Taking a look at what's happened so far, I thank my mentor and close friend, Paul Gambaccini. I have learnt so much from Gambo over the years and consider him the father I never had.
Click here for a summary of my work.
Wesley Paul Butters was born on the fourth of May, 1979, and has not used his full name since. Although his birthday may one day be celebrated as as national holiday, it has until now been better known as the day Margaret Thatcher came to power. The eyes of the nation were on Westminster, and young Wesley - we've lost the Paul already - was born in Salford. His youthful ambitions were formed in secret.
"The first thing I wanted to be was an actor," he remembers. "I was brought up watching Laurel and Hardy, CARRY ON films and FAWLTY TOWERS. My mother loved them. We didn't have videos or DVDs, just TV. I found myself wanting to be a comedian entertaining people. I don't think Laurel and Hardy stood out more than any of the other people, but I liked the warmth they gave off and their friendliness. There was an innocence and purity to them. A child can empathize."
"At school I couldn't be anything other than funny," he recalls. "I remember starting one school thinking 'Should I be funny or cool at this one?' I started off being cool and wound up doing impressions of Margaret Thatcher and people on CORONATION STREET. I couldn't help wanting to make people laugh, even in school plays." The laughs did not extend to Shakespeare. "I did have a brush with professional theatre. I was in MACBETH at the Palace Theatre, Manchester, at the age of five. My mother put me up for it. She was not from the same mold as Judy Garland's mom. She could have pushed me harder, but she didn't, not as much as I would have liked.
I got small parts in professional productions and a lot of extra work like CRACKER and CORONATION STREET. That's when I really wanted to be in that kind of business. I would be on set from 7 a.m. to 7 p.m. playing a schoolboy in a scene with 200 children. Whereas the other kids were bored standing around doing nothing, I really loved it. I was on a film set! I loved watching the director, the cameramen and the other actors, even if the scene was only three minutes long."
This sounds like the youth of a BAFTA winner, not a SONY Silver Award radio presenter. "I had no desire to work in radio," Butters admits. "My acting gave way to wanting to be behind the camera and direct films or produce. That was why I went to Salford University and took a B.A. course in Television and Radio. I was told this was the way directors go. I found it boring and dull with lectures about things I would never need to know."
This really is beginning to look like a dead end. Then Wesley finds an open road. "I had to get a part time job. I asked the radio teacher who to contact. He suggested John Grindell, who was in traffic and travel at AA Roadwatch based in Stockport. I phoned him. He invited me in for a chat. I was 19. I asked my Dad where Cheadle was, and he said it was behind Stockport. I got off the train. I didn't realize Cheadle was a massive place and I didn't know where it was. My appointment was at 10 a.m. and with five minutes to go I was at a big roundabout with no idea of where to turn. I decided that if it wasn't in the building at the roundabout I would forget it. It was in the building at the roundabout."
Having got lucky, the intrepid Salfordian called on his skills. "He asked me to make a demo. At university I had to make fake adverts, so I knew how to make a tape. He offered me a job. Gradually I got more and more shifts. I enjoyed the money. It was more of a thrill to be broadcasting to thousands of people than sit in a classroom. The only reason people are in traffic and travel is to get into radio, not because they have a deep desire to read traffic and travel. I got caught up in that and gave up university. Salford University always credit me with being a graduate, but I'm not complaining."
One benefit of reading traffic and travel is that an announcer makes contacts at many stations. The young man now known as Wes Butters was no exception. "I recorded myself and sent tapes out to the stations I was broadcasting on. I was called into THE WAVE at Blackpool. I was then 20. They had a few gaps on overnights and offered me £20 a show. It cost me £15 train fare to get there. It was a six-hour show and I had no idea what I was doing. I turned up an hour before the first show and saw the flight deck of the Starship Enterprise before me. The dude on air before me didn't care and did not help me whatsoever. I cobbled together what I thought was a radio show. It was a mess, the worst thing you ever heard in your life. I did six shows. Then I went on WISH FM in Wigan. I graduated to the evening show because nobody else wanted it. I was there for less than a year. I was fired because at the end I was listening a lot to James Whale.
Everyone who starts out tries to emulate somebody. I listened to James Whale. I got carried away with one interviewee. I called her a 'silly old bint'. I was hauled in the next day by the head of the station, who was a female, who fired me. The caller hadn't minded that I said 'silly old bint', but the manager did. After she sacked me she asked me if I had any questions. Yes, I said, will you pay me for the day, seeing as you called me in? She did!
"I was still working for the AA during the day. Now I was 21. I befriended the head of the regional station, Century, which was based in Manchester. He asked me in for a chat, offered me a Saturday love show cover and said how does £75 sound? It was three times my fee at WISH! I was given the Saturday night show, turned it into a 70s show, started an 80s show on Sunday night and did Sunday breakfast as well. The nighttime shows were the first in the station's history to be market leader. Suddenly I was a blue-eyed boy. We had begun the revival craze before anybody else and it really worked. They became the most listened-to shows in the Northwest."
Wesley Butters was now Wes, having decided the one-word name was more charismatic. Not only was he correct, but Wes is three letters shorter than Prince, two shorter than Sting, and one shorter than Cher. In short, it's short. Yet even though he was now a local radio star, he realized he had to maintain his power base.
"I really felt traffic and travel had given birth to everything else, so it was best to keep it going. It was the regular money payer. As fate would have it, the music director of the Century group had been sent a tape of my show and was stuck in a traffic jam. He popped in my tape and phoned me straightaway to offer me the evening show in Nottingham. I went to see him and was four hours late for the interview. I didn't plan ahead and got stuck in traffic. He still offered me the show. I took it! It was the first time I properly relied on my voice to pay the bills."
The one dread development no broadcaster can plan for is a change of station management or ownership. It happened to Wes, as it must to all men.
"Capital bought Century out. I was moved to overnight and didn't want to stay there forever. I'd seen an advert from Galaxy in Newcastle wanting presenters. I'd never been to Newcastle and the closing date had passed, but I still sent something. I went for an interview. I thought it was miles from anywhere. I didn't want to be there. I was late, as usual, and sat there with an air of not wanting to be there. Galaxy seemed to play a lot of R&B and dance music I hadn't heard and didn't like. They sold me on the job! They gave me a four- hour interview, so I knew they were interested in me. I went to New York for two weeks and while I was there was told I had the job. I moved to Newcastle and had a brilliant time for two years. I was mid-morning man and head of music from 2000 to 2002. I loved Newcastle. I had discovered a wonderful place where everybody was nice. It was by the sea, I liked the people and had a great nightlife. I felt no animosity anywhere."
Despite this Era of Good Feeling, Wes did not feel good about himself. "I didn't think I was anything special, I was just getting away with it. I have real self-confidence issues. I didn't think I was any good. What I didn't realize was that the people I thought were good were just stereotypical DJs. To stand out from those people and be the best, you need to be different. You need to be yourself.
One day someone on the afternoon show told me Radio 1 had called and wanted my phone number. I thought he was kidding. He wasn't. This guy named Joe Graham phoned me saying he'd been driving up and down the country looking for presenters. I told him 'I've been shit recently'. He wanted me to come to Manchester for a chat. It went badly. He was there, and so was a BBC executive who had no idea of life outside the BBC. When they asked my interests, I thought it best to be honest and told them Laurel and Hardy, Carry Ons and Elton John. I didn't hear anything for over a month."
Wes then did what he had previously done while waiting for interview results: he went to New York. "I was in New York City and got a text from Radio 1 saying to call. Mark Goodier is leaving the chart. We've found 50 people and we're piloting. I told them my interview had not gone well, I didn't fit their criteria for a Radio 1 DJ and I didn't listen to R1. I didn't know what they wanted from me. I did a pilot for the Top 40. It was completely secret. The press was saying Jamie Theakston or Scott Mills were going to get it."
Neither Jamie nor Scott had the favourable omens Wes did. "I went to pilot in London. I got the train down on Saturday morning. I saw two magpies .. one for sorrow, two for joy. Then the train passed a billboard saying 'God is with you.' There are two tantalizing signs of fate. But I had never done anything remotely like a chart or a golden hour. I had never really heard Goodier. Then there I was in Terry Wogan's studio wearing Mark Goodier's headphones next door to Jonathan Ross with Alan Freeman's technical operator and Steve Wright lurking in the corridor wondering who I was. I was just this kid from Galaxy Newcastle in a Radio 2 studio, Radio 2 instead of Radio 1 because it was top secret. Within five minutes, Joe Graham rushed through and said 'You can do this'.
"Because the pressure was on, it took three hours to do 40 mins. I was sweating buckets. When I came out, my black t-shirt was drenched. It was a bit like X-Factor, the list was cut down to 30, then 20. In all I did three pilots. I got to the final three. I was asked to go to London to meet Andy Parfitt, Controller of Radio 1, to see if he liked me. The Director General was sent the pilot as well, it was that big a deal. Parfitt met me in the bar of Langham Hilton. I was nervous and don't remember what we talked about. I was told I'd get a phone call on Wednesday. It was down to me, JK & Joel and someone else. I was on air at Galaxy and got a phone call. Joe's number showed on screen. He said 'Yes'. That's all he said. It was announced on the fifth of December, 2002 that this unknown kid had got the coveted Radio 1 Top 40.
"I was over the moon. I thought this was my destiny. I'd always wanted to be successful and famous. This was it. Look at the people who had been on the Top 40 before me. My future is all mapped out!" It wasn't. Wes lasted two years on the Top 40 before the baton was finally passed to JK and Joel, who in 2007 passed it on to ... but that is someone else's story. We're concerned about Wes, whose London opportunities were not limited to the Top 40.
"Within two weeks I was asked to be the voice of the Brits on TV. This is ridiculous, I thought. Last year I was lying in bed watching the Brits. Never did it occur to me I would have my voice all over it the next year. I was given a microphone and a bit of script, and told to just talk until winners hit the podium. Just ad lib on the spot on live ITV 1! I was just making it up as I went along. Then I was asked to do commercial voiceovers. The first time I had no idea what to do and relied on the director. Gradually, I got more confident."
His childhood experience of playing television roles did not help Wes in another phase of his career. "I had no experience of being on TV as myself. It was different from being a character as I had been as a child. I found it very hard. I didn't know who to be on the radio, let alone TV. I did TOP OF THE POPS, BUZZCOCKS, etc., programmes I'd watched for years. I wasn't able to relax. On BUZZCOCKS, I was hoping, God, I hope the next thing I say gets a laugh. I can't believe I'm on this programme." He wasn't for long. The TV pop shows dried up when he was dropped from Radio 1.
"One week I took my Radio 1 boss out for a coffee and he told me everything was great and I was sounding good on drive and breakfast covers. Next week, my agent went in to resign the contract they'd been negotiating. I didn't get a call, so I phoned him. I was called in to Radio 1 and told we're not renewing your contract. They talked about RAJARs going down and complaints they'd had from pop stars I'd annoyed with impertinent questions, Mick Hucknall and Liberty X. My first thought 'thank heaven for that'. A weight had been lifted off my shoulders. Then the realization kicked in. It was the end! I didn't want to leave! It was difficult for the next three months, especially when the story was leaked. We had agreed to keep it secret until I had a new gig, but my mother read on teletext that I was leaving!"
Why had Wes not succeeded on Radio 1 when he had been a great success on Galaxy Newcastle? "It wasn't because I was too young at the time," he theorized. "I didn't have the support around me to know what was good and what was bad. I made it up as I went along. Radio 1 had promised a massive team, but a lot of them weren't doing that much. Nobody was coaching me or encouraging me to make me a better broadcaster or to fit into Radio 1 better. Now I look back at my old pictures at Radio 1 and think 'Why wasn't there a stylist there?' I'm baby-faced, so I came in for a little stick for being this kid. I should have been told to go for a cool, sexy, edgy image. I did the best I could. I have no regrets, because that's all I could do."
The wheel of fortune turned, and in turning pointed again to Galaxy. "My old boss from Galaxy Northeast took me out for lunch and asked if I would be hypothetically interested if there was a gig at Galaxy. I told him it depended on what he was hypothetically speaking about. It ended up being the Galaxy Manchester breakfast show. I accepted. I liked the people, I knew them, and it was a good challenge. Galaxy is cool in Manchester, the money was good, and I needed to prove to the industry I was not a failure or a one-trick pony. The humiliation of losing the Radio 1 Top 40 was profound. I thought people would look down on me. I went into Galaxy determined to use it as the gig to prove I deserved to do it." Wes succeeded spectacularly.
"Within three months, Wes @ Breakfast was nominated for a SONY Award in Best Breakfast Show. We won SONY silver. The figures went through the roof, we had record highs. I was a blue-eyed boy again. I was being me on the air and was more comfortable with myelf than ever. I was genuinely loving it. I only recognized what I was good at after joining Galaxy Manchester. The pressure was reduced. The national press weren't judging me. I had a team at Galaxy Manchester who wanted to make the Wes brand work. I could do a breakfast show and be me."
Galaxy let Wes be Wes, and listeners loved him. "Towards the end of about a year-and-a-half, I wondered what more I could do. There were all these accolades. In the ARQIVA commercial sector awards I was nominated for Best Presenter and lost to Nick Ferrari of LBC, who had also beaten me for the SONY. The radio industry magazine X-Trax named me Best Northwest Presenter. I sat there thinking, I've done everything, what's left to do? I needed new challenges and Galaxy asked me to do afternoons 1-4. It's different from the breakfast show in many ways. There's no team around me. Because I hate being in a room by myself, I replace the team with listeners. I'm well connected with the audience now because I use them as much as possible. I bring elements of a breakfast show to a music-based afternoon show to keep people at work entertained."
As he sprints through his twenties, Wes is learning a great truth one can only know in adulthood: that one's childhood enthusiasms actually were good. "I'm preparing my first book and it's about Kenneth Williams, one of my heroes. I also have a commission for a two-part documentary on Radio 4. London beckons. I liked London very much when I was there for Radio 1. It felt like home. I was destined to live there."
If he does move to London again and shortens his name one more time, he will be either "We" or "W". Register the domain names now.
Paul Gambaccini
London, November 2007
