Cracker by Damian Christie

One of the aspects I most enjoy about working in the media, particularly live on radio, is interviewing people.

Some days it’s grilling politicians and bureaucrats that gives me a kick, although they’ve all become noticeably slipperier in the decade or so I’ve been doing this job. I blame all the underpaid journos who have over the years sold their souls to the dark side and taken up comms jobs as media advisors.

Other times it’s talking to musicians, actors, novelists and the like, seeing if you can ask them a question they haven’t heard a million times before.

Sometimes you just click with someone. They know when you’re making a joke and just run with it. Legendary Detroit DJ Derek May for instance, when I thanked him for playing at my birthday drinks the night before (he hadn’t), began talking my party up on the radio, saying what a great time he’d had. For weeks I was the envy of the friends who hadn’t made it along and even most of those who had (it was Auckland clubland in the late 90s, most people’s brains weren’t that sharp…)

Around the same time, I also had the privilege of one of my interviewees –house producer Ian Pooley– deciding to include our chat as a hidden track on the end of his very successful Since Then album. I’m not exactly sure how many copies there are in the world of a young Cracker talking to a young German, but I dare say it must be in the six figures by now. Simon?

(Apparently that interview confused a number of people, who’d hear the interview at the end of the CD, forget they were listening to a CD, and think “Oh, Ian Pooley is playing at Calibre tonight”, and head to their local record store demanding tickets… as I say, Auckland clubland, late 90s…). It even confused my ex-girlfriend on the other side of the world.

Other times an interviewee rubs you up the wrong way. Take for example a certain expat NZ musician who didn’t bother answering my questions, and instead did nothing but rattle off a long list of his recent achievements, wank on about what he was doing next, and then handed me his album and told me which track to play. I was later told he was having a hard time having been unable to procure in NZ the heroin he was used to overseas, but just in case he actually is that much of a self-centred prick, I’ve always refused to interview him since.

There are the people you want to propose to after talking to them for ten minutes *cough*Anita McNaught*cough*.

There are the scrappers – I remember the first time I interviewed Winston Peters on the radio, thinking I could take him on. After all, he’d clearly said something that was demonstrably incorrect. How hard could it be to get him to admit that? Ahh, so young, so naïve.

And then there are guys like this. Every interviewer’s nightmare. So utterly watchable, but for all the wrong reasons.*

So just for today, spare a thought for the interviewers.

*hat-tip, Deep Thought Yourself

EDIT: I'm told that Ana had this up at Spareroom last week too. That girl, she so fast. Ah Fuck it, it's Friday.

As I've said before, I generally keep pretty quiet about TV matters, because of the whole glass houses thing, but it’s hard not to be just a teensy bit cynical about a story I saw on TV3 news last night, so I feel justified in throwing it open for discussion.

The story was introduced thus:

The makers of a new TV game show are defending it in the face of allegations it is sexist and old-fashioned.

The complaints have been flying since last night’s episode of ‘Deal or No Deal’ on TV3…

As Tony Field reports, what upset them were low-cut dresses worn by models on the show.

We then have a 90 second report about TV3's "Hot New Game Show" (their words) ‘Deal or No Deal’ focusing almost entirely on – you guessed it – models wearing low-cut dresses.

TV shows get complaints all the time. One of the perks of my first job at TVNZ was being able to read the phone logs – the ones made fabulously famous by Havoc & Newsboy (and of course not forgetting Mr "Hello TVNZ" himself, TVNZ's long-standing telephonist Don.)

The call logs make for great reading and are a real peek into the psyche of Joe and Jane Complainant. “I don’t like Judy Bailey’s hair tonight”, or “Don’t you know the weather presenter’s arse is blocking the Chatham Islands?” and other items of great import. Compliments too, but needless to say, most people only call to offer brickbats rather than bouquets.

But as a general rule, such complaints do not make news. When is it ever in the broadcaster’s interest to run a news story about how a given programme has been getting complaints?

Answer: When the complaints relate to gratuitious cleavage.

If the broadcaster were being a leedle more honest, the news story would have gone like this:

Did ya see all the tits on that new game show of ours last night?! Did ya? No? Well here’s a taste of what you’ll get if you tune in next week. Pretty choice eh!

In case you missed it. That’s Deal or No Deal, Wednesday, 8.30 on 3. Tony Field, 3 News.

(For those with a real passion for news and current affairs, also listed on the TV3 video homepage, under the “Best of 3” headline: Extended Footage of the Boobs on Bikes Parade and Kiwi Naturists Passionate about being Nude in Public)

***Update***Regan at Throng has it on good authority that TV3 only received 7 complaints about the offensive boobies...

Make no mistake, Sex and the City is the most significant television series of the past decade.

By significant, I mean it changed people’s behaviour. Many, many women started drinking cosmopolitans – I know this for a fact, as I was managing a bar at the time. It became completely acceptable for women not only to purchase, but to openly discuss the purchase of, a vibrator. Women would gather to watch episodes of the show, emulating the four actresses own such gatherings.

It began the era of the Carrie-wannabes.

I mean, I love The Sopranos, but I didn’t start holding court in the local Italian restaurant, orchestrating espresso-fuelled sit-downs between rival factions or spending my spare time in seedy strip clubs.

When Sex and the City was first screened, a friend of mine was commissioned to write a weekly column in one of the weekend papers. “Make it like Sex and the City, but set in Auckland rather than Manhattan” the editor requested, oblivious to exactly how ridiculous that statement sounds to anyone who’s been out in Auckland. Each week she wrote good copy, each week the editor would add in – not just edit slightly, but add – lines about her concern she was getting fat and how she must cut down on the pasta. Damn the fact my friend has no such body issues and had her name and photo associated with the column – if she’s not fretting about weight, she’s not a modern female columnist.

The point is, it’s a hard ask, each week coming up with something original, witty and poignant on the topic of being Single in the City. If you actually listen to what Carrie is writing as she sits at her laptop at the start of each episode of SATC, you soon realise it's complete drivel that no-one would find interesting. It’s just a device to get into the story. My extraordinarily talented friend only just scraped by with her one column each week.

So what the hell does the Herald think its doing asking junior reporter Joanna Hunkin to produce a daily blog on this topic?

If a young woman wants to enter the blogging world, fine. If she wants to fill pages with inane observations of the “sometimes men in bars are sleazy” or "vodka is the drink of choice for people who are 'Indecisive, unimaginative and boring'" variety, then all credit to her. But it’s not just some random wannabe from the central suburbs. It’s the latest venture from the Qantas-winning “Best News Site”.

A phone call to Miss Hunkin confirmed this – it was the Herald’s idea, not hers. She is required to write a new entry every day for the first couple of weeks, then things can ease off a little. I dare say Joanna will be looking forward to being able to collect her thoughts, after exhausting all her a-material with her debut story of seeing man throw up in a crowded bar.

Word has it that the subs at the Herald are less than impressed by this latest move – a perceived expansion at the time their own positions are in jeopardy. It would also appear that they are voicing their disquiet by failing to correct basic typos in ‘Blonde at the Bar’ copy.

I don’t want to be unduly harsh on the writer here. We all make typos, and some of us are lucky enough to have subs correct them (I have no subs, typos may abound in this very copy). As a young woman struggling to get noticed in a competitive industry, the opportunity to have your social life (real or imagined) smeared across the internet via a powerful vehicle such as the Herald must be awfully tempting. But what excuse does the Herald have for commissioning, publishing and promoting such copy?

At present, Joanna says reactions have been 'mixed'. She seemed excitedly surprised when she told me someone had actually asked her out via her blog. Wow, let me get this straight, a young attractive blonde was hit on by a man from the internet? Even after she mentioned half a dozen times that she was single? Even after she included the line:

Walking to work the other day a truckie drove past, blasting his horn at me before yelling: "Nice rack, sweetheart."

A truckie blew his horn? Did this actually happen, or was this instead lifted from My First Book of Cliches to point out to the reader that Miss Hunkin does in fact have, a nice rack? Will subsequent posts proceed to list the writer's other merits through similarly cliched devices? Will a Humphrey Bogart character appear in week two and ask if her father's a thief, because he stole the stars and put them in her eyes?

I fear that Blonde at the Bar may learn her lesson the hard way – and based on her daily efforts so far, it’s the same way she’s learning many of life’s lessons, being thrown up on, hit on by sleazy men, squashed in crowded bars and generally bemoaning her single girl (with a great rack) existence. Perhaps she could ask her colleague across at the Herald on Sunday, a Mr Jonathan Marshall, whether he regrets the ‘fame at all cost’ approach he took early in his career. At least Marshall seems to have a thick skin. If this quote from Joanna is even half accurate, she’s in the wrong game:

Nothing annoys me more than dickheads who feel it is their right to publicly pass judgement on me.

I mightn’t have won any Qantas Awards this week (not entering them tends to be something of a setback in that regard), but I must admit being slightly chuffed when a friend emailed today to tell me I’d been quoted in National Radio’s Mediawatch programme. And not because of my day job, but as a blogger, talking about media hype over dog attacks.

Mediawatch no less. Lock up your daughters, Cracker has arrived.

The funniest thing is that they got someone to pretend to be me when they read bits of my blog out. Which is flattering 'n' all, but I have to say, if there’s a next time could they perhaps get someone a little younger sounding? Hell, if I'm available I'll do it myself, I'm sure I could do a pretty good impression of someone trying to sound like me.

Speaking of National Radio, and I do love it so, one of the smartest thing I’ve heard anyone say about the whole boy racer party car deaths teenagers in crisis tragedy thing was on Morning Report yesterday, from an 18 year old called Josh who attended the Celia Lashlie hootenanny:

I thought they way they blamed like cellphones and cars, the utensils for people’s actions rather than the actions themselves, yeah the cellphone’s the means for getting the message across but its still the people’s actions, what they do with the message rather than the message itself that’s to blame.

Out of the mouths of babes (well, an 18 year old, and as it was a radio report, I have no way of evaluating his babe-status) it sounds screamingly obvious, but yes, while a number of the adults are running around blaming newfangled technology they clearly haven’t come to terms with, the problem is much simpler, and far from new. It's the kids themselves.

When Scott Finn was killed at an illegal street race, his father Shaun joined in calls to clamp down on such activities. However speaking on the radio, he said he knew his son regularly attended these races and often came home and told him what went on there. I know 18 year olds can be a law unto themselves, but it sounds a lot like he was tacitly condoning his son’s involvement prior to his death, doesn’t it?

On a lighter note, and I have previously mentioned this in The System but thought it worthy of repeating, I was giggling for days after heading to the gym last week.

There’s this young lady who works there, friendly and pretty, always talkative. So when I turned up to the reception the other day, we did the hi, hello, how’s your day been, fine thanks and so forth, while I was rifling through my wallet trying to find my gym membership card for her to scan. Eftpos card, nope… credit card… nope… Foodtown card, nope… as I found my gym card I exclaimed “God, we have so many cards these days don’t we?”

“Yeah” she agreed, “poor trees…”

Finally, a few links for pure entertainment value.

Perhaps if this woman changed her book about horses saying no to drugs to horses saying no to boy racing she could sell a bunch to hysterical parents around the country.

Warning: The theme to Planet Unicorn will create an earworm. Which is okay, as long as you don’t mind wandering the streets loudly singing about a planet full of unicorns. (hat tip - Katie)

Also, I very much like the song Lay Your Head Down by Keren Ann. It’s simple, but nice in that Mazzy Star kinda way, and probably great for winter snuggling.

If you’re not watching Planet Earth on Prime on Sunday nights at 8.30pm, then what the hell are you doing? The episode on shallow seas last Sunday was one of the coolest hours of television I’ve ever seen, cooler than if you put the Fonz in a freezer.

However from that episode, the prize for Gayest. Animal. Ever. must go to the Pygmy Seahorse. Not only is it about 2cm long and two tones of pink, but the two males fighting for territory is possibly the most effete form of aggression I have ever witnessed.

(NB: Do not watch all of Planet Earth on YouTube. You will miss the entire point of its hi-def slow mo greatness).

When you end up in a heated argument with comedians, is that ironic? I’m not sure, I’ve never been particularly good with the higher forms of wit (irony that is, not comedians). Ironic or not, that was how I spent the opening night of the Wellington leg of the NZ International Comedy Festival.

Here’s the situation, tell me what you think. The opening night was a gala event, an assortment of comedians each doing a short set. Among them was Brendhan Lovegrove.

I must stress that I think Brendhan is a very funny comedian. He’s rude, crass, sexist, obnoxious – all those things that for me make for good comedy. Which is why I enjoyed seeing him open for Dom Irrera at last year’s festival, and then had a great time watching his solo show a week later. I didn’t mind that all the material in his opening act was part of the solo show, in fact it was expected – the opening act being like a trailer for the solo feature.

However hearing almost entirely the same material again, a year later, am I right to feel a little hard done by?

Even if, or possibly because you’re touring and performing regularly, wouldn’t new material constantly be tested and added, older material pushed aside, so that organically, over a period of time, the set is unrecognisable from that of a year ago? Or maybe you sit down at some point and throw your old show away and write a new one.

I reiterate, the gala sets were only six minutes long – is it that hard to find six minutes of good new material from one year to the next?
Isn’t that kinda the point of being a comedian, you’re supposed to be good at, I don’t know, writing funny stuff?

Of course this brought howls of derision from the jesters assembled post-gig.

“You wouldn’t go and watch the Rolling Stones and expect them not to play any of their old stuff!” said one. Well no, but when you find a joke as good as Wild Horses, we’ll talk.

“Do you know how hard it is to write an hour of new material?” I do write a fair amount, I offered. “Yeah, but not comedy.” Well, sure it’s not Wilde, I agreed, but some of it isn’t entirely without merit. “Yeah, but not stand up.” Yes, okay you got me there, no I have never written stand up comedy, and I’m sure it is unlike any other form of writing or comedy or comedic writing in that it’s impossible to come up with new stuff based on, I don’t know, stuff that happens to you in your life?

Brendhan was more realistic than his “I have been bestowed a gift from the comedy gods, a gift beyond your comprehension” mate. He said he guessed most of the people there wouldn’t have seen his show last year, so he played the odds and just went with his funniest material, the guaranteed laughs. And he got them.

Unfortunately they were at the expense of those of us who liked him enough to specifically seek him out in the first place. But I probably won’t go to his solo show this time around because comedy isn’t like music any more than it’s like painting.

And it’s not impossible to come up with new material each year. I’ve seen Australian comedian Charlie Pickering two years in a row, each time with an entirely new set based around a new theme. Both times he was very funny. Maybe the comedy gods have bestowed him with an entirely different gift than our local lads, or maybe he just works a little harder at the craft he’s made his bread and butter.

Before I hand this over for discussion, I do want to make clear a few things. I do respect a lot of our local comedians, and I’d hate to see this thread head down the “Why does NZ comedy suck” line. Because largely it doesn’t.

Also, there are a lot of people who work really hard to get the NZ International Comedy Festival up each year and it’s always a good time. And if you haven’t seen Brendhan Lovegrove before, then you really should, even if it is a case of "first-time funny, second time silly, third time a spanking."