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<p class=MsoNormal><font size=2 color=navy face=Arial><span style='font-size:
10.0pt;font-family:Arial;color:navy'>Not for us guys, we don’t need
awards. We know what we do, and we simply get on with it. If the mutual
admiration society want to have their knees up every twelve months and then
boast about it in their local rag, then that’s fine by me ……………………
we’ll give it a miss I think.<o:p></o:p></span></font></p>
<p class=MsoNormal><font size=2 color=navy face=Arial><span style='font-size:
10.0pt;font-family:Arial;color:navy'><o:p> </o:p></span></font></p>
<p class=MsoNormal><font size=2 color=navy face=Arial><span style='font-size:
10.0pt;font-family:Arial;color:navy'>We should have our own.<o:p></o:p></span></font></p>
<p class=MsoNormal><font size=2 color=navy face=Arial><span style='font-size:
10.0pt;font-family:Arial;color:navy'><o:p> </o:p></span></font></p>
<p class=MsoNormal><font size=2 color=navy face=Arial><span style='font-size:
10.0pt;font-family:Arial;color:navy'>Nick<o:p></o:p></span></font></p>
<p class=MsoNormal><font size=2 color=navy face=Arial><span style='font-size:
10.0pt;font-family:Arial;color:navy'><o:p> </o:p></span></font></p>
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<p class=MsoNormal><b><font size=2 face=Tahoma><span lang=EN-US
style='font-size:10.0pt;font-family:Tahoma;font-weight:bold'>From:</span></font></b><font
size=2 face=Tahoma><span lang=EN-US style='font-size:10.0pt;font-family:Tahoma'>
cma-l-bounces@mailman.commedia.org.uk
[mailto:cma-l-bounces@mailman.commedia.org.uk] <b><span style='font-weight:
bold'>On Behalf Of </span></b>Phil Korbel<br>
<b><span style='font-weight:bold'>Sent:</span></b> 05 April 2011 10:47<br>
<b><span style='font-weight:bold'>To:</span></b> Ed Baxter<br>
<b><span style='font-weight:bold'>Cc:</span></b> CMA-L<br>
<b><span style='font-weight:bold'>Subject:</span></b> Re: [cma-l] <st1:place
w:st="on"><st1:PlaceName w:st="on">Sony</st1:PlaceName> <st1:PlaceName w:st="on">Radio</st1:PlaceName>
<st1:PlaceType w:st="on">Academy</st1:PlaceType></st1:place> Awards 2011</span></font><span
lang=EN-US><o:p></o:p></span></p>
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<p class=MsoNormal><font size=3 face="Times New Roman"><span style='font-size:
12.0pt'><o:p> </o:p></span></font></p>
<p class=MsoNormal style='margin-bottom:12.0pt'><font size=3
face="Times New Roman"><span style='font-size:12.0pt'>Move over Will Self - Mr
Baxter is in the building! [that's a compliment BTW]<br>
<br>
as someone who used to be a Sony judge [and an ex Committee member even] all I
can say is that polish isn't necessary - authenticity and originality is - and
generally stands out a mile... Community radio doesn't need a team of
fluffers to make our radio shine. More to the point - do we really need
awards? We do need to celebrate our achievements better but really - how
much of that is about "radio"?<br>
<br>
I'm surprised that we didnt get more nominations - it might be worth asking how
many community radio judges there are. That said, in one year when an
excellent community radio entry was in my category, the ILR and BBC judges
needed little persuading to get it into the gong list...<br>
<br>
bests<br>
<br>
Phil<o:p></o:p></span></font></p>
<div>
<p class=MsoNormal><font size=3 face="Times New Roman"><span style='font-size:
12.0pt'>On 4 April 2011 12:43, Ed Baxter <<a href="mailto:ed@resonancefm.com">ed@resonancefm.com</a>>
wrote:<o:p></o:p></span></font></p>
<p class=MsoNormal><font size=3 face="Times New Roman"><span style='font-size:
12.0pt'>Dear Joanne,<br>
I somehow missed last year's debate, evidently.<br>
I do not think there is very much expertise involved in entering; and<br>
indeed I have heard some of the Big Guns' entries and not been<br>
especially impressed. Insider knowledge is another matter and it is<br>
hard not to view the nominations in the light of the kind of closed<br>
shop or cosy club that characterises so many industry jamborees. The<br>
politics of the Awards is always curious to observe, if not exactly<br>
edifying. The occasional bone is thrown from the high table, for<br>
certain. But I am not sure what it has to do with radio as I<br>
understand the meaning of the word. Good grief, how utterly tedious<br>
and arse-numbingly dull it all is! I nearly wept with boredom as I<br>
scanned this year's nominations. Only a dentist would find anything to<br>
celebrate on the awards' website.<br>
<br>
I sat through the ceremony last year in a stone-cold sober stupor of<br>
glassy-eyed indifference, baffled by the in-jokes, depressed by Chris<br>
Evans's hyper-kinetic banter, and ruminating on the fact that while I<br>
had stood outside the hotel Evan Davies had portentously cycled past<br>
on his way home, smirking, evidently too savvy to turn up for the<br>
"Today" programmes's award. Of course the closed shop, if that is
what<br>
is it, is that of Luvviedom: this is a showbiz event for showbiz<br>
people. Hoi polloi should understand that and the clue lies in the two<br>
hundred pounds it costs to get into the ceremony, let alone the amount<br>
it costs to enter the competition. I tried of course to down two<br>
hundred quids worth of booze during the ceremony, but it was<br>
physically impossible given the quality of the wine. And I searched<br>
the toilets in vain for signs of discarded cocaine, again to no<br>
effect. Hard times!<br>
But I did at least have a decent chat with a Mongolian waiter whose<br>
lack of knowledge in the feted broadcasters was eclipsed only by my<br>
own lack of engagement. The highlight for me was the award given to<br>
Bono for his radio-art portrait of Elvis Presley, which met with near<br>
universal indifference and even hostility on the part of some of the<br>
guests. As usual, I found myself in a minority of one in thinking it<br>
was actually deserved and that millionaire rock stars should try their<br>
hand at something new. It was surely well-made and heartfelt, which<br>
alone distinguished it. Hilariously, the broadcasters and their teams<br>
evidently mostly believed that they were somehow cooler and hipper<br>
than the terminally uncool and unhip Bono. Nothing could have been<br>
further from the truth. The same people will be cheering on Ronnie<br>
Wood this year, sure as night follows day.<br>
Jarvis Cocker was greeted as if the Queen Mother had risen from the<br>
dead and one longed for a doppelganger to get on stage to bear his bum<br>
at the new, my-people-deserve-me Jarvis. David Attenborough was<br>
applauded as though he could turn water into wine - or even transform<br>
the Chateau Enver Hoxha with which the tables were set into something<br>
drinkable. And Jenny Murray did what I insensibly mistook to be a Lady<br>
Macbeth routine, which set a thunderous tone of moral outrage that<br>
subsequent winners each tried feebly to emulate. But knowing<br>
self-congratulation was the overwhelming order of the day and if you<br>
had not actually heard of, worked with, or gone to school with<br>
Chris-this or Zane-that, it was because your natural place in the<br>
world was surely with the waiters and waitresses in the no man's land<br>
of cultural disenfranchisement.<br>
My companion, a fine artist used to the steamy solipsism of such<br>
industrial feeding frenzies, observed that it could just as easily<br>
have been an aluminium sales convention. Oh, how we laughed and<br>
crammed breadsticks into our mouths.<br>
I staggered onto the bendy bus reeling from my failure to beat whoever<br>
it as who had won the award I was up for. Back home, I hit the bottle<br>
of Buckfast I'd been keeping for special celebrations, downing it in<br>
one savage gulp; furiously, I swept the candles from in front of my<br>
little shrine to "Peely" off the kitchen table as the tears streamed<br>
down my now tattered tuxedo; and with a hollow bark of contempt I<br>
hurled my copy of PB Randolph's "Sex Magick" manual into the bin as a<br>
worthless distraction from reality. As I tossed and turned in my<br>
dreams that night, Jarvis, Jenny and the rest rose above me, forming a<br>
minor celebrity caravan of disdainful radiophonic phantoms, their<br>
faces looming in hideous close-up, their voices reworked as if by<br>
Delia Derbyshire herself into a symphony of sneering superiority.<br>
"Sour grapes! Sour grapes!" they cackled, each poking at me,<br>
carressing me with corpselike fingers. And I awoke in struggles and<br>
cried, " I will sleep no more!"<br>
<br>
This year I am mercifully spared all the suffering as none of the five<br>
programmes Resonance entered even made the short list.<br>
<br>
Yours<br>
<font color="#888888"><span style='color:#888888'>Ed Baxter<br>
</span></font><br>
PS caveat: none of the opinions and views expressed in this email<br>
represent or are intended to represent the opinions or views of<br>
Resonance FM, but are merely and solely those of the author.<o:p></o:p></span></font></p>
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<p class=MsoNormal style='margin-bottom:12.0pt'><font size=3
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<br clear=all>
<br>
-- <br>
Phil Korbel<br>
Director<br>
0161 237 5454<br>
<br>
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A company limited by guarantee and registered in England and Wales No. 3753832 <br>
Registered office: 12 Hilton Street, Manchester, M1 1JF <br>
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<o:p></o:p></span></font></p>
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