It’s rare – to say the least – to hear a presenter looking for romance live on air, but that’s the case on Liveline (RTÉ Radio 1, weekdays) as Kieran Cuddihy seeks to put his stamp on the show with what is possibly a first for Irish radio.
On Tuesday’s programme the host speaks to Deirdre, dispensing with any sweet talk to get straight to the point: “Would you like to be my girlfriend?” Far from being deterred by this blunt request, Deirdre assents enthusiastically. “I’m always looking for new friends,” she says breathily, “And I think we could have a lot of fun together.”
In this, at least, “Deirdre” is right. “That was a bit of craic,” Cuddihy says as he ends his brief conversation with this AI-generated companion, though he also observes that the suggestive yet creepy exchange “would give you the ick”.
The host has been exploring his AI-curious side to illustrate the growing phenomenon of people seeking online relationships with bespoke chatbots, though the chat is so stilted that one struggles to understand the appeal. (As does the host, in fairness.)
When Cuddihy modestly tells his new online partner that he’s a fan of Liveline, Deirdre is effusive. “I’ve listened to a few episodes, and I think the presenter and guests offer a lot of insightful commentary,” she replies, which suggests the chatbot has only caught the show on its good days. Either that or AI is learning to lie, in which case we’re all in trouble.
It may be a stunt, but it works – in terms of grabbing the listener’s attention, anyway.
The larky air quickly dissipates as the discussion turns to the perennially alarming subject of social media’s harmful effects on children. The trigger on this occasion is what Cuddihy calls a “nudification tool” (talk about the ick) that creates sexually explicit images of real people, including children, and is available on Grok, the AI system owned by – surprise, surprise – Elon Musk.
The host hears a teacher and researcher, Eoghan Cleary, talk of the anxiety felt by teenage girls worried about their images being used on such apps by classmates. Cleary also describes, in suitably disheartening terms, how online porn is warping young people’s conceptions of sex: “Their expectations are so sexually violent.”
On top of that, Cuddihy hears raw testament to the tragic costs the online world exacts on children. He speaks to the campaigner Jackie Fox, whose daughter Nicole took her life after cyberbullying – a death that ultimately led to “Coco’s law”, which criminalises the sharing of intimate images – and to Aisling, who also lost her daughter Mia after similar online abuse. “I’ll always be grieving,” Aisling says sadly.
Over the course of two days, some callers talk of joining movements to delay children getting smartphones; others urge listeners to pressure politicians to act against such social-media content. But the overriding mood is one of despair, tinged with anger, with people feeling helpless in the face of the recklessly disruptive but unimaginably profitable practices of tech giants.
Even Cuddihy, praised by his virtual squeeze Deirdre for “staying neutral and unbiased”, sounds incensed as he recounts the contemptuously indifferent reaction of social-media companies to official requests for better protection for children. So much for having fun.
For all that, Cuddihy will be pleased at the traction generated by the topic, no matter that children’s online safety is, understandably enough, an old reliable when it comes to stirring audience emotions.
It’s too early to say that the host has fully imposed his brand on Liveline, but things are markedly different from the Joe Duffy era. Cuddihy is less showily demonstrative than his predecessor, and given to a quiet scepticism; he briefly wonders if there’s an element of “moral panic” to social-media concerns.
Cuddihy also sounds comfortable interacting with callers on different issues, sometimes to instructive effect. During his discussion of the US military’s seizure of Nicolás Maduro, the president of Venezuela, for instance, the reaction of Venezuelans living in Ireland to the action is positive. Ever eager to please, Deirdre dubs Cuddihy “a true professional”: it may sound like faint praise, but he’s going about the job in the right way.
Meanwhile, Oliver Callan (RTÉ Radio 1, weekdays) has his work cut out when he interviews the errant comedian David McSavage, or at least tries to. McSavage, whose comic output on stage and screen serially traverses the boundaries of good taste while being very funny, sounds much the same in person, resulting in an encounter that ends up part therapy session, part comedy roast – with the guest roasting the host.
There’s certainly no chance of revelatory reticence as McSavage talks about doing podcasts with his sons (“It feels like a second chance to be a good dad”), his dim view of fellow humans (“People are annoying”) and his unhappiness at turning 60.
But while the comedian admits to unease at sharing such personal experiences – “I’m speaking authentically, and it just feels very uncomfortable” – he also makes Callan’s life difficult, haranguing his host to ever-greater degrees of incorrigibility: “Why are you talking to me like a psychiatric nurse?”; “Have you ever thought about being a guard?”; “My God, you’re so judgmental.”
Callan gamely joshes along – he’s a comedian too, after all – but his rhythm is severely discombobulated. On hearing that McSavage has been (mostly) sober since 2003, the host gingerly remarks: “Normally I’d say well done, but I’m afraid of your reaction.”
It’s not a hostile encounter – the comics chuckle together conspiratorially on occasion, particularly when McSavage does his wicked impression of Joe Duffy – but it’s not exactly a cosy chat either.
It’s also the best thing on the show. Otherwise, the week’s menu largely consists of conversations with the likes of the TV presenter Brian Dowling and the food writer and blogger Nathan Anthony, which, while convivial, have as much edge as a fluffy pillow.
Callan is running a light talkshow, of course, a role he performs with impish verve, but such unobjectionable material can wear thin over two hours of airtime. A bit of disruption can sometimes go a long way.
Moment of the week
Katie Hannon and Colm Ó Mongáin are getting along fine as hosts of Drivetime (RTÉ Radio 1, weekdays), but their partnership is slightly clouded by an emerging fault line over musical preferences.
When an item opens with Wannabe, the Spice Girls’ girl-power pop classic from 1996, Ó Mongáin, a self-proclaimed fan of indie and underground music, is dismissive (“What I really, really want is a 30-year break before I hear that again”), much to Hannon’s outrage: “That’s a banger!”
Hannon is similarly effusive when Dire Straits’ AOR ballad Romeo and Juliet introduces an item on Shakespeare – “You can’t beat a bit of Dire Straits” – while her co-host sounds less enthused, albeit cryptically: “That one didn’t end well.”
But their guest, the teacher Conor Murphy, is more forthright. Asked by Hannon what students think of Shakespeare, Murphy replies in mischievous fashion. “They find him kind of like I find Dire Straits: a little bit boring.” A hit, a very palpable hit.