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1st April 2016
02:50pm BST
On one occasion when Terry Wogan met the Queen at the BBC, she asked him what he worked at with the broadcasting organisation. ‘Ma’am,’ he replied, ‘I have never worked a day in my life here.’
Wogan was alluding to the old saying that if you truly love your job, then you’ll never work a day in your life. Presenting the drive time show on TXFM was like that. In fact, I’m pretty sure I can speak for all of my colleagues in saying we truly loved doing what we’ve been doing for the past two years.
You’re probably aware that TXFM won’t be reapplying for the license we’ve held since going on air, and in our previous incarnation as Phantom. We’re no longer allowed broadcast past October of this year. I don’t know exactly when we will finish; if I knew, I would tell you.
As I write, nobody has applied for the license. Commercial media is a very precarious industry to work in, where job security is wishful thinking. The constant pressure to deliver figures (viewing, listening, readership) and advertising revenue is crucial. Costs are constantly being cut and more and more is expected of employees. Money rules the world.
The rewarding nature of presenting on radio is worth it. I’ve come to realise this over the years. In TXFM, I found a show that I instantly fell in love with. I’ve never enjoyed working on a radio programme as much. Producing and presenting entirely on my own was a big challenge, but that’s not what made it so interesting and enjoyable.
The most satisfying aspect was the relationship with listeners, and I really had no idea how strong this was until I had the horrible task of announcing the bad news on Wednesday evening. There has been an overwhelming reaction from listeners, friends, family, industry figures, random strangers, listeners overseas, music people, band members, promoters, bloggers, journalists, and countless other people.
https://twitter.com/kildarejoe/status/715294244638994432
We have been flooded with heartbreaking, joyous, funny, moving, genuine, poignant, sad, philosophical and reassuring messages. We’ve received hundreds and hundreds of texts, tweets, emails, and social media or web posts. During the past two shows, I’ve been sat in the studio thinking to myself: ‘What on earth is going on here?’
We have all been completely taken aback.
I couldn’t pick out one message from all of them; it would be impossible. People talked about how the station got them through their day or their job or their commute. How we helped them through a tough time in their lives. People talked about how we were ‘the best friends they’d never met’. Many of you thanked us for introducing you to new music or reminding you of the brilliance of old forgotten classics. Some people explained they had given up on radio but had their relationship reacquainted thanks to TXFM and its presenters. Loads of you expressed how gutted you were for us personally, for obvious reasons. Being part of people’s lives, and not even knowing how much, is a tremendous and humbling feeling.
Here’s the thing: we’re going to be okay. There are many worse things in life that can happen than losing your job. I know many of you were wondering what will fill the void, on the airwaves, when we go. I wish I knew. But we can’t be too sad folks. We can’t. Working in any part of the private sector is not without instability. That’s just business. The closure of TXFM is not down to the lack of passion and hard work from its staff. It’s not down to an apathetic listenership. We’re talking numbers on a spreadsheet, to put it bluntly, and it seems they didn’t add for up for the people that make the tough decisions. We can be mad and annoyed and upset, but right now my colleagues and I are overwhelmed by your correspondence, your kind words, your support and your love.
I’ve never worked with a more committed and decent bunch of people than TXFM. Across the entire schedule, these guys are unquestionably a group of people I’d want by my side going into battle. I think we’ll greatly miss each other.
However, not as much as we’ll miss you. It’s been a privilege playing music for you. In this job, happiness is when you play a random song, and then suddenly you get a load of texts from listeners saying how much they love it, or it reminds them of something, or they’re hearing it for the first time and they want to know who it’s from and so on. There is no feeling like it.
https://twitter.com/TXFMDublin/status/715207128135237634
Let’s not be sad that it’s over; let’s be glad it happened. I said this to my two boys last night when I explained what was going on. They nodded sagely and then asked: ‘Does this mean you’ll be home to do our homework with us?’ They know I’m a bit of a soft touch on the homework. But they understood the sentiment. The innocence of being young, and having an uncluttered mind, made it perfect sense.
Come on, let’s enjoy these next few weeks or months or whatever it will be. Let’s play our favourite songs and make playlists and chat about gigs and keep each other company. We want to do that for as long as we can. We hope you’ll share it with us and enjoy it as much as you have been.
Thank you once again, and we love you all.
Main image via - TXFM
