It’s hard to imagine anyone in Westminster listening to music. The place just doesn’t swing. Tony Blair, as we all know, liked to play a bit of guitar. “Dave” used to listen to The Smiths until he was banned. But what does Ed Miliband, leader of the Labour Party, put on to unwind after a hard day defending his family and his party from the latest smears by the conservative press: Pete Seeger? “The Internationale”? Drenge?
Radio 4’s Desert Island Discs presents politicians with an opportunity to reveal a little character. To point in the direction of a hinterland, a “real me”, apart from the persona which boots up every morning between waking and arriving in SW1.
For some, the melodies that animate the inner life are alarmingly in tune with the ideas that feed the outer one. When Enoch Powell was asked to appear on the show in 1989, he told the producer: “Well, it’s bound to be Wagner.” And indeed it was. Powell chose four Wagner pieces: “Entrance of the Gods into Valhalla” from Das Rheingold, “Winterstürme” from Die Walküre, “Forging Song” from Siegfried and “The Renunciation of Siegfried” from Götterdämmerung (plus three Beethovens and a Haydn).
At least he refused to allow his list to become an instrument for populism: a focus-grouped stunt in which all boxes must be ticked to please voters. He told the truth. But over the years truth-telling has become de rigueur, developing into a fetish for guilty pleasure-ism. It’s hard to shake the image of the Iron Lady grinning senselessly to Rolf Harris’s “Two Little Boys” (which she chose as her favourite record of all time) in 1979. Likewise, it’s hard to forgive Jim Al-Khalili, who ought to know better, for grinning senselessly to Rolf Harris’s “Two Little Boys” in 2010. I have little to say about “Dave” picking “Ernie: The Fastest Milkman In The West” as one of eight pieces of music he would hear repeatedly for the rest of his life if he were cast away on an island, other than the choice itself would be the only adequate punishment to suit the charge.
“Be honest” is what Sue Lawley, who presented the programme from 1986 to 2006, used to say to her guests. In 2010 LabourList asked Ed Miliband what he would pick if he were chosen for the show. His list, described as “recherche camp trendy” included a few lefty cap tips such as Paul Robeson’s (genuinely potent) “Ballad of Joe Hill” and Billy Bragg’s “A New England”, plus a couple of contemporary-ish numbers, Robbie Williams’s “Angels” (urgh) and Hard Fi’s “Stars of CCTV” (poseur bloke pop – where did they go?) He decided to take Ulysses in the hope of reading it, the trial thriller 12 Angry Men with Henry Fonda and an iPhone (with no signal, or charger) as his non-musical extras.
So what has three years as chief babysitter at the Labour funhouse done for Miliband’s tastes? Here are those choices in full from this morning’s Desert Island Discs, presented by Kirsty Young:
- Nkosi Sikelel iAfrika – From Cry Freedom arr. George Fenton
- Jerusalem – Royal Philharmonic Orchestra, words by William Blake
- The Ballad of Joe Hill – Paul Robeson
- Take on Me – A-ha
- Sweet Caroline – Neil Diamond
- Angels – Robbie Williams
- Josh Ritter – Change of Time
- Non, Je ne regrette rien – Edith Piaf
His book was The Hitchiker’s Guide to the Galaxy by Douglas Adams, his luxury was an Indian takeaway once a week from his favourite Balti house, and the one record he’d keep, if he had to lose seven, would be “Angels”, to remind him of his wife Justine.
Early on in the programme Young asked whether Miliband regretted including his family (mainly his father) in his campaign speeches. The following half hour seemed to be an intensification of that decision, capped with the assertion that he does not regret it at all. “You can’t understand me without understanding where I come from,” he said. “My dad thought you could abolish capitalism – I don’t.”
He spoke movingly about Ralph Miliband’s illness, when Ed was only 24. He recalled driving to the hospital, two days before his father died, as “the only time” he’d ever prayed. “If there’s a God, please don’t let this happen,” he said. “He was a lodestar. He was my father … It’s the worst thing that’s ever happened to me in my life.” His choice of the hymn “Jerusalem” (from Blake’s great poem Milton) was dedicated to his parents, a canny assertion that they loved the country which granted them sanctuary from the Nazis.
Miliband discussed his failed experiments with a violin (“screech city”), was grilled on Falkirk, trade unions and the Blair years, retold the story of his parents’ arrival in Britain, and even admitted to – shall we call it a dry spell? – being unable to find a girlfriend in university. After introducing his fourth choice, he said, “I was pretty square at university … it’s no wonder I didn’t pull.”
Neil Diamond’s “Sweet Caroline” was chosen because of his long-running passion for the Boston Red Sox, who recently won the World Series (“I stayed up until 4 in the morning to watch it!”), Robbie Williams’s “Angels” and Josh Ritter’s “Change of Time” were dedications to his wife, Justine, and the finale, Edith Piaf’s “Non, Je ne regrette rien” fed directly into Kirsty’s final line of questioning – on his relationship with David.
Young asked how Miliband’s mother, Marion Kozak, reacted to his choice to stand against his brother for the Labour leadership. “She was scrupulously neutral,” he replied. As for that central relationship with the king across the sea, are things now healed? “Healing,” he said.
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