Culture

Greg James: ‘I want listeners to engage, rather than merely eavesdrop’

Out to lunch with Greg James - or why Curry Thursday at the BBC canteen is the second most important meal of the day
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Anton Emdin
Anton Emdin

Radio was my first true love. As I sit and wait for the new host of the Radio 1 Breakfast Show, Greg James, to come and collect me from the lobby at Broadcasting House on London’s Portland Place, I think back to how I used to lie in bed at night tuning into those wireless, distant worlds of static and chat.

This was pre-internet – can you imagine? – and the radio gave me access to places and people beyond the boundaries of my suburban family home. I scanned the airwaves using an old Philips radio – with double subwoofer! – mining FM and AM frequencies for “content”, much as one thumbs Instagram nowadays.

I remember listening to Chris Evans before he was Chris Evans. He hosted an evening slot on Greater London Radio. His zaniness and humour hadn’t yet become bloated by fame, booze and money. He was hilarious. I found Mark and Lard – real names Mark Radcliffe and Marc Riley – on Radio 1 just after. This was before their popularity swelled and the act became twee and predictable.

These voices in a studio quickly became like old friends. That’s the beauty of good radio. One can form a bond, an intimacy, with these strangers you let into your car, your bedroom, your head that, in my opinion, isn’t as potent with television. (Yes, even Succession.)

I feel like I’m out of the showbiz slipstream

Pirate radio stations were big for me in the Nineties. Before so-called “intelligent drum and bass” – with superstars LTJ Bukem, Goldie and so on – there were pirate stations such as Weekend Rush, Kool FM, Pulse and Innocence. They were put together on the fly – illegally – using broom handles as temporary aerials, the real-life People Just Do Nothing.

Pirate jungle shows were chaotic, loud, fast and the most exciting thing I’d ever heard. Intimidating and dangerous, the scene was my generation’s “punk” in many ways. The energy was undeniable. My parents must have wondered why I was in bed so early every weeknight; my body was under the covers but my spirit was in a smoke-filled room in South London, raging to DJ Brockie and MC Det.

Audience interaction was a big part of these pirate sessions. While the MC “hyped” over tracks, listeners out partying would be encouraged to call in for a live shoutout. The shows therefore became an integral part of the listener’s night out, a soundtrack to the build-up of a bank holiday out raving.

Sitting in the harsh glare of the BBC canteen – it’s Curry Thursday – Greg James tells me he’s using a similar methodology to pull in more listeners to the Breakfast Show, arguably the most famous radio show in the UK. “I loved what Grimmy [Nick Grimshaw, the previous host] had. We were all drawn into his glamour and mischief. But I’ve never considered myself a celebrity as such. I feel like I’m out of the showbiz slipstream. I want listeners to engage, rather than merely eavesdrop.”

Am I intimidated by it? If I was, I couldn’t wake up at 4am and go to work every morning

On my way to interview James, I realised we both began our radio careers in the same place – Livewire, the University Of East Anglia’s student station, launched by John Peel in 1989. Although a history of art student, I had an “urban” show that ran from 11pm to 3am on Thursday nights. I’m not sure how many listeners I had other than my own housemates.

James was station manager a few years later and took the whole thing far more seriously. “That’s where I realised I didn’t want to be on the managerial side of radio. I wanted to be a presenter. I had to keep telling people off for smoking weed in studio. Like, I don’t care. Smoke weed!”

Although only 32, James is no newcomer to Radio 1. Far from it. He’s been hosting the drive-time slot for more than six years and before Grimmy landed the coveted Breakfast Show it was James who was assumed to be the natural successor to Chris Moyles. But then the BBC – like every other media organisation – became obsessed with “youth”.

So Grimmy – a social butterfly who is pals with both Harry Stylesand Kate Moss – was drafted in to up the show’s profile and lower the listeners’ age bracket. Did it work? Well, sort of. The show haemorrhaged numbers, but social media engagement boomed.

James is less bothered about whether or not there are enough 1D fans listening to his Breakfast Show, although as another handsome thirtysomething guy with a quiff he is conscious about what a privileged position he now finds himself in. “Did you care about the age of radio hosts when you were younger? I didn’t. But am I aware that as a white, straight, thirtysomething male, I need to be mindful and proactive about diversity? Absolutely.”

We finish our actually rather good chicken dhansak with pilau rice, take our plates to the tray stacker – like at school – and James walks me out, going past the vast BBC newsrooms as we go. To me, a visitor and licence payer, it’s all very W1A, although James, sweet and unconfrontational by nature, is still immensely proud of where he is and for whom he works.

“Everything you do at the Beeb is scrutinised. Rightly so,” he adds. “And there’s an emotional side to it. You feel its significance. Yes, I feel the weight of expectation, but am I intimidated by it? By all this? Not a chance. If I was, I couldn’t wake up at 4am and go to work every morning.”

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