In a world riven by social division and online venom, there’s a place where the vibe is unwaveringly upbeat, negativity is determinedly banished and everyone is nice to each other, or to one person at least.
So fervently cheerful is the mood on The Ryan Tubridy Show (Q102, weekdays) that it’s possible, just for a minute, to forget about troubles roiling the globe and even the payments scandal that saw the host exit RTÉ two years ago this month.
Broadcasting from the London studios of Virgin Radio UK, the station he joined in January 2024, Tubridy approaches his late-morning show with Tiggerish verve, bringing an unflagging enthusiasm to the insouciant musings, breezy interviews and industrial-scale namedropping with which he punctuates his soundtrack of indie oldies.
The net effect is akin to the opening monologue of his old RTÉ Radio 1 weekday programme being shorn of anything vaguely news-related and spread out over three hours.
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Instead there are countless recollections of Tubridy’s encounters with sundry celebrities, invariably cast in a glowing light. He lauds the idiosyncrasies of the Star Trek actor William Shatner: “I had the pleasure of meeting him.” He highlights the musical talents of Michael Flatley while assessing the dancer’s presidential aspirations: “A nicer man you won’t meet”. And on it goes.
Even when he doesn’t know someone, Tubridy can’t help imagining them as friends: “I think I’d get on okay with Bill Nighy”.
Meanwhile, though his show is primarily aimed at a British audience, the host’s frame of reference is still firmly Irish, whether he’s giving tips on Dublin pubs or previewing the upcoming presidential election.
In fairness, this characteristic seems to be a selling point for the British market – the tagline for his show on Virgin Media UK’s website reads “the craic continues” – while it surely chimes with his audience on Q102.
[ The show mustn’t go on for RTÉ underperformers, say RTÉ news staffOpens in new window ]
Admittedly, the tone varies a bit. Tubridy enjoys the company of Tim Minchin, the Australian comic songwriter and musician, who proves a wry and perceptive guest during their interview. And the host has his own moments of disarming self-deprecation. “I’m just a spoof,” he larkily says of his ability as a cinema critic.
Mostly, however, the show is fuelled by an unceasing jollity: even his playlist of alternative classics by the likes of the Buzzcocks, The Cure and Primal Scream is stirring in tenor.
Of course, as Roy Keane might say, it’s his job. Tubridy is a natural behind the mic, and his radio show is predicated on his chirpy exuberance and ability to gab easily about mainstream pop culture, not his sensible civics-teacher persona, though that side occasionally seeps through. (He laudably offers listeners books he bought cheaply outside his local library.)
But, taken together with his books podcast and his resurgent visibility in the social pages, the unmistakeable impression is of someone living his very best life. And, you might say, why shouldn’t he? Having endured a torrid period of public disapprobation and political scrutiny following the revelations about RTÉ’s controversial payments to him which were not disclosed publicly, Tubridy has come out the other end, if not quite redeemed, then refreshed and relaunched.
So why does all this positivity carry a faint backnote of sourness? Tubridy may not have been the cause of RTÉ’s need to remunerate presenters so handsomely in a market it dominated. But public outrage at the host’s surreptitious top-ups – €150,000 of which hasn’t been repaid – contributed to a precipitous drop in licence fees.
And while Tubridy can be excused being permanently clad in sackcloth and ashes, his on-air jauntiness comes perilously close to making him sound pleased with himself at a time when his former colleagues face an uncertain future, as does the network that once promoted his career so lavishly.
If Tubridy’s old home at RTÉ Radio 1 has soldiered on since his departure, it’s still grappling with more recent developments. First and foremost, there is the sad and dreadfully premature death of Seán Rocks, the presenter of the long-running arts show Arena, whose passing was announced as this column was going to press.
The loss of such a versatile and engaging broadcaster is immense, to radio and the arts, and – most of all – as a warm, smart, friendly human being.
[ Seán Rocks, presenter of RTÉ radio’s culture show Arena, dies aged 63Opens in new window ]
Meanwhile, Liveline (RTÉ Radio 1, weekdays) putters on without the retired Joe Duffy, amid conclave-esque levels of speculation and opacity surrounding his successor.
In the absence of a permanent replacement, the phone-in show perhaps unavoidably has the feel of an extended audition, with Colm Ó Mongáin currently helming after a fortnight’s stint by Philip Boucher-Hayes.
Whatever the outcome – Katie Hannon remains the favourite for the post – Ó Mongáin’s spell highlights his virtues as a broadcaster while indicating the limits of the Liveline brand without Duffy.
Ó Mongáin cuts a likably understated figure, his quietly encouraging manner drawing out stories from callers. When talking to Pauline, whose son Luke disappeared in Limerick in January, he lets his guest describe her son at length, painting a picture of a capable young man dealing with depression: her calm account has the quality of a tragedy foretold. “I’m still hoping he went walkabout,” Pauline says, while admitting her older son isn’t as optimistic.
It’s a heartbreaking tale, handled with sensitivity by Ó Mongáin, though one suspects Duffy might have injected more emotive drama into the segment.
He’s similarly attentive with Tony, who despairs about what will happen to his intellectually disabled daughter, Aoife, after he and his wife are gone. (Tony is 70; Aoife is 41.) With the waiting list for specialist residential care paused, he is despondent and angry – “the HSE effectively expects families to care until they drop” – and even hints that he would see no future for his daughter if he knew he and his wife were dying.
Having drawn out the wider ramifications of the story, Ó Mongáin goes into alarm mode, understandably cautioning against any drastic action that would be “an appalling crime”.
Such drama aside, it’s yet more bleak testimony from an embattled family feeling let down by the State: Tony stresses that thousands more are in his situation. Not everyone can look on the bright side of life.
Moment of the week
The eternal question of art versus commerce is dissected on Culture File Presents: The Comfort Zone (Lyric FM, Saturday), the show that has the novelist Colm Tóibín discussing cultural works with its host, Luke Clancy.
The pair are joined by the artist Kerry Guinan to examine what Clancy calls “one of the art world’s greatest pranks”, the burning of £1 million, in 1994, by the K Foundation, aka the techno-pop act The KLF, aka the anarchic artists Bill Drummond and Jimmy Cauty.
Tóibín is slightly aghast, his “inner social worker” wary of the destruction of sums that could be used elsewhere, while Guinan approves, claiming the act took away the power of money: “The money is not doing what it’s supposed to”.
Not that Tóibín is necessarily against incendiary cultural gestures. “I burned a diary,” he reveals. “It was pure freedom.” It’s a thought-provoking conversation – sparky, even.
