Want to talk? Then stay quiet

RADIO REVIEW:CONSIDERING ITS name holds out the promise of sonic clarity, High Fidelity(Lyric, Mondays) labours under a misnomer.

Far from offering pristine audio, the show is awash with crackly recordings, muffled vocals and muddy reproductions. This is intentional or, at least, unavoidable. The 26-part series, presented by singers Julie Feeney and Jack Lukeman (aka Jack L), aims to recount the history of recorded song from its earliest incarnations to the digital age, with each episode exploring different aspects of the wider story.

In the nine episodes to date the programme has shown a bias towards the vintage end of the scale. Lukeman opened this week’s edition, on film musicals, by describing the Charlie Chaplin composition Smile as the “theme tune of the silent movie Modern Times”.

This was no slip: Modern Times had no dialogue, but boasted a recorded soundtrack. Such self-conscious cleverness dots the show, which is less hi-fi than high concept. Its presenters are from the rarified end of the music business. The songs seem chosen as much for thematic relevance as musical value, with numbers segueing into each other to drive the subject forwards, or occasionally sideways.

The presenters’ patter often creaked under the weight of learning, with Lukeman and Feeney sounding as if they were reading from scripts. They lacked spark too. Feeney sounded nervous while Lukeman dispensed wisdom in the manner of a bar-room sage: Chaplin, he said, “got done by the US government for being a communist and all that”. But, on balance, High Fidelity works.

The songs triggered interesting asides, from the evolution of the musical to the wider changes caused by the arrival of sound in the movies. The more abrupt musical diversions were rewarding, as when Julie Andrews’s rendition of My Favourite Things was juxtaposed with John Coltrane’s thrilling version, “a hypnotic dervish dance” in Lukeman’s telling.

The presenters ultimately make the show what it is, with Lukeman’s doleful musings particularly enjoyable. He bemoaned the slick bombast of modern musicals such as Moulin Rouge!, where “everything is turned up to 11”, preferring the “dynamic and heart” of the early years. Much the same could be said about the presenters, who bring a human element to what could have been an arid concept. Like the vintage recordings they champion, the duo’s imperfections only add to their appeal.

The proliferation of noise, electronically produced or otherwise, is not universally welcomed. The writer and sometime broadcaster Colum Kenny spoke to Myles Dungan, the stand-in host on Today with Pat Kenny(RTÉ Radio 1, weekdays), to promote his new book on the value of silence. It was a thoughtful if slightly sprawling discussion, ranging from the use of silence as a disorienting tactic by Chinese businessmen or as a sign of strength by such film stars as Clint Eastwood. It has even been used in music, most notably by John Cage's piece 4.33, which involved musicians staying quiet. The composer's estate later sued the composer Mike Batt for "writing" his own digitally enhanced interpretation. But the item came across as a philosophical kickabout between two peers displaying their intellectual chops. With real chutzpah, they could have shown the power of silence in a more direct way, say by comparing 4.33 with Batt's homage.

Dungan’s serious disposition was better suited to his talk with Gen Michael Hayden, a former director of the CIA, for whom circumspection was practically a professional requirement. In the wake of Osama bin Laden’s death, Hayden thinks al-Qaeda is now on the back foot. Instead of spectacular attacks, he expects more “low threshold” incidents. Such are the barometers of success in the murky world of intelligence.

But when Dungan characterised the practice of waterboarding as torture, Hayden felt the need for precision. “Our justice department describes them as enhanced interrogation techniques,” he said, though he conceded that “an honest man can differ” on this definition.

If the "war on terror" was described in clipped, legal terms by Hayden, its grimy underbelly was revealed by former a CIA officer, Glenn Carle, on Moncrieff (Newstalk, weekdays). Carle suffered a crisis of conscience when he became convinced the supposed al-Qaeda kingpin he was questioning was largely innocent.

The CIA was convinced the prisoner, codenamed Captus, was withholding information, however, and he was subjected to psychological interrogation measures, which Carle felt were counterproductive. Carle ended up disillusioned with the agency, but even after leaving he was unable to express his frustration fully as censors expunged much of his new memoir.

Meanwhile Captus was transported to a notorious “black site” codenamed Hotel California. It was a chilling tale of the shadowy world of counterterrorism, where morals and motives are blurred. At least Carle could choose to stay silent or speak out. Captus could not.

Radio moment of the week

John Murray kicked off Tuesday's programme ( The John Murray Show,RTÉ Radio 1, weekdays) chuckling at the unusual name the Beckhams have given their daughter: Harper Seven. Sticking with the theme, Murray asked his first guest, the fashion designer Paul Costelloe, to name his seven children. It proved a trickier question than one might think. "Oh my God," said Costelloe, who then haltingly named five of his offspring before giving up. "Don't ask me any more, it's too early," he said. "I need to be sober." But encouraged by Murray, the designer had another go, this time reeling off the names in order of birth. "Is that seven?" he then asked. Luckily for him, it was.

radioreview@irishtimes.com