‘People used to turn up drunk to read the news’
As he presents Eurovision once more, Radio 2 DJ Ken Bruce talks to Ben Lawrence about the heady days of his time at the Beeb
Ken Bruce makes broadcasting look easy. On the morning I visit his smallish Radio 2 studio in central London, he has taken calm control and is presiding over the necessary chaos of live radio like a seasoned airline pilot travelling through turbulence. After I’ve listened in to a round of his now-legendary Popmaster quiz, we talk off-air about this weekend’s Eurovision, for which he has been Radio 2’s official voice since 1988.
“I don’t think we’re likely to win, but it’s not impossible,” he says of this year’s entry, Storm by Essex singer Surie. “Although there is a lot of block voting, the best song ultimately will win.”
He does, however, disagree with most people’s claims that the contest operates a fair amount of anti-british bias. “I’m sure there isn’t anyone out there saying I am not going to vote for the United Kingdom – I don’t think that happens. If people don’t vote for us, it’s because they’re saying it’s not a great song.” Bruce remembers when the contest was held in small venues filled with local dignitaries. He believes Abba’s Waterloo, which won for Sweden in 1974, was a watershed moment and that the biggest change has been in “taking the contest out of the hands of the elite and giving it to the people”. It was through Eurovision that he met his current (third) wife Kerith in 1998 when she worked on Radio 2’s coverage as a broadcast assistant. “It was taking place in Birmingham, so hardly the most romantic setting!” he says.
There is, of course, a certain amount of snobbery surrounding Eurovision, and Bruce suggests that his old friend Terry Wogan, who presided over the contest for many years with a huge amount of affection while placing his tongue firmly in his cheek, had the right idea. “It is a big silly event and the people who get angry about it are missing the point,” he says. “It’s an entertainment show and it is brilliantly produced. In fact, I think this is the best live show taking place anywhere in the world.”
Who would be his ideal UK entrant? “Oh, Elton John,” he says, as if the answer is patently obvious.
Bruce – courteous and sharp as a tack – is great company both on and off air. In fact, if ever you are feeling anxious or depressed, I would suggest tuning into his morning show (which he has presented regularly since 1992 following various stints at the BBC throughout the Eighties) and immersing yourself in his presenting style – unforced, dry and ever-soslightly confessional – and, of course, that voice – rich, resonant and low, like a tuba swathed in silk.
The Glasgow-born presenter says it wasn’t always such an asset; that when he started out he was a bit squeaky and that it was an actress in north London who showed him how to breathe from the diaphragm (he declined her invitation to read out passages from Shakespeare). Remarkably, right at the start of his broadcasting career, as a staff announcer for BBC Radio 4 Scotland, he actually spoke RP.
“It was my choice,” says the 67-year-old. “But in the Seventies, if you wanted to be in the announcing game then you had to speak RP.”
Bruce has, in the past, criticised the lack of diversity of regional accents on radio but now believes it has got a lot better. “There should always be regional accents,” he says. “But in some parts you should be – if not RP – then clear. It shouldn’t be dialect, I don’t think you should have dialect in formal broadcasting.”
Bruce, who comes from an era when many national DJS acted like superstars, is defiantly normal. He has always vowed to be “a bloke with a skilled trade”, or more specifically “a plumber whom the BBC asks to fix its drains between 9.30 and 12 every day”.
“I never wanted to stand behind decks wearing a shiny bomber jacket saying ‘look at me’. Once I DJ’D at a disco and I really didn’t enjoy it.” He laughs: “Perhaps I should have stuck with it. I would have been as rich as Calvin Harris.”
But while Bruce may never have led a showbiz life, he definitely enjoyed the excesses of the Eighties. “There was a massive drinking culture in those days, which thankfully doesn’t exist any more or I probably wouldn’t be speaking to you now,” he says. “But we were all colleagues and the cardinal rule was that you wouldn’t get drunk [before a show] because that was completely unprofessional.”
Did anyone turn up drunk? “Oh yeah, a few people tried to read the news and sounded p----- so they were taken off.”
Bruce moved from west London to rural Oxfordshire several years ago. He takes the train into work and chats to parents outside the school gates where he is just someone’s dad. His youngest child (of six), Murray, has autism and Bruce has campaigned hard to change perceptions of the condition. When I raise the issue, Bruce’s bonhomie suddenly lifts and he talks very movingly.
“My son is classically autistic. He doesn’t have usable speech but we are hopeful he will have. He communicates well when in the mood and writes brilliantly. I am in awe of how he writes because I don’t have that emotional sort of language. He came up with something recently about his similarity to a train moving off the tracks. He has insights that we can’t have and we should be grateful for people who are slightly different.”
Bruce was 57 when Murray was born. That was a decade ago, but Bruce
‘There should always be regional accents but I don’t think you should have dialect in broadcasting’
seems to have weathered it well (“No wrinkles on a balloon as they say!”). I wonder if he worries about ageism. “I don’t think it is a concern for me,” he says. “No one has ever said I am too old. Maybe they are saying it behind my back! Listen, I stand or fall by what I do each day. If the BBC decide I am no longer what they want, that is up to them.”
It seems unlikely that Bruce will find himself surplus to requirements. His morning show has the second highest number of listeners in the UK (after Chris Evans). The key to its success, he thinks, is that he has a lot of shared experience with those who tune in, and never patronises them. However, there is the odd dissenting voice, he says. “Sometimes I get letters saying, ‘Why don’t you go back to Scotland, you miserable ----?’ Or people say that I am always nicer to the Scottish contestants on Popmaster – that it should be called Jockmaster. I haven’t had much discrimination, but it rankles when it comes.” Actually, I can’t imagine Bruce being offended by anything. He is serious about his work, but pretty light-hearted about everything else. He recently guffawed at someone who told him he should be thinking about his legacy.
“What legacy? I don’t expect to have one.” He turns to me and smiles: “I hope the Telegraph will do me a nice obit, though.”
Ken Bruce presents the Eurovision Song Contest on Radio 2 from 8pm tomorrow. His daily show airs on Radio 2 from 9.30am on weekdays