Zoo format radio began in California in the 70s. A welcome break from zonked-out stoners drawling about the Eagles and the Knack, it involved zany DJs with a cohort of sidekicks, usually in the breakfast slot. Presenters invented comedy personae, with the emphasis on wacky phone-ins and kerr-azy banter. The idea reached the UK with Steve Wright in the Afternoon and his posse of characters. Pretentious Music Journalist was as devastating for pompous scribes as Smashie and Nicey were for ageing DJs.
But today zoo is everywhere, with presenters recruited not because of their erudition and eloquence, but because they are touring stand-up comedians with a DVD to market and a gang of flatmates with monstrous egos to feed. It's a very male concept too, reliant on fawning acolytes ambling in all hungover, thinking, I'll have me a go at that. Before you know it, they have their own show. You can practically smell the lager. BBC 6 music is both hero and villain here, airing shows by famous music fans, but then providing even more airtime for the likes of the omnipresent and overbearing Russell Howard and (of course) co.
Recent radio scandals were instigated by a braying gaggle of silly, middle-aged man-boys egging each other on to be increasingly outrageous or just plain nasty. It's like overhearing competitive adolescent braggadocio in the gents. And zoo is an apt description. You can just imagine the DJs and their gang taking time between tracks to piss out their territory in the studio. At its worst, the zoo is a safari park, full of savage, feral gibbons masturbating on the bonnet of the listener's car.
And Moyles, that means you.
