One in 4.3 Million

A 'rejuvenated' broadcaster

 Mike Bodnar looks back on a year of podcasting, and reflects on the value of speaking out loud...

There's no shortage of opportunities to get yourself heard these days - social media, as we all know (sometimes to our despair), is rife with gossip, news, opinions, thoughts, anger and, sadly, hate.

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Trolls used to be fairy-tale beings living under Scandi bridges; today they are vile ranters who yell, swear, and promise fire and brimstone on those they disagree with - those who have dared to post something contrary to their way of thinking. They still live under bridges though: the protective cover that social media gives them in the form of noms-de-plume - behind which they remain safely anonymous. They like to think of themselves as heroes, standard-bearers for those others who share their skewed perspectives. They like to think they, above all others, are right. And they are - usually far right.

So it could be argued that the Internet - and social media in particular - is to be avoided if you want to be heard dispassionately, or at least taken seriously. Not entirely true, because this doesn't take into account the power - and increasing popularity of - podcasts.

Listen when you like

Over the past decade, podcasts have experienced remarkable growth, transforming from a niche format into a mainstream media powerhouse. Advances in technology and the ubiquity of smartphones have played a pivotal role in this evolution. People now have easy access to a vast library of podcasts on a huge range of topics, from true crime and comedy to science and self-improvement. Streaming platforms such as Spotify, Apple Podcasts, and Google Podcasts have made discovery and listening seamless, contributing significantly to the medium's growth.

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Unlike other forms of media, podcasts are ideal for multitasking - they can be consumed during commutes, workouts, or household chores. This convenience has made them a staple for millions. Moreover, podcasts have given creators an opportunity to connect intimately with their audiences. The conversational tone of podcasts often fosters a sense of community, which keeps listeners coming back for more.

This has given rise to a New Age of broadcasters, and the low barrier to entry means anyone can start a podcast - become a broadcaster (or perhaps a better term for most would be narrowcaster) - leading to a surge in diverse voices and perspectives. As a result, podcasting has truly become a dynamic and influential medium in today's media landscape. But it's not the first.

Back to the Future

The opportunity afforded to diverse voices and perspectives is nothing new, at least not here in Aotearoa/New Zealand. 

As early as 1981, a medium aimed at giving a platform to diverse voices on a wide range of

subjects began in Wellington, New Zealand's capital. It was called Access Radio, and operated on an AM frequency, reaching a small and clearly defined local population. Sure, it wasn't the Internet - that was still over the horizon anyway - but in the 1980s, radio, especially community radio, was still strong, still popular. The arrival of Access Radio however, heralded the emergence of a non-commercial station, one which was by, for, and about its own local community. It wasn't about edgy breakfast shows, or drivetime commute music, or even news and weather on the hour; it was about people.

Image: Deviantart

Leap into your DeLorean and race forward 44 years, and today there are a dozen such Access stations throughout the country, but some things have changed. The stations still broadcast, but now on FM frequencies. More than that though, each station has its own Internet presence, its own website, through which absolutely anyone can listen regardless of distance from the station. So even if you live in Manchester, England, or Little Rock, Arkansas, you can easily listen to any Access Radio programme from New Zealand.

And it doesn't have to be live, because all Access programmes can be streamed as podcasts, joining an estimated 4.3 million podcasts available worldwide, and can be found on accessmedia.co.nz, a site that acts as a collective for the Access network.

As someone who worked in radio many years ago (decades, let's be frank, Ed.) it suddenly dawned on me that there was nothing stopping me from getting back behind the microphone. People had always said I had a great face for radio - here was the opportunity to do it again.

Walking the Talk

So a year ago, I joined Wellington Access Radio and began making my own programme. Better late then never.

Many Access programmes are ethnic, culture-driven productions, or religion-specific, maybe

niche music-oriented (bluegrass fans rejoice!), while some are topic-centric (climate change,  current affairs, local politics, etc). The one thing they have in common is that they are all 'by, for, and about' their communities - a requirement for the Access stations to qualify for funding support from the government agency New Zealand on Air. The viability of the stations is also bolstered through small broadcasting and membership fees (of which, more later), grants and donations, and sponsorship. 

So, if, for example, you visit the Wellington Access 'Shows & Podcasts' page online, you'll find over a hundred things to listen to. Including (promo time here) my own show, 'Mike On...'

At the age of mumbledy-something - let's just say 'a certain age' - I decided to make a fortnightly programme for a more mature audience, but in both senses of the word. Because of course, some people can be old beyond their years, so in my intro to the programme I emphasise that even though it's for listeners 'of a certain age,' it doesn't matter whether you're 16 or 96.

I decided on a chat-show format, and apart from two episodes, each programme has featured a guest who specialises in a certain field, or has a personal story to relate, or has some new and interesting research to share. I have deliberately avoided each episode being about something older age-related though; because while we might be in our (insert age group here)  it doesn't mean we want to listen only to programmes about older folk. So, in the past 12 months I have had guests talking about a wide range of topics, from the value of volunteering, to how the native tuatara (a reptile) survived the asteroid impact, through classic motor vehicle collecting, why New Zealanders avoid the news more than any other nation, to understanding the slang, acronyms and abbreviations of Gen. Z today. For that programme my guests were two 16-year-old high school students.

Image: Flickr

When my 24th episode hits the airwaves on Thursday 24 April (it's an ANZAC Day special featuring an interview with a D-Day veteran), 'Mike On...' will be celebrating its first full year on air. Happy birthday to me. And at my age, one candle is about all I can blow out anyway!

Measuring success

I could, of course, have done all this from my own home, like so many other podcasters, but Wellington Access Radio - along with all the other stations in the network - offers a focal point, a place where I can go and use professional equipment in a proper studio to record (or broadcast live if required) my programmes. I can mingle with other programme makers, and chat to (and get technical and marketing help from) the station staff.

It's not free, but it doesn't cost much, and there's a scale of fees appropriate to your own situation. I can tell you now that it costs me about NZ$52 per month. I could seek sponsorship if I wanted, but I'm trying to avoid a commercial tie-in situation. 

So how has it been going?

Measuring the audience. Image: Wikimedia

Let's put it this way: making a programme/podcast like this is the broadcast equivalent of self-publishing; I have created something, and I'm paying to get it 'out there,' just like an author might. 

Also like a self-published author, it's largely up to me to market my product. An author, for example publishing through Amazon's KDP platform, can spend as little or as much as they like on promoting their book.

With me, it's the same, but as with my two self-published books (to date), I can't afford to pay for promotion. What I do do, is share my programmes via Spotify Podcasts, iHeart radio Podcasts, and Apple Podcasts, in the hope of reaching as wide an audience as possible. I promote new programmes on social media, but I don't have many followers.

A benefit of using Spotify Podcasts is that I can see immediate and up-to-date analytics on my 'dashboard' showing exactly how many people have streamed my programmes. It's not many, I confess.

Access Radio does not get funding to cover annual or twice-yearly listener surveys such as commercial stations might be able to afford (and with which they can attract advertisers), so I have little way of knowing who, or how many people, listen. I need to be self-reliant in that respect; I need to be my own 'fan base.' Because to date I have directly received only one piece of unsought feedback. Just one. So let's talk some more on the subject of self-reliance.

The Role of Ego

There has been many a time in the past year when I've thought, why bother? What's the point of putting all this effort - and $52 a month - into making programmes that hardly anyone listens to?

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The answer is pride. I am - I have to be - proud of my product. I have to be independent of external acknowledgement and tell myself, it's okay, this is good. I learned about production values when I worked full-time in broadcasting, so I know what makes a good programme, and I apply that knowledge when making mine.

But because nobody else admires the programmes - at least not overtly - I have to do that myself. I have to constantly remind myself that these programmes could go on mainstream radio and not be out of place. (And along with the lack of feedback, I have, importantly, received no criticism either. I know... it could be argued that that just means nobody's listening!). But as I said at the start of this blog, ranters and trolls are always waiting in the wings to shoot you down. The fact that they haven't is at least a positive.

It's obvious from now having made over 20 programmes that the ones that attract the most listeners are those in which the person I've interviewed also promotes the programme to their own networks. For example, last September I broadcast an episode on assisted dying, based on an interview with a man who had been given less than six months to live and who had chosen to legally end his life.

A New Zealand assisted dying support organisation promoted the programme to their network, and hey presto: listeners! Not many, just 90 on Spotify, (although my blog on this blogsite on the same subject was read by over 650 people), and there's an unknown number who might have listened on Access Radio either live or as a podcast.

Ego is a double-edged sword; in the wrong hands, applied at an inappropriate time, it can earn you a reputation for being a big-head. But privately, when I just tell myself that my programmes are good quality, it does the job.

One in 4.3 million

As I mentioned, it's estimated that there are 4.3 million podcasts available globally, and that number will only rise. I have a lot of competition, and I'm not the only one making a chat show. There are even plenty of other podcasts called 'Mike On', dammit. But there are over 500 million podcast listeners, which is a healthy ratio, so I just need to attract some of them.

But now that I'm approaching my programme's first anniversary I can look back on 24 programmes well-made to a high standard. I can be satisfied that I've done it, I've proved to myself that it could be done, and I will carry on.

I know I'm just one programme/podcast in 4.3 million, but 'Mike On...' is damn good.

Have a listen sometime, and let me know what you think.

Death on Air

The passing of HRH Prince Philip caused radio stations around the UK to quickly amend their playlists today. This was done – as one announcer explained on air – as a mark of respect for the Duke of Edinburgh.

So if you tune in to your local station you're not likely to hear any songs that relate to death, and nothing too heavy. Your favourite Satanic core and Gothic industrial tracks will have to wait for a bit, while Glenn Campbell and The Carpenters are dusted off and aired once again.

Not that radio jocks have had to scrabble urgently for an appropriately-mellow playlist – it will already have been there waiting in the wings, for occasions just such as this. When I worked in radio back in 1978, this was known as the D&D playlist – for 'Death and Disaster.'

Picture if you will a younger version of myself sitting at a radio desk that had large knurled knobs, a few faders, old-fashioned throw-switches, a row of gauges showing audio levels, and twin record turntables, one on either side. The microphone hung from above, and the headphones I wore were huge, but top quality. There wasn't a computer in sight.

Off to the right was a shelf with a collection of LPs (which stands for Long Playing records for those of you who are too young) which were the Death and Disaster records. These had been chosen – I was informed when I started – as the go-to stack of music in the event that a member of the Royal family died, or when there was some other nationwide tragedy. The music was innocuous, mostly instrumental, and unlikely to upset grieving listeners.

As announcers we were told that the most likely situation for using the D&D pile would be if the Queen Mother died, choking on her gin and tonic while screaming at a horse race on the telly. As it was, she outlasted my radio career by a long shot.

But anyway, here we are in 1978. Radio Nelson – call-sign 2ZN – was my first station, situated in the charming city of Nelson in New Zealand's South Island. It was a great station and very much a part of the local community.

So it came as no great surprise when our station manager, Don Jones, told us one day that in order to continue providing a valuable public service while the local newspaper was on strike and not publishing, we would be announcing local death notices following the six o'clock news each evening.

This, he said, was the least we could do, though elsewhere in the station the marketing bods were rubbing their hands in glee knowing that any local businesses wanting to advertise would now have to come to 2ZN rather than The Nelson Evening Mail.

2ZN Radio Nelson in the 1970s
Image: Nelson Photo News

We announcers were somewhat dismayed at this news. Not only did we have to read out the death notices, we were instructed to do each one twice. We prayed the newspaper's union and management would reach an agreement sooner rather than later, as we couldn't think of a more effective way to reduce the listening audience to record low levels.

In those days, on the top of each hour, we would take a news-feed from Radio New Zealand's corporate centre in the capital Wellington, and when that had finished we would switch back and read our local news, provided each day by our station journalists. It was following the local news at six o'clock that the death notices were to be read, using – you guessed it – music from the easy-listening Death and Disaster collection in the background. You can probably see what's coming.

I had been listening to the six o'clock news-feed and waiting nervously for our journalist to deliver our local bulletin, but even after the main news was halfway through he still hadn't shown. I had the death notices and had read through them, but no news is not good news.

Just before the main bulletin was due to finish the journo flew into the studio waving a raft of news stories at me and apologising profusely. I quickly scanned the pages so that I had some idea of what I'd be reading, then the main news finished and I turned on the mic. 'Good evening, it's four minutes past six and here's the local news...'

All was good and I got through the bulletin, except that during the final item I realised I'd forgotten to line up any D&D music for the death notices. Continuing reading, I reached out with my right hand and selected a disc from the Death and Disaster collection, secure in the knowledge that it had been chosen specially and would not offend anyone.

I put the LP on the turntable, dropped the needle onto it, and then, as I introduced the death notices I slowly faded the music up in the background. I was relieved to hear that it was indeed quiet, with no heavy guitar riffs, and no vocals.

'And now, we bring you today's death notices,' I said in a suitably sombre tone. 'We are sad to announce the passing of Dora Blakehurst of Motueka...'

I am making this name up right now as I have no idea who died, and even at the moment I was reading I wasn't taking any notice either because, through my headphones I was horrified to recognise the music that I'd blindly selected.

It was a very soft and instrumental version of Roberta Flack's 'Killing Me Softly.'