Oliver Callan gets acidic about the Orange Order

Irish Times

2 days ago

He may have a prime time slot on the nation's most popular
radio
station, but while
Oliver Callan
(
RTÉ
Radio 1, weekdays) has to appeal to a broad audience, he doesn't appear to have had much in the way of cultural sensitivity training.
Opening his show on Monday, the host surveys the events of the previous weekend, paying particular attention to the Twelfth of July parades in the
North
. 'The
Orangemen
got their only exercise of the year,' Callan tartly observes, 'Loyal Orange lodges, the only thing they might be loyal to is sausage rolls, by the cut of a lot of them.'
Now, Callan needn't unduly worry about offending the sensibilities of an organisation whose more dedicated followers celebrate their biggest holiday
by burning effigies of refugees
. But body-shaming them? That's the kind of thing that sets off alarms in HR. The presenter might want to be more cognisant of the feelings of others, or he'll be in hot water quicker than you can say 'citrus intolerance'.
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'Isn't it brilliant' a mother says, photographing her children at the bonfire topped with an effigy of a migrant boat
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In Callan's defence, it's the only astringent note in an otherwise jolly week that has him broadcasting from across the northwest. Monday's programme comes from Donegal, where he gives his hot take on the demeanour of the locals.
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'They tell about three jokes, as dry as a chardonnay, every year,' Callan says, not unadmiringly, before praising natives of the county for shunning anything that smacks of ostentation, 'such as using your whole mouth to speak.' What did we say about not making fun of people's appearance, Mr Callan?
When it comes to interviewing his guests, however, the host is benignity personified. He talks enthusiastically about Donegal's All-Ireland football semi-final win with the county's former manager Brian McEniff, who as a hotelier also provides his insights into the tourism trade this summer: 'Not great.' But such downbeat blips are the exception. Another veteran of the hotel business, Noel Cunningham, takes a more upbeat tack, talking up the hospitality available in Donegal.
As he travels down the coast, Callan's monologues grow ever saucier. In Sligo on Tuesday, he jokes about catching a 'Yeats infection', while the following day's show from Mayo has him describing the Erris peninsula as a 'geographical Langer'. But again, a breezy mood prevails, with the host at his most chatty as he learns about local attractions such as Blacksod lighthouse, from where he broadcasts on Wednesday.
None of this is groundbreaking nor even memorable, but it makes for easy summer listening, the good-natured proceedings enlivened by Callan's flash of acidic humour. It's also notable that he meets several local residents originally from foreign climes such as Australia, the Philippines and America, all of whom he gets on with famously. Happily, Callan has no problem with diversity.
It's always a mixed bag on
The Ray D'Arcy Show
(RTÉ Radio 1, weekdays), as the host moves between items of varying substance. D'Arcy sounds most at ease when the subject is lightweight, literally so in the case of a 3D crocheted map of Ireland knitted by a group of Wicklow women. 'The best thing I've seen in a long time,' he tells Liz Butler of Carnew Community Care centre, 'It's spectacular.'
But he also tackles more difficult topics, though the shifts in tone can be awkward. On Monday, as excavation works commence to recover infant remains on the site of the Tuam mother and baby home, he talks to local historian Catherine Corless, who uncovered the lack of burial records for 800 babies at the institution. D'Arcy's admiration for his guest is obvious, the host pointedly remarking that when she first revealed her findings 11 years ago, she was scoffed at by many.
Local historian Catherine Corless, who uncovered the lack of burial records for 800 babies at Tuam. Photograph: Dan Dennison
Asked how she now feels, Corless replies 'justice has been finally served', though she regrets it took so long for church and state authorities to act. But her account of how the home disposed the bodies of the dead infants still horrifies to the core. 'The babies were literally dropped down, placed on top of each other,' she says. 'The least we can do is give their dignity back.' D'Arcy wisely holds back throughout, leaving Corless to talk uninterrupted – her determination is palpable, even when calling from a train – though he makes one indisputable contribution: 'On behalf of the country, I want to thank you.'
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Tuam is a microcosm for Ireland's history of discarded bones
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The host sounds less sure of himself when speaking to Dublin poet Stephen James Smith. D'Arcy lurches between questions on his guest's move to Wexford, his work with arts and mental health charity First Fortnight, and the difference between a poem and a song. 'Where are we going now, Ray?' an amused Smith asks at one point. But amid it all, D'Arcy makes an admission that, far from suggesting uncertainty, speaks of a deeper curiosity beneath his on-air persona. 'I'm only coming to terms with how poetry can cut through things,' he says. Smith unsurprisingly agrees. 'We often turn to it in important times in our life,' the poet replies, 'It saved my life.' D'Arcy's show mightn't have quite that impact, but it can definitely surprise.
Poetic matters are also pondered by
Brendan O'Connor
(RTÉ Radio 1, Saturday & Sunday), though to unnerving effect, when he asks if listeners can tell a poem written by a person from one generated by AI.
'The question is, if you can fake poetry, can you fake humanity and soul?' The answer isn't reassuring.
Galway poet Rita Ann Higgins, whose disarmingly open manner is matched by her formidable literary gifts, reads two poems, one which she wrote, the other artificially generated in her style. O'Connor then invites journalist Mark Little to guess which is fake. Little, like 70 per cent of texters, chooses the wrong poem. Higgins, meanwhile, spots the sources 'scraped' by AI to imitate her style: 'I can see things I said in interviews.' Either way, host and guests – and surely listeners too – are unsettled by the experiment.
After all, as Little notes, AI doesn't just play fast and loose with copyrighted content, it uses data based on the worst biases and prejudices of social media. It's not just people who need sensitivity training.
Moment of the Week
Music lovers of a certain vintage enjoy a flutter of nostalgia on Lyric FM on Monday evening, as John Kelly closes his consistently wonderful show
Mystery Train
. 'I think it's Donal later,' the host says, 'You're in safe hands.' He's speaking of Donal Dineen, who plays a dizzyingly varied selection of tracks as guest host on
The Blue of The Night
.
'There was a time when these two shows used to dock at the same station,' says Dineen, referring to the halcyon days when his show Here Comes the Night would follow Kelly's Eclectic Ballroom on Radio Ireland (now Today FM): both programmes brought new life to Irish music radio. It's good to hear the old gang back together again, however fleetingly.