Been hearing a lot lately about the importance of "branding" - in radio as in other commercial realms. In the recent radio context, it's not about logos or station jingles; instead, it's slightly grating marketing lingo for the truism that familiarity breeds audiences.
So the imminent departure of Gay Byrne sets off several rounds of agonising about which "personality" could inspire the same brand-loyalty in potential Radio 1 listeners. Is Joe Duffy a sufficiently attractive brand outside Dublin? Would the Finucane brand work its magic in the different morning marketplace?
In Dublin late-night talk, Chris Barry at 98FM tests the (usually safe) proposition that a popular radio brand can change stations and bring listeners along for the ride. Thus, to staunch that expected flow, in the weeks before Barry's return to the airwaves, his former employer, FM104, took to the bus-shelter posters in an effort to establish its new brand, Adrian Kennedy - and to orient the Kennedy brand as a harder-edged alternative to Barry.
FM104 knows it has its work cut out for it: the Barry brand has been synonymous with "no holds barred" talk radio in the capital.
The less controversial but equally competitive and lucrative "breakfast show" sector has seen a similar storyline. Before Today FM could start properly boasting about its "poaching" of Ian Dempsey (he of the quarter-million listeners at 2FM), RTE had scattered the country with billboards pushing its new 2FM morning brand, "ya good thing, ya" Gareth O'Callaghan. The theory half-suggests that it doesn't matter what their programmes are like. It's not what you do that counts, it's what people think you do when they hear your name. The better the "think", the more attractive the brand.
O'Callaghan, in spite of his occasional flourish as the "controversial broadcaster" so mercilessly mocked by Navan Man, has changed stations and time-slots too often to command a clear brand association linking his name and the breakfast programme, billboards notwithstanding.
After Radio Ireland's commitment to new voices, Today FM's whole-hearted conversion to brand loyalty is almost touching. Nowadays, you can tune into the new, independent station throughout the critical hours of dawn to lunchtime and hear . . . why it's our old friends Ian Dempsey and Mark Cagney.
Radio critics could not be less relevant to this series of equations. Okay, for the record, I don't really see the attraction of any of these programmes; for a music snob like me, the dearth of decent pop songs these days means I can hardly bear to tune in just for the airy chats and competitions that come between. (Although I must admit I got some mileage out of the Chinese bin-man joke a listener told Dempsey last week.)
Maybe branding isn't everything. A programme I can bear to listen to, in spite of its anonymous moniker, is Planet X, an indie-rock programme syndicated to five local stations every Friday night. And before it drops dead from my kiss, let me note that my younger friends and about 150,000 other cool types tune in too. Planet X is bigger in Dublin than Fanning, much bigger than Today FM dudes John Kelly and Donal Dineen. In part, it capitalises on the strength of its stations (FM104, 96FM and 95FM in Dublin, Cork and Limerick respectively, plus Galway Bay and Waterford's WLR), but its menu of Gomez, Garbage, Hole, Tricky, Hormones etc, and its commitment to Irish music, means it deserves the success it's attained. Its smartass, college-radio style Dublin DJs - John McMahon, Brian Daly and Ronan O'Kelly - are a further bonus.
At another extreme of market defiance is community radio. Within this fragile, underdeveloped world, one station arguably stands out for the difficulty of its task and its ambition in tacking it: Connemara Community Radio serves a well defined but geographically diverse listenership, and its 70 weekly volunteers in Letterfrack ensure that it plays a real role in the area.
For CCR, the recent awarding of a cheque for £2,000 (chumpchange for the likes of FM104) was a real boost. The prize was for a documentary, Captain of the Men of Death (broadcast Monday), a superb evocation of the impact of tuberculosis. Full of powerful personal stories and startling information, the programme was a reminder of the deep seam of tragedy and shame which TB carried through Irish society. From the "no spitting" signs to the years of isolation in sanatoria, the marks of (justified) fear of TB were obvious, too.
And while TB's days were numbered in the 1950s, this story had a medical hero. Noel Browne's actions as health minister, we heard, saved thousands of lives. Now there's a name to command the loyalty of the Irish people.
