Mikey Havoc on the move

Mikey Havoc is leaving his bFM slot before his contract is up. DITA DE BONI finds out where he's come from and why he's going.

I mistrust everyone, really" are words straight from the mouth of Michael Roberts, better known as Mikey Havoc, as we sit outside a cafe in Takapuna trying not to be blown into the frothing foreshore.

Not a good way to start an interview, especially as we're pushed for time, and he's referring to journalists. Nevertheless, he's made an effort to steal away between his bFM morning radio stint, a staff meeting, and a "top secret" assignment to do with his new, keenly awaited TV series, Sellout Tours 3: the Victory Lap.

Despite the time restrictions (or perhaps because of them - Havoc claims to hate personality profiles) he goes on to spend much of our interview voicing his disdain for almost all print media, including the Herald, to the point where I wonder why he's met me, considering, as he puts it, our output is mainly "pap, absolute rubbish, recycled press releases" and the like.

Somehow Havoc can say all this and still be inoffensive. He's decked out in his casual club chic, nails bitten past the quick, his face rough with slight stubble framed by his famous mane. It's clear he is wary and speaks measuredly, but there are flashes of humour and dashing charm. Also, evidence of that famous alleged temperament, as well as hints that he's as stubborn as a mule - an observation later backed up by bFM station manager Aaron Carson who, while admiring his "amazing amounts of energy" adds that giving Havoc direction can be "like herding cats".

It is six years since Havoc, best known then as frontman for the rock band Push Push and a key personality at the now-defunct local version of MTV, started at Auckland student radio station bFM. At first loathed by audiences loyal to the slightly cynical style of predecessor Marcus Lush, Havoc, bolstered by his high-profile TV series, has turned out the longest-serving, most widely known, and arguably best-loved breakfast host the station has known.

Despite this, he leaves four months short of the date his contract comes up for renewal. Both Havoc and bFM give the reasons for his departure alternately as "wanting to give others a go", "leaving on a high" and "leaving to start filming the new series". And, according to Havoc, it's "an excuse to have a real month of gently fondling the medium the way I'd like to".

Says Havoc: "Everyone's been really cool about it. Everyone's taken on board that it's been my call."

But there are other possible reasons for his early departure. Getting Havoc to start work at 6am was almost always difficult, leading to different people being slotted into the 6-8am slot. Hugh Sundae, Havoc's replacement, flew his flag in the newly created spot and impressed audiences and station top brass with a less bombastic, but some say more considered, form of reverie. Carson says from now on Sundae will be doing the entire four-hour slot.

Another persistent rumour is that Havoc's inadvertent endorsement of products he was known to be associated with, as well as some, um ... behaviour commonly attributed to an artistic temperament, was causing disquiet.

"Nah" says Havoc, and "nothing like that" says Carson, even though loud arguments were heard coming from the management suite shortly before Havoc's departure to pastures more pixellated.

Mentioning his relationships with corporates - and their products - makes Havoc bristle. "I can give you a list of everyone I'm involved with," he says defiantly, before asking brusquely, "Why do you want [it]?"

His occasional alluding to - for example - Chupa Chup lollipops, Nissan Pathfinders, and his own programmes - had caused comment among some long-time listeners and other bFM purists that the station should hold itself above such behaviour. Others point out the associations contradict his "up you, big business!" persona.

Carson is adamant Havoc "never sold out" and says a DJ openly advocating products on the air would have been guilty of a "sackable offence".

And he didn't, Carson says. "Mikey certainly does things his own way, he trusts his instincts. And he speaks his mind, which has landed him in trouble a bit. But bFM encourages DJs to do their own thing, and [hold them] outside commercial pressures."

But, surely, like any other station eager to gain a share of the lucrative morning breakfast market, bFM is under commercial pressure?

"Yes," concedes Carson, "and if Mikey had been slagging off an advertiser that might have been different. But I'm sure Mikey wouldn't do that ... he's smart."

Smart indeed, but if there were boundaries for Havoc to stay within, it is hard to know, just from listening to his show, what they might have been. (Don't smoke crack cocaine while on air, perhaps? Don't cuss out the Prime Minister?) The wide-ranging freedom he has enjoyed might explain his view that "I've been given a good hard go and I can't complain about a single second of it and it is testament to the station and the things you're able to do on that show when you can spend six years at it and not want to leave."

The newly appointed Carson and bFM are losing two big-name talents - Havoc and hipster Peter Urlich. Urlich will go to George FM and become a highly paid breakfast compere, competing for a similar audience to bFM's. Carson is admirably unfazed by what might appear to be a looming ratings shake-down.

"bFM is about finding new talent, training up people and going in new directions, and that's what we are going to do," he says. "But we're not replacing these guys with anyone modelled on them. We are doing new things, and it's an exciting time."

T HERE are few who deny Havoc is a guy with incredible talent. Other words commonly bandied about are "quick", "a scream"and "comfortably unpredictable". Havoc screws his face up in exasperation when asked to describe himself. "Very fortunate" is the most he offers.

After his time fronting Push Push, and a stint in a music video by 80s Kiwi band MC OJ and the Rhythm Slave where he yells "Money!" from the bottom of his larynx, wearing tight pants and Mariah Carey curls down to his navel, Havoc was introduced to television by venerated entertainment entrepreneur the late Neil Roberts, founder of independent production house Communicado.

Former Saatchi & Saatchi Auckland managing director Mike Hutcheson - who headed Communicado for three years - remembers Roberts' absolute belief in the young Havoc from their first meeting. "Neil was so aware of what would work, what people wanted to see and hear, he understood who would work in an intelligent, not just a populist, way. What he saw under Mikey's gruff, almost oafish, initial style was a sharp intelligence and huge talent and I think he opened [Mikey's] eyes to how big he could be."

Roberts had long thought an MTV-type offering would work well in New Zealand, and in Havoc he believed he had found his frontman. Fortunately Havoc survived the failure of the MTV dream and went on, as Roberts had done, to stamp his creative mark on mainstream television.

In 1996, Havoc served his apprenticeship at bFM in "drive time" where his raucous style again attracted attention. As Matt Bostwick, former bFM newsreader, PR manager and social gadfly, says, "Mikey's loud and likes to talk ... he came to breakfast from doing an afternoon drive show where people expect you to shout at them, and his style didn't really change. When you're doing a drive show you've got to compete with traffic noise. Loud is good when you're a drive host."

Media and technology commentator Russell Brown, who has read his "Hard News" bulletin on bFM since 1991 and now heads the board of the station, says Havoc "always had a high profile" and was an important addition to its line-up. "Back when Mikey started, bFM was less sophisticated. We still had Marcus Lush, but we weren't as big or as popular."

"I think Mikey has made people pay attention to the station, but it is also important to remember that statistics we have show people listen to b[FM] for an average of 14 hours a day, so they really do get very loyal to the whole line-up. Having said that, there is no doubt Mikey himself, as well as the following he's built with his television programmes, has helped."

It's hard to say precisely what effect Havoc has had on bFM's breakfast ratings, as the only time the station has taken part in the generally accepted, industry-wide survey was in 2000, when according to Research International, 3.5 per cent of the listening audience over the age of 10 was tuning into Havoc's morning slot. While this may not seem significant compared with the 15.6 per cent share held by Newstalk ZB, for example, a closer look at the figures reveal the station grabbed 8.3 per cent of the sought-after 18-34 age group, ahead of stalwarts More FM and 91 FM.

Whether these figures have moved significantly is a moot point, as bFM has not since bought, nor has anyone else publicised, that data. Carson says "possibly" and Brown suggests it's likely. Either way, there can be no doubt Havoc's television work as well as a hearty following for his nightclub and dance party work ("he can certainly fill a venue" according to Real Groove editor John Russell) have created a legion of faithful fans.

But Timothy Giles, another bFM alumni and multi-media personality, points out that all bFM's breakfast DJs have left indelible marks and that every time any has left, audiences first baulk at the change and then adapt.

"Mikey has had incredible timing, with his association with the dance party culture which has become really popular since he's been at b[FM]. He's also a great writer, and does his radio show brilliantly. But no one is bigger than b[FM] itself, and the beauty of the station is that it can develop all these unique talents and then launch them into the world."

Strangely enough, at the end of Giles' conversation, his cellphone beeps with an incoming text-message. As if to gently contradict what he has just been saying, an unnamed friend's message flashes with "isn't it sad about Havoc?"

S EX, drugs and destiny. Havoc's not really into talking about any of them to journalists. He - inadvertently, perhaps - slips it into conversation that his girlfriend talks to women's magazines, more-or-less confirming rumours that he's seeing Claire Chitham, otherwise known as Shortland Street's Waverly. This comes in the middle of a diatribe about how loathsome women's magazines are.

His concerns about stereotypes of women found in these magazines seems heartfelt, and certainly there's a refreshing lack of sexist musings on Havoc's programmes compared with those of other New Zealand male "personalities".

He's indisposed to talking about his new series and his future in television, reasoning that he's "only signed up to do this next series" and publicly it's a bit murky from there on. It contradicts his earlier statements that "because of the ponderous TV On Air funding system you have to ... start thinking of things nine months in advance". He will, however, say he's not tied to any particular medium.

Less unequivocally, the subject of drugs gets him hot under the collar. He will not be cornered into admitting anything about himself - even though the stories make him sound like he's permanently on tour with Led Zeppelin. But he pours scorn on all media outlets for their handling of drug stories. He's mad that TV3 introduced the story of a GHB (gamma hydroxy butrate, or "Fantasy") death as a "GBH" death. He says a story in Metro magazine about dance parties was beyond redemption, and that the Herald accompanies practically "every story on drugs" with a picture of his sober ex-flatmate (a woman) dancing in a nightclub.

H AVOC says he does what journalists in New Zealand do not do "because I can get much deeper into the story, ask a question of the Prime Minister that someone [a journalist] should have asked two months ago ... sometimes I think, 'Why am I, a DJ just trying to have fun, the only one asking this?"' He cites his chicken story - when he and his team broke into a battery chicken farm - as an example of his leading-edge investigation.

While it may be difficult to disagree with him when he says he asks the hard questions, when he accuses other media of invading people's privacy he is surely being one-eyed. Countless of his TV shows revel in doing the very same thing to hapless schmucks countrywide.

Is he, perhaps, just thin-skinned? "No, I don't tolerate mediocrity - and I'm not overly sensitive, I could be a lot more sensitive than I am."

Is he a prima donna? "Do I look like a prima donna? I really hope not."

Is he, as has been suggested several times, difficult to work with? After a manly growl, "I don't think I'm hard to work with at all, but it's not for me to make that call."

Maybe station manager Carson is in the best, and safest, position to judge.

"I wouldn't say he's not a prima donna occasionally - he's been absolute hell to work with at times.

"But there is no one like him, he's put an amazing amount of energy into this job, and he will be missed."