by Chris Evans
The fisherman smiles—Gerry is on form again. During the next three hours Gerry will help the police with a day-old murder investigation which is crucially going cold. He will invite callers to ring in and talk about which fan clubs they were members of as kids. The highlight of this segment is one man who phones up to announce he is a member of The Captain Scarlet fan club and after Gerry has pushed for a while, he admits that he is the only member and that he knows very little about Captain Scarlet in the first place. Gerry starts laughing at this so much that he struggles to speak for a good two to three minutes. Gerry then invites listeners to advertise items they may have for sale and at one point lambasts a woman for ‘trying to get rid of such crap via his show’. His last hour is a phone-the-expert section—a solicitor—and then he rounds off the show with a competition for older listeners to call in and sing old classics but without their false teeth in—the winner receiving a bag of chewy toffee…
As I listened to Gerry that morning I was in awe of what a radio show could achieve. His show was my mum and dad’s corner shop—it had everything. This is the power of radio over television—it can achieve more and can do it better for longer. A radio show is more sustainable because it has to be. It has to find a way to breathe every day otherwise it will die. Gerry’s show was on fire.
A radio show also has a unique relationship with its audience, it is a two-way street that’s all about a connection born out of a mutual understanding and from what I could hear Gerry and his audience were one big team creating a daily masterpiece.
After just one morning’s listening, the reason for my self-imposed exile became glaringly obvious. There was more work to be done and deep down inside I knew I had jumped ship too soon. The frustration I had felt before I left was because I didn’t know what to do next, when the next thing to do was simply knuckle down, and take the audience with me. As I listened further I was bristling at the prospect of what a radio show could achieve. The kind of intuition this man had with his listeners was something I hadn’t even come close to achieving during my time at Radio 1.
It was not yet midday and already Gerry and his listeners were weaving their magic, having just the most fun. Who wouldn’t want to do that for a living?
I ran up the hill back to the main house.
‘Could I borrow your phone, please, I need to call London,’ I asked the gentleman owner.
‘Sure, it’ll be through there in the kitchen,’ he kindly obliged.
I had to get back on the air.
‘Michael, it’s me…I’m in Ireland.’
‘You’re in Ireland?’
‘Yes, I came here so I could listen to the radio.’
‘What?…’
‘Never mind.’
‘Did you say you went to Ireland so you could listen to the radio?’
‘Yes. Now, can you please get me back on it?’
‘But you had the best job on radio there is and you said you didn’t want to do it any more.’
‘I know, but that is because I’m an idiot and I was lying to myself, please can you try?’
Michael said he’d have a ring round and get back to me, which he did later that day.
He called me back towards teatime the same day and said there was no chance, all the major slots were filled, and anyhow, the general vibe was that people were worried about my unpredictability and whether I was worth the risk any more.
‘Shit.’
‘The only way you could get a gig at the moment would be if you owned your own radio station.’ He was joking of course, but I was desperate.
‘Michael, you’re a genius,’ I screamed, ‘that’s what we’ll do. How do we do that Michael?’
‘Chris, you’re not serious?’
Of course I was serious. For the next few days the owner of the house we were staying at would make more money from my phone calls back and forth to England than he would from the rest of his business.
Michael tore at the project like a rabid dog and within twenty-four hours, with the help of John Revell, who was now a partner in my company Ginger and was always on the look out for opportunities, they together discovered that Talk Radio, a medium-wave national station, was vulnerable and might be up for grabs. In fact it was more than vulnerable—Talk could not decide whether it wanted to be a news station or a sports station and was currently falling somewhere in between the two whilst not being particularly adept at either.
It was also losing money hand over fist as lowly listening figures were failing to attract enough advertising. Listeners were confused by its mixed message and already had something similar available over on BBC’s Five Live. Five Live’s formidably professional operation was steeped in resources and had a depth of experience coursing through its veins which left Talk Radio like a lamb to the slaughter. Due to the overblown price the owners had paid for the franchise in the first place, it was hard to see how it was going to survive.
Again very much with John’s help, we suddenly found ourselves in the thick of takeover negotiations. It was all going promisingly until one of the shareholders dug his heels in and pushed the price up to a figure that was unjustifiable as far as we were concerned. It was time to say goodbye to Talk.
The next significant thing that happened was that Zoe Ball was signed up to re-save Radio 1, which was already back in the doldrums again. The breakfast show that had replaced mine was not, as it transpired, what the nation wanted to wake up to—in fact it wasn’t even what the new hosts wanted to wake up to. They didn’t like ‘breakfast’ and ‘breakfast’ didn’t like them. So, ‘Bring on Ms Ball,’ came the cry, ‘your effervescence is required.’
Getting Zoe to sign up was a smart move by the BBC. She is hugely likeable and had a sizable following as a result of her massively successful partnership on the telly with Jamie Theakston and their Saturday morning show Going Live. She was sexy yet sophisticated, the darling of the tabloids, loved by kids, fancied by dads and admired by mums—the perfect combination. Her arrival would be a welcome tonic, nobody doubted that, but nor did anybody have any idea just how explosive her arrival would be.
For whilst Radio 1 were polishing Zoe’s new microphone in readiness for her first day, a whole set of extraordinary circumstances were playing out at No. 1 Golden Square, in the heart of London’s Soho, the home of Richard Branson’s Virgin Radio.
Top 10 Things that Help Get a Deal Done
10 Timing
9 Groundwork
8 Energy
7 Honesty
6 Holding your nerve
5 Two willing parties
4 Money in place
3 A man on the inside
2 Two men on the inside
1 A pen
Richard Branson had set up Virgin Radio some four years before at a cost of around £7 million. He was now poised to sell the station to the mighty Capital group for a whacking £90 million—not a bad bit of business. The sale, however, had temporarily been put on hold pending a ruling by the Monopolies and Mergers Commission with regards to how this acquisition would affect Capital’s strength in the market, especially in London where they were already dominant.
The financial situation was that no money had yet changed hands but the two parties had signed an exclusivity agreement stating that Virgin was bound to sell to Capital regardless of any other offers it might receive for the duration of the agreement. Should that agreement lapse, of course, then all bets were off, leaving the door open for anyone else who may be interested.
Well, here’s the thing: the ruling was taking longer than anyone had predicted and the exclusivity contract was teetering ever closer to becoming null and void. Not that this should have mattered, as Virgin were way down the ‘procedures’ route with Capital and anyone else who did throw their hat into the ring would have an awful lot of catching up to do.
All Capital had to do to further protect their position was place an extension on the exclusivity agreement, something Virgin would more than likely have been happ
y to comply with. Surely Capital would do this ‘just in case’. Well, actually, no they wouldn’t, not if either:
A. They didn’t realise the clause had lapsed.
B. They didn’t believe anyone else had £90 million cash to spend on a radio station.
(Incredibly both these things would later turn out to be true.)
Although the Virgin Group were keen to sell, the current management of Virgin Radio were not fans of the potential new owners, to put it mildly. They had built Virgin Radio from literally nothing into what it was today and despite the fact they were all in line for a big pay day come the sale, it was a surefire bet that once Capital took over, they would most likely be out on their ears . Capital were renowned for doing things their own way with their own people.
‘Thanks a lot, here’s a cheque, see you in another life’—you know, that kind of thing.
Virgin Radio had grown like one big, happy, slightly rebellious, family that had been together from day one. There had been exceptionally few staff changes, the true mark of a well-run company. And like all good families, a lot of the credit was down to the parents—both Dads in this case!
There was Andy Mollet, the finance guy, an aquiline-looking thirtysomething, who was a lifelong Fulham fan—sharp as a razor and as straight a guy as you could hope to find. Then there was D.C.—David Campbell, the big boss. Imagine a huge bear, a big huge smiley bear, a bear whose favourite thing in the world is Guinness and then give that bear as much Guinness as there is in the world. Next watch as the bear’s smile grows wider and wider until eventually he falls asleep, usually stood up, usually in the corner of a pub somewhere, that was D.C.—still is on a good day.
The Virgin Radio culture was work hard and play hard. Their parties were legendary. If targets were reached—it was down to the pub for an almighty beer bust; if targets weren’t reached—it was still down to the pub for an almighty beer bust. There was always the next quarter.
The whole company prided itself on being part of the non-establishment Virgin empire. Working for a Virgin company does that to you—all those neverending days of publicity that Richard has carefully manipulated over the years having paid off. If you are a Virgin employee it’s just that little bit sexier than if you work some place else for a similar company.
It was this mentality that would be vitally instrumental when it came to scuppering the Capital deal. For the current management to be sucked up, paid off and spat out was not a prospect they were looking forward to. If there was any way on earth they could break off their engagement with Capital whilst in the process also keeping their jobs it wasn’t difficult to conceive they would be more than willing to help any potential alternative suitors sneak in the back door.
David and Andy were actively on the lookout for some kind of lifeline and had been for the last couple of months but there seemed to be little hope. Everyone had generally accepted that the Capital Group were the new owners in all but name and it was only a matter of time before the Monopolies and Mergers Commission ruled in their favour and contracts were exchanged.
Dave and Andy had begun to count the days, until, that is—Radio 1 announced the appointment of Zoe Ball to host its breakfast show.
Virgin’s current breakfast show had been treading water for a couple of years by now and although there was nothing particularly wrong with it, it had just become a bit staid. With an imminent takeover looming, there was little incentive for anyone to do anything to change it, but now Zoe and her new breakfast show were around the corner, the Virgin guys thought it was too good a chance to miss to have one last bit of fun.
How about they put me up against her, to start on the same day at the same time? Capital were due to take over in ten weeks anyhow, so what the heck?
Radio Wars the newspapers would call it.
No sooner had D.C. contacted Michael, he was straight on the phone to me.
‘Chris, it’s Michael here. Virgin Radio have been in contact. They are aware you have been sniffing around for a gig back on the air and would like to offer you the breakfast show, but it’s not what you think—in fact, to be frank, it’s a bit weird.’
‘Michael, life is weird—get on with it.’
‘No Chris, this is really weird.’
‘Michael, weird is what we do, come on tell me.’
‘They want you to do the breakfast show and they want you to start on the same day and at the same time Zoe Ball starts on Radio 1.’
‘But that’s fantastic, that’s amazing, are you serious? This is the greatest news ever, that’s not weird at all.’
‘But—’
‘But what?’
‘That’s not the weird bit—you can only do it for ten weeks until they sell the station. Then you’ll have to leave.’
‘That is weird.’
As weird as it may have been, it sounded like it was going to be fun and once I was back on the air, who knows what might happen?
The press fell in love with the story of ‘the big fight’. The tabloids stuck both Zoe and me on their front pages, while the broadsheets got to work intellectualising the whole affair. It was just what radio needed, a real shot in the arm and we, along with our polar opposite employers, were the couple to do it. The geeky, ginger, working-class radio pro up against the beautiful, blonde, middle-class television presenter rookie—it couldn’t have been more mouthwatering. There was something in there for everyone and with a bit of luck we would all come out winners.
Zoe played her part exquisitely, quietly smiling along while I declared all kinds of campaigns against her.
ME: ‘It’s war!’
ZOE: ‘Well, you know how Chris is—he has his way of doing things and I have my audience and I’m sure the listeners will make their own choices.’
I was the crazed dog, she the cool cat, but we were both in a no-lose situation.
Zoe was probably going to be there for several years with a shiny new contract enjoying a crystal clear national FM signal, whereas I was only going to be around for a ten-week scrap on fuzzy old medium wave. Zoe was always going to slaughter me in the ratings, that was a given, but it didn’t matter—before the first set of audience figures were through I would be out in the wilderness once again and Capital and their millions would be in—at least that’s what we all thought.
In fact I was already preparing what I would say for the final link on my last show in ten weeks time, something like:
‘It’s obvious to me what has happened here—Zoe’s father has paid everyone in Britain to listen to her. Of nothing else am I more certain. I saw her dad Johnny at the bank every day last week. ‘Think of a number,’ he said to the cashpoint machine whereupon out poured zillions of pounds, and who am I to come between a father’s love for his daughter? Good luck Zoe and farewell.’
As the countdown to our duel continued, radio was back on the agenda and back on the front pages. Zoe was making it sexy and cool, while I was making it controversial and exciting—and we hadn’t even gone on the air yet!
When D-day was finally upon us, the frenzy of coverage reached fever pitch. Everyone chipped in and had their say. When it came to the review it was generally accepted that Zoe sounded a little nervous, but what she lacked in experience she was already making up for in warmth and enthusiasm. The general take on my efforts was that I was a little more self-assured. Self-assured? You’re not kidding, I couldn’t wait to get back behind the mic, and from 6 a.m. that morning I soaked up every second for all it was worth and it felt better than ever.
After no more than a week Zoe was sounding infinitely more at home with her new medium. After no more than an hour I began to think that ten weeks just wasn’t going to be enough.
Top 10 Mantras
10 When opportunity knocks, make sure you’re ready to answer the door
9 The best way to beat the system is to invent a new one
8 Ask not why—rather why not?
7 It’s easier to chase than be chased
6 E
very no brings you closer to a yes
5 Imagination is more important than knowledge
4 The best way to beat the system is to invent a new one
3 It’s not about the size of your gun, it’s about when you pull the trigger
2 First profit—best profit, first loss—best loss
1 Never negotiate out of fear but never fear to negotiate
After another tip-off from John Revell re: the current state of affairs between Capital and the Virgin Group, Michael had now begun to dig around to see what he could find with regards to the sale of Virgin Radio and whether or not there was any chance we could become involved. Wherever he went and whoever he spoke to, he kept hearing the same thing—specifically that the deal was done and that was that.
‘Fucking bullshit,’ he told me. ‘Until the signature is on the paper, a deal is never done, every agent knows that. Capital think they’ve got it in the bag but they haven’t, as far as I can see this thing is still wide open. All we have to do is wait till midnight on the day their exclusivity clause runs out and hope to fuck they don’t realise. If we can then come up with the cash, we slip in and buy it straight out from under their noses, simple eh?’
Michael was absolutely right except for the last bit. The last thing it was going to be was simple but, hey, when had that ever stopped us?
Branson would have to be convinced that any alternative approach was genuine but we knew he wanted the money from the sale to fund his new European airline, so at the very least he would probably be willing to listen to an alternative offer. Especially if there continued to be an ongoing delay with the Monopolies and Mergers Commission who were turning out to be in no mood to be rushed.
As a result of our first few attempts to raise support for our scheme, we weren’t surprised to discover that the majority of people we talked to thought we were insane to even think we might have a chance of pulling something like this off. But as an old pal of mine says, ‘Every time you hear a no, it just means you are closer to a yes, it’s all about the guy who is willing to knock on the most doors.’