Throughout his career as a broadcaster, Ian Dempsey’s hallmark has been his irrepressible good cheer. It’s a trait that has served him well, whether attempting to control unruly puppets on children’s TV or lifting the spirits of bleary-eared listeners on his long-running breakfast slot, The Ian Dempsey Show (Today FM, weekdays). So it comes as a bit of a shock on Wednesday morning to hear the habitually buoyant presenter express feelings of – gasp – hatred.
Talking to the newsreader Caoimhseach Connolly, Dempsey recommends the movie The Banshees of Inisherin. “You should see it,” he says, before dropping the H-bomb: “Now, I do hate when people say, ‘You gotta see it.’ See it on your own time if you want to.” As memorable outbursts go, it’s hardly up there with the Sex Pistols turning the air blue on British television, but it’s nonetheless emblematic of Dempsey’s appeal. It’s not the phrase he dislikes so much as the pressure it puts on people. And if there’s one thing the host is good at, it’s making his audience feel at ease, from those early days with Zig and Zag onwards.
While the content is generic – the days of Ian Dempsey getting a tattoo live in the studio seem long past – his breakfast show is greater than the sum of its parts
From the off, Dempsey creates an invitingly bright atmosphere on his show, his instinctive affability bolstered by a trusty arsenal of on-air tricks and tropes. When it comes to patter, no joke is too old, no observation too obvious. Hence the North is inevitably referred to as “Norn Iron”, while a chinwag with a caller from Wexford predictably turns to strawberries within seconds: truly, no fruit is too low-hanging if it keeps people talking, or even just fills the airtime. “You can tell I’m killing time,” the host says later, chuckling, as he runs down the show’s clock with the traffic reporter Niamh O’Reilly.
It’s not as if the rest of the show is groaning under weighty material. Again, the format is very much from the venerable breakfast-radio playbook, with the heavily programmed playlist of hits interspersed by phone-in quizzes and chats with microcelebs. So we have a game called Waffle, where callers have to spout off about a subject for 30 seconds; an insecure DJ might see this as a sinister management ploy to find potential replacements, but Dempsey approaches it with his customary geniality. Similarly, Tuesday’s conversation with the former X-Factor contestant Rylan Clark duly checks the B-list-interview box, but it’s still a zingy encounter, with the guest wickedly parrying his host’s more inoffensive questions. (“You seem very happy,” says Dempsey. “It’s the drugs,” Clark replies.)
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But while the content is generic – the days of Dempsey getting a tattoo live in the studio seem long past – the show is greater than the sum of its parts, mainly due to the host’s persona. He may have the delivery of an old-school jock, but, much like the late Larry Gogan, there’s an infectious generosity of spirit that pulls in even the most jaded of listeners.
Dempsey sounds relaxed and natural, too, a particularly impressive feat given that the host has been contending with an earlier, 6am start since February: there’s none of the forced zaniness or frantic banter of other music-based morning shows. (Meanwhile, anyone wondering about the potential effects of the proposed 6am closing time for clubs should tune into 2FM’s Breakfast Republic, whose three presenters often sound more like revellers returning from a night out than broadcasters starting their day, so manic is their mien.)
If there’s a weak spot it’s Mario Rosenstock’s Gift Grub comedy slot, which has been a fixture on Dempsey’s programme since the start. Though Rosenstock still can raise a smile with his impersonation-based sketches, his targets are often a bit soft, even when the tone is affectionate: poking fun at Daniel O’Donnell seems pointless, particularly when the singer does such a neat line in self-mockery himself. Then again, Rosenstock may figure that his early-morning audience wants daft giggles, not the more pointed satire of the erstwhile Gift Grub contributor Oliver Callan. With the airwaves otherwise awash with grim news, Dempsey’s show provides a safe space in the comforting company of old friends. What’s not to like?
Dave Fanning remains defiantly himself, slightly ornery as he holds forth on his beloved music and movies while sighing indulgently at those who don’t share his tastes
Dave Fanning (RTÉ 2FM, Saturday and Sunday) is also a familiar presence as he dissects all things pop cultural on his show, although the veteran DJ may bristle at being perceived as a reassuring throwback, having recently hit out at RTÉ for retiring staff once they reach 65. (Fanning is on contract at Montrose, and thus still able to work there at the age of 66.) He certainly operates at an altogether different register from Dempsey, his onetime 2FM colleague: for one thing, he’s more likely to make his opinions known, particularly when it comes to music or movies.
He’s not ashamed to admit this. On Saturday, when speaking to his fellow broadcaster Pat O’Mahony about record collections, the host gleefully recalls that he would judge people at school for liking the wrong albums (in his opinion). Not only that, but O’Mahony struggles to be heard when talking about the celebrity music collections featured in his forthcoming RTÉ Gold series, so frequent are Fanning’s interruptions as he tries to second-guess people’s favourite discs. Even so, it’s an engaging item, with host and guest’s passion for music shining through.
To be fair to Fanning, he does allow other people to speak, particularly if the topic is foreign to him. So he lets the boxer Christina McMahon outline the way she was marginalised as a pioneering woman in the sport, and sounds genuinely curious as the author Edel Coffey wittily describes the world of audiobooks and book clubs. Overall, however, he remains defiantly himself, slightly ornery as he holds forth on his beloved music and movies while sighing indulgently at those who don’t share his tastes. Fanning’s continued presence on the raucously youth-oriented 2FM is encouraging but unsurprising: such enthusiasm is impressive at any age.
