Eddy Says

Eddy Says: How I got on telly (or ‘There is nothing uglier than desperation’)

By Eddy Temple-Morris | Published on Monday 4 July 2011

My younger listeners at Xfm will probably be unaware that I used to be on the telly every day. But not a week goes by when I don’t get ecstatic, very flattering emails from random grown ups who used to watch me on MTV when they were kids. One of the questions I’m asked most often is, predictably: “How did you become a TV presenter?”

If you’re asking this question then I fear the answer is probably not the one you’re looking for, but here is the truth of it…

The year was 1997 and I was very happy at Radio 1, heading up the incredible team that made the jingles, sweepers, promos, all the little bits of audio glue that held the station together. We were lucky enough to be nominated for a Sony Award (the Oscars of radio in the UK), so I found myself at the Awards ceremony, where I bumped into an old colleague, Christine Boare.

Christine was an unusually brilliant and hard working radio producer. She’d presided over Jo Whiley and Steve Lamacq, who presented the ‘Evening Session’. When I’d arrived at Radio 1, the Evening Session was the only show I listened to regularly, and it was by far the best show on the station (this is before Westwood or Mary Anne had arrived). But by 1997, Christine had been quite rightly head-hunted by MTV Networks Europe. She had been nominated for an award too, for a really good documentary about Oasis I think, which she made just before she left for a new job as Head Of something at MTV. So, our paths crossed, in swish evening wear.

“How’s it going Christine, you look well?” I greeted her.

“Good, Eddy”, she replied. “It’s getting really busy, we’re about to launch a new MTV channel, we’re regionalising: MTV UK”.

“What, really?! So you’re getting rid of all those Euro-babe models with massive cleavages who tell us what gigs we should see…?” It was a quirk of the station at the time that the presenters clearly weren’t attending any of the gigs they recommended.

“Yep, they’re ALL going to MTV Europe and we’re getting British people to present our shows, people who know their onions, people who’ve been in bands, you know, people…” She paused slightly and looked me up and down. “People like YOU, actually. How would you like to be a presenter?”

“Oh not me Christine, I’m happy doing my thing”, I said, dismissing the idea. “I’m no presenter, anyway. You know how I roll, I produce. I don’t have a big enough ego to step up!”

“But you write scripts for Mark Goodier, Chris Evans, Nicky Campbell, and the like that make them sound like they know their shit”, she replied. “How hard could it be to just read your own scripts?”

“Oh I don’t know, I just never saw myself as a turn…”

She pushed on with the idea: “I think you’d be really good, your just the kind of off-the-wall character that we need… you’re super knowledgeable about music and you’ve got a great voice, you should do a screen test!”

We bantered and caught up with each other’s professional and personal lives before saying bye bye. And, as far as I was concerned, I didn’t give what we’d discussed any more thought.

The next day, the answer-phone in my little Radio 1 studio-come-office was flashing red.

“Hello, my name is Howie”, came a voice from the tinny speaker. “I work for MTV Talent Acquisition. Christine Boare asked me to give you a call and set up a screen test, please call me back asap on this number”.

I was a mixture of stunned, bemused and flattered. Eventually I just thought ‘what the hell?’ and called the number, curiouser and curiouser. It was arranged that I’d go to MTV’s studios at Hawley Crescent in Camden later that week.

I was still unsure of the whole thing, but having made that call I didn’t want to let Christine down. I always had a massive amount of respect for her. At Radio 1 in the mid-90s, shortly after I joined, I’d go around all the studios and offices every night, delivering scripts and trailers and stuff, long after everyone had left for the night. The only person I’d ever find working was Christine, another burner of the midnight oil. She always impressed me with her dedication, thoroughness, passion and constant flow of ideas and improvements.

But nevertheless, for the rest of that week I got on with my job and completely ignored the upcoming screen test. For starters, this whole thing had reaffirmed in my head that I didn’t really want to leave Radio 1, and anyway, how difficult could the screen test be once I got there? The few bits of MTV I’d seen involved some gorgeous Euro-babe, with English as a second language, clearly reading a script written for her by a producer, off an autocue. I surely wouldn’t be asked to do any more than this in a screen test for MTV.

Along came Thursday, and I finished my last bit of production for that day, a radio edit of a Nine Inch Nails track for the Rock Show to play, and I got on my bike (I rode a motorcycle every day in those days) and set off for Camden.

The Hawley Crescent studios, in the old TVAM building by Camden Lock, are a fabulous location. I walked into this very grand looking and modern reception, and was soon greeted by this Howie dude, along with a camera man, and ushered towards the studio. But then we walked straight past the studio, which immediately confused me, and into the bowels of the building, only to emerge at the back, by the canal lock itself, where Howie turned to me and said “stop”.

“Are we not going to the studio then?” I asked.

“No, we’re doing it right here”, he said. “Back against the wall, Ben here will point this camera at you, and you just say something…”

“You what? Say something?!” I blurted. “I thought I was here to read an autocue, I don’t have anything prepared!”

“That’s OK”, he replied, nonchalantly. “Just pretend you’re a VJ and you’ve just played a video”.

“OK, I can do that”, I thought. My edit of Nine Inch Nails still fresh in my mind, I went on a bit of a rant about NIN and what a god Trent Reznor is.

“Great”, said Howie. “Now do another”.

Britain, at the time, was in the grip of Oasis v Blur fever, so I pretended to play an Oasis and a Blur video, and I sided with Oasis. I always did. I probably did a loose-limbed impression of Liam, and another of Damon, with whistling esses.

“Good, thanks”, he said. “Now, just in case they can use you for news, can you do something ‘newsie’?”

“Um, I dunno. I’m no journalist…”

“Music news”, he added. “Just do a link about festivals or something cos they’re all coming up”.

So I did as asked and went on a little tirade about the festivals I loved and hated and portaloos, and sunburn. I remember being very honest, quite irreverent and a bit ‘ranty’. I really didn’t give a fuck – as far as I was concerned this was still just a case of me fulfilling a flattering gesture made by a former colleague – and you could probably tell that by my attitude: really open, nothing to lose, very conversational and relaxed at the same time.

Howie thanked me. He didn’t use the phrase ‘don’t call us, we’ll call you’ but it was something very similar. It was June, and he said they wouldn’t have an opening until at least September. I said that was fine and I wasn’t in any hurry to leave Radio 1, so I wouldn’t hold my breath.

So, I thought, I had at least four months to wait for the phone call to say I wasn’t their cup of tea. Actually, I didn’t have to wait four days let alone months. 48 hours later I got a frantic call from Christine.

“Eddy, everybody here has gone mental over your screen test!” She shouted. “It’s gone right to the top, the Head Of Everything is saying we have to hire you, right now!”

“No way!” I shouted back.

“I’m not kidding, they want you to go to Matthew’s office and resign RIGHT NOW”, she continued, referring to Matthew Bannister, my then boss. “We’re about to launch this new channel, we’ve got lots of exciting new talent already signed up and we want you to be one of them!”

“You want me to be a PRESENTER?!” What she was saying still not quite sinking in.

“Yes!” She said. “A producer-presenter. Same money as you’re on now, plus a little bit more. You’ll be freelance, so you’ll take more home. Do it, Eddy!”

“Fuck”, I paused. I could feel the excitement in her voice and it was very infectious. I didn’t want to leave Radio 1, but at the same time I could feel that this was a genuinely brilliant opportunity. “OK”, I said. “I’ll do it!”

Thinking about it, I’d sort of done all I could do at Radio 1 by this point anyway. I was being outshone by Jeremy Godfrey, whom I’d stolen from Virgin. Together, we had totally changed Radio 1’s on air sound from a horrific 1970s vibe to a much more modern, edgier sound that was more in keeping with its new feel.

I went up to Matthew Bannister’s office and told him what had happened. He listened, Sage-like, thought about what I said and replied: “As your boss, I don’t want you to go. I really value you as part of my team. But as your friend: GO. NOW! It’s an amazing opportunity! I’m proud of you and I look forward to welcoming you back at a grossly inflated salary”.

I laughed. What a brilliant thing to say. Matthew always had the right words at the right time, he was a true leader of men and the most inspiring boss I’ve ever had.

So, I left Radio 1 to become part of a presenter team that included the following then still new and not very well known faces: Sara Cox, Paul Tonkinson, Justin Lee Collins, Armstrong & Miller, Edith Bowman, Donna Air, Richard Blackwood and Cat Deeley. There would be a lot of laughs, some tears and some really good times. I would meet some of the best people I’ve ever worked with and I would meet by far the worst. The next year would be an incredible rollercoaster ride and one which I’ll save for another time.

What I’d like you to take away from this story is that sometimes people can smell your desperation, and it’s not an attractive aroma. Obviously, this isn’t true for everything, but a lot of the time, with jobs, with people you fancy, with the flat or house you desire, if they think you don’t want it, then they want you that much more.

Realistically, if you’re going for a job, you’ll probably want it really badly. Pretending NOT to want it will be really difficult. I was just really lucky to be in a position where I genuinely didn’t give a fuck. But just try to relax and enjoy your interview or demo, or whatever it is. Be natural, be YOU, and play it cool.

In the concise words of Mr Tinchy Stryder, from a recent tweet: “There is nothing uglier than desperation”.

X eddy