Jordi Basté: “I nurture the idea that each season is the last because I’m very afraid.”

BarcelonaJordi Basté, the leading radio personality in Catalonia, has found time to embark on another television adventure, this time on La 2 Cat, with the interview program Sequence planWe took advantage of it to talk, in an introspective conversation, about the difference between the public self and the private self, about the relationships with the Corporation and about the speculations about the end of his career presenting the morning show on RAC1.

Thirty hours a week on live radio won't be enough for you, especially since you recently launched a TV show. Is it never enough?

— That's a good question, and I think we should all ask ourselves that. I see it as an opportunity, and luckily the program doesn't require much work either, because it's a 55-minute sequence plan, plus one day of rehearsal. It's not like the It just can't bewhich involved traveling and going up and down. This one is much more relaxed.

I'm going to ask you some questions that you've posed to your guests, so you can't dodge them. For example, you asked the busy Silvia Abril, "Doesn't it tire you?" And don't you get tired?

— Yes, frankly, yes. And every day that passes, I get more tired. There are many days that I enjoy, but I get tired, I get tired.

Sequence plan It airs on La 2 Cat. Did you suggest it to 3Cat?

— Yes, yes. The production company proposed it to 3Cat and TV3, and, well, they told us, "Well, sure, not right now..." On the other hand, La 2 Cat said yes right away, because they were thrilled with the idea. It was a new program and they thought it was original.

What is your current relationship with the Corporation?

— None. And when I say none, I mean she's not bad. I simply have no relationship with her, that's all. I have many friends at Corpo, but I have no relationship with the top brass.

Well, the relationship might not be bad, but I've heard more than one critical message from you...

— I do have some critical comments, mainly because I sometimes get the feeling of neglect towards us. I remember Mònica Terribas always telling us that RAC1 treated TV3 very well: they'd premiere a program and we'd get to talk about it. We've always liked that synergy with TV3, because it's been our television channel forever, but that feeling hasn't been reciprocated.

Is the competition with Catalunya Ràdio being done fairly?

— For me, yes.

And do you think they play fair on the other side too?

— Yes, yes. Companies have historically put us in the position of having to meet audiences, and everyone tries to improve them. With guests, I always say that I don't want to be the first, but I do want to have them. I don't feel punished by Ustrell, or Barceló, or anyone else, really.

With Iñaki Urdangarin you achieved a spectacular 9.2%, and with Joan Laporta, 6%. But you also had 2.3% with Sergi López and 3.2% with Emma Vilarasau.

— Oh, Sergi López came on Christmas Day...! And, of course, Urdangarin's name carried a lot of weight.

In any case, I wanted to ask you if it feels strange, being used to breaking records, to not be a winner now.

— No, because we already know what we're doing. It reminds me of that time when Toni Soler, Queco Novell, and Manel Lucas explained that the first EGM of Absolute minority It gave them zero listeners. Or Toni Clapés, when he talks about Original version Back then at Catalunya Ràdio, their first EGM (General Media Study) results were a disaster. Well, this isn't a disaster; on the contrary, these are very good results for the station. It's a project that's just starting out and doesn't yet have its structure fully formed.

Have you received too many rejections from people who are scared of the uncut interview format?

— Everyone has told me yes. But there's a singer—I won't say who, but it's not Rosalía—who has said she wants to see it first and study it, because she doesn't know if she sees herself in the heart.

Have you ever had to re-record an interview because it was going off track?

— Never.

And has anyone asked if it could be cut off at any point?

— Yes, I'll tell you. Joan Laporta, who wasn't quite sure what he was going to do, made a comment during the interview about his ex-wife's illness. He didn't ask us to cut it, but then he hesitated and said something like, "Damn, I don't know if I can say that." But then he himself said there was no need to cut it, and it aired.

And in the letter to the King and Queen as guests?

— This is a program that has the advantage of being easy for the interviewee. We tell them: 55 minutes, plus another half hour for rehearsal and makeup. And the format allows you to explore many different perspectives. Just one? I'd like to interview many. Guitarricadelafuente, for example. Rosalía, obviously. We have a very small country, don't get me wrong, but yes, these are powerful names.

The day after the premiere, with Urdangarin, you asked Mònica Planas to give you a live review. It wasn't gentle.

— It was very harsh, as was her column in ARA. Well, that's her opinion. I understood that this could happen in the first program. I hope Urdangarin comes to the radio station, and then I will obviously ask him about the Noos case. But that kind of interview was about his life, about his personal reinvention. Could I have asked him about the Noos case? Yes, but I already knew the answer: "I don't want to talk about that." I understand what Mónica was saying, but I hope that she and the people who criticized the program understand that that wasn't the intention. It's not a program like the ones Évole does, or like the interviews on Intxaurrondo in the mornings. It's a different story, a different tone.

You also tell Laporta: "I don't want to talk to the president of Barça, I want to talk to the person." And if I wanted to talk to Jordi Basté, beyond the public figure, what would I find?

— I'm very shy, even though it might not seem like it. I talk a lot, probably so people won't ask me questions. I really like living peacefully, trying to do my job, having fun, and sleeping soundly with a clear conscience. And I manage to do that quite well.

Continuing with your questions. You asked Emma Vilarasau if she believed in God. What about you?

— Yes, I am. I'm a non-practicing believer. I was raised with Christian, Catholic values ​​by the Salesians. Because I'm very fearful, I always want to think that... I was reading the other day in "La Contra" about The Vanguard I interviewed a scientist who's convinced that there's light beyond the famous tunnel and that the soul separates from the body and goes to a place where your loved ones are. And I'm like, "Holy crap, if that's true... I'll sign up right now." Sure, sometimes I wake up agnostic, when I'm angry I'm an atheist, but generally I'm a believer.

You say you're fearful. Name three of your fears, then.

— Well, death is a fear I have. I'm afraid of the pain of those around me. I'm very empathetic, and the pain of the people around me makes me suffer a lot. Failure also scares me. But not only professional failure, personal failure too. And professional failure, you know? I mean, not being up to the task.

Have you ever experienced failure, though? Or is this anticipatory fear precisely because you've never experienced it?

— That's a good question. In life, there are always moments when you can fail, even if the ratings or the numbers tell you otherwise. Things that don't work out, TV shows that don't go as planned...

Would you be able to identify one of those moments when you felt like a failure?

— Yes, with the renewal of It just can't be I felt like a failure. I was on a team that was working really well, and when my contract wasn't renewed, I felt frustrated and like a failure, because it wasn't just me, it was the whole team. And it was Vicent Sanchis's decision, so it's not like the current team.

And, beyond failures due to external causes, do you reproach yourself?

— From somewhere, yes. From working too much, probably. Not now, because I work less now, but there are times when getting up so early... And, damn, I know there are a lot of people who get up really early to earn a miserable salary at work, and that's not my case, but there are many days when I have to get up in the morning...

You're working less, you say?

— In other words, I work more now than I did two years ago, because of the TV show, but I work less than I did ten years ago. But I have a lot of free afternoons! For many years of my life, I went to bed at three in the morning. And when I finished doing this, I practically reversed my routine and started working from four onwards.

Your WhatsApp status is "Leave me alone".

— "Leave me alone" is a phrase I really like.

Well, you've chosen a position in life where it's very difficult to be left alone.

— Yes, it's hard to get left alone, I admit it. But I feel better and better on my own. Good, independent. I always say that the best state for a human being is independence. People think that by hosting a six-hour show with all the people who come through it, I must have a ton of friends... But no, no: my life is very solitary. I really enjoy being at home, watching series, or listening to the radio.

Dear Soledad.

— Many divorced people tell me they feel lonely, and I tell them, "There comes a point in life when you make a deal." Loneliness fades, and independence arrives. And when that happens, you've made the most important click of your life. It's the perfect click. I've done it. I have great friends, I have family who live next door, and it's fantastic, but I really enjoy being alone. And at the same time, I really need people: my ex-wife, my daughters, my friends.

And aren't you afraid that in ten or fifteen years you'll see it differently?

— Oh, in ten or fifteen years you'll see where I'll be. But yes, of course. Then independence can turn into loneliness. And if it's forced, it's a bad move. The idea of ​​imagining myself ending up in a nursing home or something like that seems terrible to me.

Now comes the inevitable question that everyone...

— When will you finish?

Yeah.

— That's a great question. And I know I'm being a real pain, because every year I say this season is my last. I keep at it because, like I was saying, I'm really scared, I'm very insecure. And I keep thinking: what will I do now?

Go home, it's so nice there!

— Look, I'm not going to stop doing radio now. The other thing is, what do I do, Alex? What can I do? I just don't know what I want to do. Go back to sports? That's a possibility. Do a news program? That's also a possibility. Do a late-night show? Why not? I've been doing this for 19 years, and 19 years is a long time. And you have to refresh things. But, of course, try telling a company that's doing well to change. And then you think: damn, you're right.

And aren't you afraid that if you persevere, a certain decline in viewership might eventually lead you to quit?

— I understand you now. Sometimes I think I don't want to be that person who sees that all this is going to hell and doesn't see it coming... But it's really sneaky to quit when you're at the top and just say, "Okay, let's move on to the next person." Because I hope the next person is a friend of mine, or someone who appreciates me, someone who loves me, because this radio station is still doing well. And therefore, I'm the one most interested in making sure that whoever comes after me doesn't fall apart. I wouldn't want to do that "Now that I've broken the record, let's take a picture of the field" thing. And there's something else: I still enjoy it. I have a great time with these people.

I don't know if you really want to fold or if you're just pretending.

— When you ask me, "Jordi, do you really want to quit?" Yes, I want to quit, but then I do what Santi Carreras, who was my head of sports at Catalunya Ràdio, advised me to do. He's a wonderful person, and Ricard Ustrell can also speak highly of him, because we have him as a mentor. He told me: when you have to make a decision, however small, take a sheet of paper, divide it in two with a vertical line, and put a plus sign on one side and a minus sign on the other. If the things in the plus column outweigh the things in the minus column, take it. If not, let it go. And even now, in the plus column, there are many more things than in the minus column, although in the minus column there's one thing that weighs heavily, which is the alarm clock.

When was the last time you completed the form?

— I do it every year.

Physically or metaphorically?

— Physically, I pick up a sheet of paper and get started. And I recommend that people do this not only when making a job decision.

How do you handle public exposure, in terms of being out on the street?

— If people talk to me, I talk back. I'm very shy, and sometimes it's a bit difficult, but people are very polite. I run into a lot of people from the six o'clock sect. Sometimes they say to me, "Why don't you start an hour later?" That would be a big mistake. I subscribe to the Guardiola theory, and I think teams start from the back. And, in the same way, radio starts at six o'clock. When I arrive, the people I connect with say good morning. By seven o'clock, nobody says good morning anymore, because the six o'clock crowd is a specific type of person, and they feel a sense of camaraderie. I myself feel much more liberated at six because I say more silly things than usual.

Regarding nonsense: are you more than just asking for permission or forgiveness?

— I ask for forgiveness more than permission. I like to apologize if I'm wrong. It's a Christian school, isn't it?

The Salesians! You have a daughter who's a journalist. Would you like her to take over from you?

— She might want to do it, but I don't think she does, because she's seen what it means. And she's going down a different path, one that doesn't involve radio, luckily for her. Well, it would be nice if she did radio, because she's like me and she doesn't hold back. But that's not the way she's going.

And you, if you could go back 19 years before signing for the first year, but knowing everything that awaits you...

— Oh... I was going to take that for a year. And I would, but I'm convinced I wouldn't make it to 19. Although I've been incredibly lucky to have a privileged view of events that have happened in the 21st century that I don't think we'll ever see again. If you asked me, "Do you want to live to be 19 years old and dealing with all this trouble?" No. Now: do you want to explain that we'll have I don't know how many demonstrations of a million people? And that we'll declare independence, which will be a failure? And that the police will come on October 1st and beat us? And that a virus will come and force us all to stay locked up at home for I don't know how long? And that afterwards there will be a terrorist attack in Barcelona? Damn right, of course I want to talk about all of this.

And you've explained it perfectly. Your caricature can be summed up with "brutal!"

— Yes, the brutal. The sublime.

On the other hand, the other day you were saying on Nina's show, also on La 2 Cat, that you never cry.

— No, I find it very difficult to cry.

Have you ever had to deliver news that makes you choke up?

— Lots of knots! But I find it really hard to cry. Really, really hard. There's something I just don't understand. Maybe it's because I don't like showing my feelings. People might think I'm very extroverted, because I am on air, but the truth is I'm opaque. And this whole thing about showing feelings... I'm very much a product of the 20th century and the idea that men don't cry. On the other hand, damn it, I watch any cheesy movie and I burst into tears. And that doesn't bother me. Or with a book. But in real life, it's much harder for me.