BLOG | Now or Never host Ify Chiwetelu ponders the mystery of radio

My journey to radio was an unexpected one. I was cobbling a life out of comedy shows, arts administration and contract writing when I was approached to apply for the position that would eventually have me moving to a new city for a new career.

The amount of scripting that goes into radio-making was a surprise to me, a testament to the many talented hosts and producers who make things sound effortless and natural.

My first attempt at recording a prepared script was ... clumsy. I was trying to have a measured and controlled voice that seemed more knowledgeable than my own. There is a cadence and tone of voice that I associated with public broadcasting that I assumed I would have to adopt. Peter Mansbridge, I am not.

Who I am is a Nigerian-Canadian woman who laughs loudly, and has an equal number of opinions on The Baby-Sitters Club's legacy as on Lauryn Hill's. Mine is not a voice I thought was welcome. I was both surprised and grateful when the producer asked me to speak more in my own voice.

This has been getting easier with each episode as producers get to know me and my way of speaking, and I get more comfortable following my instinct while releasing my preconceptions. Although, it does still feel like I'm getting away with something every time an off-script thought makes it to air.  

I thought my performance experience would ease the transition to hosting a radio show, and it has, but I was not prepared for performing without a live audience. Soundproof walls don't give the feedback that a room full of (mostly drunk) people do. Without that immediate gauge of success or failure I find myself desperately seeking a glint of approval in a producer's eyes and analysing every sigh from my co-host.

There is an immediacy to live performance that I love — the ability to be spontaneous, react to what is happening as it does, and, most importantly, the inability to over-think what happens on the fly. As a chronic over-thinker, hosting Now or Never has been a kind of exposure therapy.

Not only do I have ample time to think about a reaction, it also gets recorded, and re-recorded, then I get to hear my voice in surround-sound as people around me edit and cut tape. Hearing clips of your voice in an editing loop from multiple computers is a torture technique the United Nations has yet to acknowledge.

The thing I'm learning about radio is to listen to feedback, observe those with more experience, and trust my instincts. I'm working on channeling the spontaneity and abandon that gives me the most joy, and relying less on immediate audience reaction.

My favourite performances, regardless of medium, have always been ones that seem the most authentic and honest. I'm excited to bridge the gap between radio and stage. I imagine there is magic at the intersection of the two.