There's been a lot of talk about talkback radio lately. A lot of talk from pundits who probably don't like it much to begin with.
It's a very particular type of offer and not to everyone's taste.
But I've been wondering why we don't speak about talkback radio beyond the commercial measures that have historically been applied to assess its success.
I have wondered why we don't speak up about how vital it is to a community.
The power of talkback
Talkback radio is a jewel.
Far from the culture of shock jocks, which so much talkback radio has nothing to do with, talkback radio is a city square.
An ancient form of social media. It's the disembodied voices of strangers who you begin to know.
It's absurd and intimate and funny and poignant and about living in a place.
It's one of the last sites where we can hear opinions that we haven't curated in our feed.
Speaking with Barry Jones recently, polymath and the first talker on talkback radio on 3DB in April 1967 in Melbourne, its origins are clear.
Big brains, big ideas, and a big conceit to include an audience in discussing matters of note, he says: "I prepared an opening statement, careful presentations about controversial issues in public policy, such as suicide, abortion, drug use, Aboriginal land rights, affirmative action, packed with statistics and putting the case for and against."
"I read out my statements and invited callers to ring with comments, or to ask questions."
I have peddled a different type of talkback in my time, less news and rather one that mines the banality of our every day to illuminate the sacred.
Ridiculous topics that to a casual observer might seem trite, but it is whimsy writ large and it tells us about ourselves.
Connection in a time of isolation
Broadcasting during the heartbreak of Melbourne lockdowns gave me a keen lesson in, not only talkback's importance when it comes to news and discussing the general hubbub of the world but, how it provides this most unique connection.
Voices, live voices, become a quasi-community and a tethering to a place you not only live in but belong to.
And the tradition of stating your name and suburb as the price of admission — locates us and ensures it will never be cool.
It is a jewel.
When one of our listeners died, at the age of 100, the audience mourned.
We still talk about her. Avice was her name.
She would call up and ask for the same song, and we would play it for her every single time.
I delivered a 30-page book to her family at her funeral, full of messages from her radio family who had loved her, in the way you can love someone you have never met, but you feel like you know.
Life is changing
I've been reflecting deeply on the impact of talkback radio because it's my time to hang up the ABC Radio Melbourne Afternoons headphones.
It has quite literally changed me and saved me on many occasions when, in my own life, I have been lost.
The audience has never been told about those times, but I want to tell them now.
I will continue to co-host the Friday Revue with Brian Nankervis, but the daily beat of radio, and the community that comes with it, is on hold for me right now.
Like so many of us, life over the past 12 months, post the gloominess of lockdowns and introspection it dealt, has meant that I have a new set of responsibilities that need attending, and so life must change.
But the heartbeat of my life has been a daily radio show that relies upon the courage and kindness of a community of people who take seriously the talking bit of talkback radio. And long may it live.