musical input as we were fairly straitjacketed on that front.

I drove home listening to someone I’d never heard of presenting my show. I seem to recall one or two others left the building that day as well. I won’t spoil the memoirs of others shown the red card by repeating their even weirder stories here, as those tales will be more credible from their own mouths, although en passant I recently heard from one senior broadcaster who was fired and not even allowed to collect his headphones from the studio. They were sent on by car the next day. In my book, not only does this bespeak a total lack of respect and decency towards a very experienced, much-admired and diligent professional, but it is bad for the image of the industry.

Even before my somewhat abrupt departure from Capital Gold I had misgivings. When I started, the station had some six or seven producers, but by the time I left it had one. My main frustration was a lack of musical input as we were fairly straitjacketed on that front.

So, with the doors at Capital Gold firmly shut behind me, where next? One place I certainly hadn’t considered was Classic FM, the national commercial classical station. But the boss, Michael Bukht, aka Michael Barry, radio and TV’s ‘Crafty Cook’, seemed to think that despite my pop background, I’d be ideal for the station. I was more convinced when he admitted that he’d already run a serious test on my profile and acceptance factor with the audience. It seems I’d emerged with a top rating.

Michael had previously set up a radio station in what was the Republic of Transkei, from where came a story that I pray was not apocryphal. Visiting one of his presenters for supper one evening, he arrived on what was a building site as the house was being renovated. It was already dark by this time and, unable to see, he stumbled into a deep, unlit hole and had to call for help. The host emerged from the house shouting, ‘Who’s there?’

‘It’s Michael Bukht,’ came the reply from the bowels of the earth.

‘Where are you?’

‘I’m down here.’

His host looked down and allegedly exclaimed, ‘There’s a Bukht in my hole.’

So, I landed the gig, if indeed they called it that in the classical domain. Gounod, Berlioz and Bruch here I come. Admittedly some pronunciations went awry, but the audience were a decent and forgiving bunch. One of the highlights was the phenomenal response to the request for poetry. The two volumes that resulted from this response, which I edited, are still selling today (see
Chapter 16
).

My old Radio One colleague Phil Swern was brought in to produce a classical quiz. Nothing stuffy, you understand. For a start we were going to take it on the road and as a bonus the team captains were to be Barry Took and Tony Slattery. It worked beautifully, and it was fun and full of improvisation. For example, Tony would randomly start a classical limerick, I would add a second line, Barry would chuck in a third, I’d maybe sling in a fourth and Tony would dig out a stunning punchline. I was always asked how we learned our scripts! It was all off the top of our heads and wonderfully challenging.