Chris Evans: on to a winner at BBC Radio 2. Photograph: PA
So Chris Evans has picked up two Sony Awards for his Radio 2 show. On the one hand, this brings back terrifying reminders of the 1990s - where wanton idiocy was a career choice and cocaine an artistic statement. Culture watchers had rather assumed that Evans riding off into the sunset with a teenage bride and several squillion quid in his back pocket would be the soft fade-out on an increasingly incomprehensible decade. He had closed out on the classic celebrity career arc - "have you heard of Chris Evans?", "you must see Chris Evans", "I see they've got Chris Evans again", "whatever happened to Chris Evans?" (Actually, the awards mean that this works much better for Johnny Vaughan.)
There is, however, a little known celebrity-with-some-talent coda to this industry staple. It works on the premise that being a household name is the very worst thing that can happen to you if you actually have anything interesting to give. Tears For Fears ("whatever happened to ..." etc) recently said that they made more money in the 1990s when they were so ovah than they did in the 80s when they were trying to be pop stars. There were people who liked their stuff and people who hated whatever was number one. Once you're away from the charts and the press you can keep on playing to what George W Bush might call your "base" and make far more money than you did when you had to support a PR man and a cocaine dealer. Just ask Marillion. It's all about dropping the haters.
Does this apply to Evans? I once met him while he was preparing to let Sky One televise his Virgin Radio breakfast show. Sober and cautious all the way through the interview, he only lit up when discussing the difference between making radio and TV funny. He riffed on about "pull-backs" and "the reveal" for an hour, and I suddenly realised this was a man who understood instinctively how to make people laugh using the technology of broadcasting. He was a techie-cum-producer who'd stumbled in front of the mic.
Being famous meant he stopped worrying about the nuances of the medium and focused on the nuances of his own voice - going on and on about himself. With paps outside his office and Gazza for a mate, it's no wonder he chose to drown the existential screaming with a three-year binge. Clear out the demons, mop up the drink, find a station like Radio 2 suddenly trying to attract 30-somethings and you've got one last chance. Have you still got the chops? Looks like Sony say yes.
