Losing the Edge: Ryan Tubridy fluffs his questions for U2 guitarist

Anyone listening to Ryan Tubridy (RTÉ Radio 1, weekdays) interviewing the Edge on Wednesday will realise that the time is right for him to step back from presenting The Late Late Show: he needs to sharpen his radio game. Explaining the origins of his pseudonym, the U2 guitarist tells Tubridy how it was given to him when he was a member of Lipton Village, the loose gang of teenage misfits from which his band emerged in the late 1970s. “In many cases, these nicknames were onomatopoeic, they described the look,” the musician born David Evans recalls. “So in my case, I think it was the chin that inspired the Edge.” That may be so, but any power of suggestion bestowed by the musician’s nomenclature seems lost on Tubridy, who conducts the interview with all the edginess of a fluffy toy.

Now, no one is expecting Tubridy to do a Marathon Man and break out the dentist’s drill to extract answers from his guest. Even so, some of the questions are so soft that the Edge is moved to inject a little bit of grit into his answers, as when the host fearlessly inquires if U2 are, ahem, “the most democratic boy band that ever existed”.

[ U2′s The Edge: ‘I’ve always got an eye out for food that’s not highfalutin’ ]

With admirable candour, the Edge replies that while there’s “equal respect” within the group, there’s limits to that equality. “We all do what we can and that varies hugely before the four members,” he says. (Anyone puzzled about the nature of that pecking order is referred to the gag on short-lived satirical TV series This Is Nightlive, about U2′s latest album being leaked to Adam Clayton.) Similarly, when asked how he would describe Bono to an alien, the guitarist quietly chuckles as he replies: “A mixture of all the best, with some aspects that are not the best.” Such displays of wry ambivalence suggest the Edge could take blunter questions on the chin, for instance on the effect of drummer Larry Mullen’s absence from the band’s forthcoming Las Vegas shows, which the host only mentions in passing.

In fairness, Tubridy balances his overeager chumminess with the odd intriguing observation. He compares U2′s new collection Songs of Surrender, featuring newly recorded versions of old songs from their back catalogue, to the experience of revisiting The Catcher in the Rye in middle age: “With a whole new life experience in your brain, you read a totally different book, and that’s my feeling about these songs.” It’s a generous interpretation, but with a bit more of that sensibility, Tubridy might have elicited some really revealing answers for his efforts.

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Moored between the news overload of Morning Ireland and the staid atmosphere of Today with Claire Byrne, Tubridy has the tricky task of keeping listeners sufficiently entertained to stick around

For all that, the interview makes for a nice change from the norm on his morning slot, which has all too often resembled an extended promo slot for The Late Late Show. As during his recent encounter with polymathic Australian novelist Thomas Keneally, there’s an audible pep to Tubridy as he chats to the Edge, even if his questions for the writer were considerably sharper. Either way, such vim is to be encouraged, particularly given the pivotal position the host occupies in Radio 1′s increasingly humdrum morning schedule.

Moored between the news overload of Morning Ireland and the staid atmosphere of Today with Claire Byrne, he has the tricky task of keeping listeners sufficiently entertained to stick around. And while the human interest stories that Tubridy usually deals with on the radio can certainly be stimulating, it’s refreshing to hear him talking to a bona fide star, rather than merely dropping their names to plug his television gig.

The distinctive folk music of Sliabh Luachra

Music is at the heart of The Lyric Feature: An Draíocht (Lyric FM, Sunday), albeit of a niche nature far removed from the global reach of U2′s polished sound. Producer and narrator Paul McDermott recounts how he became so entranced by the distinctive folk music of Sliabh Luachra that he embarked on a quest to buy a complete set of albums by musicians from the region. In the age of Amazon, where purchases are a mere click away, this might not sound like the basis for an hour-long documentary. But McDermott’s particular quarry is a series of elusive vinyl LPs released in the 1970s on a long-defunct label, the search for which he describes with palpable relish.

Moreover, the programme doesn’t solely focus on the twilight world of record fairs and vintage shops, much as this might appeal to zealous vinyl junkies. Rather, it’s an account of how a piece of art can open up a whole new world. McDermott describes how he first came across the trad sounds of sibling fiddlers Denis Murphy and Julia Clifford on an album called The Star above the Garter (whose visually striking cover I remember from my own parents’ collection), sparking his hunt for the obscure live recordings made by musicians from the locality.

The engagingly meandering quest that follows is as much temporal, historical and even spiritual as it is physical, with diversions into everything from the flying columns during the War of Independence and the geography of Sliabh Luachra to the 1990s indie scene in Cork city. Above all, McDermott seeks to discover the peculiar magic – an draíocht – evoked by the hypnotically raw music captured on the LPs he so craves. Ultimately, the specialist premise serves as a starting point to take the listener on an idiosyncratic but fascinating journey: it’s one of those rare occasions where the overused J-word seems appropriate.

Coming a month after his RTÉ 2XM programme on Cork band the Sultans of Ping, McDermott’s contribution to the Lyric Feature strand adds to the recent run of fine music-themed documentaries on Irish airwaves. Following on from Ken Sweeney’s Radio Nova documentary on the connections between Irish writers and cult Australian band the Go-Betweens, and For the Record, Pat O’Mahony’s affably absorbing RTÉ Gold series on celebrity music collections, An Draíocht is an evocative reminder of the magical role music can play in our lives.