5 Reasons Reggie Yates Should Be Banned From Television

When it comes to music on the telly Reggie Yates is everywhere. But being omnipresent on the tube leaves him in serious danger of becoming the new Richard Blackwood...
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After having to sit through Reggie’s banal BBC Three observations and conversational cul-de-sacs during coverage of One Big Weekend, Glastonbury and T in the Park, here’s five reasons why the Shepherds crook needs to come out before he ruins the Reading/Leeds coverage too.


Reggie tells lies. He doesn’t mean to, he’s probably encouraged to do so but he tells lies. “I’m loving their stuff”, “Their album is one of my favourites of this year so far”, “You guys went down really well out there”, “Loving your style, guys”. Lies, lies and more lies. It’s impossible to like everything, all day, every day, all the time. Not even the most happy-clappy Christians can do it, just ask them about dinosaurs for example. It’s also impossible to be responding to tweets, updating the Facebook status and appearing on red button coverage whilst simultaneously appearing to talk to us on live television. So why does he claim these things are all happening between us the viewer and Reggie Yates? Because Reggie is a corporation in himself, a multi-tasking, digital octopus, checking out sets, making dry observations and liking absolutely everything that’s ever happened ever. Be positive Reggie but don’t try to fool us that you’ve got all bases covered. You haven’t. Be honest. You really fucking hate Mumford and Sons don’t you? Go on admit it. Zane did with Beyonce and he’s still okay. Be honest Reggie, no more lies, go on try it, give us a truth. Just one won’t hurt you. Go on. I’ll be your best friend...


With a fashion sense that can only be described as Partridge channels Topshop he sits there smugly grinning at us from behind those fucking Buddy Holly specs. VT from the live acts comes and goes with our Reggie imparting his lies and observations to no comic effect or insight whatsoever. Friendly Fires join him and Fearne on the sofa of tepid doom as he imparts a grindingly unfunny comment about their Hawaiian themed dancers before neatly segueing into a dead-end interview full of glib shite and pseudo-compliments. His ‘chemistry’ with Fearne has all the spark and fun you’d find in a box of misery that someone has wallpapered with their own faeces. This sixth-form banter continues for at least 2-3 minutes too long before the Friendly Fires are released back into the wild and Reggie turns to Camera One and in an all too earnest a manner informs us that we need to “check out Jessie J’s throne” before vaguely threatening that it’s “Not to be missed”. Leave me alone. Put an adult like Laverne, Radcliffe, Lowe or hell, even Wiley in charge Reggie and go back to Going Live or whatever it’s called. Take Fearne with you and that bloke who wanders around slyly mocking Festival types who’s called Greg or Justin or something.

Put an adult like Laverne, Radcliffe, Lowe or hell, even Wiley in charge Reggie and go back to Going Live or whatever it’s called.


At 28 years old Reggie needs to adapt or die. It’s simple Darwinist principles. Soon age will catch up with him and the teenage market he’s so obviously and bullet headedly aimed at will no longer tolerate the facade. The adults he’s been patronising on TV for years will be glad to be rid of him too. Straight into the yawning chasm of broom cupboard of despair to flounder with Andi Peters, Zammo and Pat Sharpe he goes. You see, Radio One is very different from TV. During telly coverage of things like Glastonbury adults are watching. Adults who know their stuff. Adults who don’t need you to tell them Tinie Tempah is great fun live or that Pulp are legends or whatever you feel obliged to point out. Crucially don’t try to tell us Coldplay just did one of the defining sets in the history of Glastonbury or that U2 were amazing. They didn’t and they weren’t. Stick to talking to your soon to be dwindling key 18-25 demographics about Lady Gaga’s costume changes in Carlisle and refrain from talking to me about Iggy Pop or Neil Young or things you know nothing of. Know your limits.


We are all shareholders in the British Broadcasting Corporation. Reggie Yates is an employee of the BBC . And therefore we own Reggie Yates. By that rationale we deserve better. Much better. Andrew Woods already covered the failings of the entire BBC coverage in his excellent article but for me Reggie is the epitome of these failings. In any other business shareholders have the right to dispose CEO’s, to sack boards and demand structured change in their investment. As a shareholder in Reggie’s wages I demand that he be sent to Radio One and kept there until such times as he has learnt how to deliver good television presenting. To be calm, honest, mature, insightful, funny and humble. Either that or be directed to a presenting gig that doesn’t involve research, integrity and some backbone. Like T4. I no longer want to feel like my wallet is being stolen and my mental stability questioned whilst trying to enjoy a highlights package from T in the Park. Christ, it’s bad enough with that nest of twats on MOTD without music coverage being ruined too. My license fee alone should qualify that. Please BBC make him stop. I’ll pay double just for that small pleasure in life.

Richard Blackwood

Richard Blackwood was Reggie Yates 10 years ago. His own radio show, constantly on television and even put out a horrendous hit single called ‘Mama Who Da Man’. Despite it being awful, both musically and grammatically (I imagine Reggie probably liked it on both counts) it still sold over 200,000 units and Blackwood’s star was rising. Problem was that Richard Blackwood didn’t know when to stop, didn’t know when to say no, when to say to his agent “That’s an awful suggestion, even for that money it’ll ruin me” or when not to say “What would Will Smith do?”. He didn’t realise that by encroaching upon areas that were unsuitable for him or exposed his weaknesses would cause the public to turn on him and turn on him badly. Reggie Yates is currently only a few duff spells on our plasma screens away from death by enema on Channel Five. Learn from this Reggie. Richard Blackwood died for your sins. Repent Reggie, repent.

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