RTÉ crisis: Tubridy beginning to resemble the hapless spark that set off a wildfire

From drip-drip to flip-flop, there’s a whole lexicon of new buzzwords for listeners to enjoy as the RTÉ pay crisis continues to reverberate across the airwaves. Whether it’s network executives’ piecemeal approach to disclosing financial information or lavish spending on luxury beach footwear for corporate jollies, the controversy over undisclosed payments keeps on giving, providing fresh fodder for eager radio hosts.

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“Well, well, well,” Cormac Ó hEadhra proclaims on Wednesday’s Drivetime (RTÉ Radio 1, weekdays), just a hint of gloating in his voice before he covers his bosses’ latest round of ritual abasement in front of Oireachtas committees.

Ó hEadhra’s reaction appears motivated as much by righteous outrage on behalf of colleagues as by simple Schadenfreude, as he notes that the blithe splurging of the Montrose officer class coincided with broader budget cuts that left many RTÉ workers “worried about rents and mortgages”.

He’s hardly the only person to observe this: presenter Áine Lawlor makes the same point, almost word for word, earlier in the day on News At One (RTÉ Radio 1, weekdays).

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There’s the odd bum note, as when NUJ secretary Séamus Dooley talks about an ‘apartheid system’ in RTÉ

Either way, Ó hEadhra and his co-host Sarah McInerney make a decent fist of taking their audience through the ever-evolving situation, which at this stage has more perplexing plot twists than the most melodramatic soap opera. (If there’s an upside to all this tumult for RTÉ, it’s that scriptwriters on Fair City should now have enough storyline ideas for several seasons.)

With each new revelation of murky fiscal practices, there’s less focus on the undeclared payments to Ryan Tubridy that initially sparked the controversy. Tubridy is beginning to resemble the Archduke Franz Ferdinand of the piece, the hapless spark to a much wider conflagration: as it stands, the only way he’s likely to be back behind a microphone any time soon is testifying in the Oireachtas next week.

In the meantime, the Drivetime hosts attempt to illuminate the labyrinthine world of barter accounts, the hitherto technical term that’s now become part of everyday conversation, while also detailing the self-sabotaging response of RTÉ bigwigs, who continue to display all the nimble media savvy of a Soviet-era politburo, only without the slick PR spin.

Fine Gael TD Alan Dillon, fresh from roasting execs at the media committee, characterises the mess to McInerney as “the doing of a small cohort of people at the top level”, while calling for changes there.

If nothing else, Drivetime’s coverage again highlights the admirable relentlessness with which RTÉ presenters and reporters have pursued the story, with Fianna Fáil Senator Timmy Dooley even offering congratulations to McInerney and her “journalistic colleagues”. It’s one of the few positives to emerge from the shambles.

That said, there’s the odd bum note, as when NUJ secretary Séamus Dooley talks about an “apartheid system” in RTÉ. For all the double standards in pay and conditions at the national broadcaster, it’s hardly in the same league as a decades-long regime of systemic racism, though McInerney lets the comparison pass.

There’s also the slight awkwardness that Cormac Ó hEadhra – like several RTÉ stars – is represented by Noel Kelly, the agent who negotiated the Tubridy deal that started everything. Ó hEadhra is as unstinting and professional as ever when covering the issue, though on one occasion the previous week, the presenter doesn’t mention his relationship with Kelly when the agent’s name is raised by a guest.

In the current circumstances, D’Arcy’s carefree patter is more like sweet relief

Such situations are maybe to be expected in a small, tightly connected country like Ireland, while constantly declaring an interest could sidetrack discussions. But with nearly six hours of topical output overseen on Radio 1′s weekday schedule by Kelly’s clients – Claire Byrne and Joe Duffy as well as Ó hEadhra – the situation remains potentially knotty while the affair drags on, notwithstanding the integrity and ability of these broadcasters. For any number of reasons, we’ll doubtless be hearing about the controversy for some time yet, whether we like it or not.

Not everyone’s unhappy. For instance, Ray D’Arcy (RTÉ Radio 1, weekdays) sounds particularly cheerful these days. “Good afternoon on this Tuesday afternoon,” he chirps as he introduces Wednesday’s show. While many at RTÉ must wish they could turn back time so easily, D’Arcy ignores his miscue, preferring to open his programme with a Wham! rather than a whimper: he talks at length about a new documentary on the 1980s pop duo instead of morosely dwelling on convulsions elsewhere in Montrose.

The host is in a chipper mood, in every sense of the word. For his monologue, he describes his excitement at learning of a recipe for omelette made with potato crisps, and his disappointment at the soggy finished product. He then talks to reporter Sinéad Ní Ullachain, who’s in Dingle for a festival devoted to the joys of the potato.

After Ní Ullachain’s vox pop on how people like their humble tuber cooked, D’Arcy riffs about a restaurant in the Kerry town that doesn’t serve chips. Any other time, such frothily aimless chat might be seen as a symptom of an underperforming programme, but in the current circumstances, D’Arcy’s carefree patter is more like sweet relief.

That’s not to say that his show, marooned in the doldrums of midafternoon, has suddenly been rejuvenated. Worthy though many of his lifestyle items are, they too often pass by in rote fashion, while the daily quiz is more unwieldy distraction than essential component, though it underlines the presenter’s easy rapport with listeners. But with all that’s going on, D’Arcy is no longer the weak link in his station’s schedule.

The days when he reigned as Today FM’s midmorning king of banter may be too far in the past to recreate, but with Tubridy’s tenure in the 9am slot remaining tantalisingly uncertain, D’Arcy could be forgiven for thinking it’s an ill wind currently blowing through his workplace.