I don't want to do any naming and shaming, but here's a great example of the inadvisability of rock critics and rock stars becoming friends. In July 2005, the critic for a national paper, who wrote songs in his spare time, decided to record one he'd penned in response to the London terrorist attacks. In an article for his paper, he said he'd played the song to his friend, a top rock star, who told him it was so profound that "it needs to be heard." To this day, that story is good for a chortle among people in the business, who can forgive almost anything except pomposity.
That kind of chumminess is exceptional, though (and apparently dates back to before the star was famous). Never mind the argument about whether journalists and musicians should be friends, which I'll come to. The structure of the modern music business militates against such friendships developing in the first place.
If you've seen the film Almost Famous, the fictionalised account of Hollywood director Cameron Crowe's antics as a teenage pop critic in the early 70s, you'll have got the impression that it's customary for critics and stars to buddy around together. And maybe critics did cross that line then. In those freewheeling days, it was probably a natural extension of the working relationship to become mates - journalists and musicians were on the same side of the counter-cultural fence, after all, which counted for something.
Thirty-five years later, it's a moot point: critics only encounter artists face to face when the latter have a tour or album to promote, and their promotional time is so tightly structured that, after a 12-hour day of interviews, no musician would want to spend his private time with someone who's just been quizzing him about his new single.
But let's assume you're a critic and you've got on so well with your interviewee that his wife invites you to dinner at their 11-bedroom Surrey star-pad (which doesn't happen to me nearly often enough). In the interests of impartiality, do you decline? Or, rabidly curious, do you accept?
That's where the ethics get fuzzy. Since many rock writers, myself included, occasionally write short artist biographies for record companies to send out with the press releases, we're technically compadres with the industry we're supposed to be criticising. Yet most of us see ourselves as separate from it, and ready to put the boot in if so-and-so's new record isn't up to scratch. A love of music is the guiding force in most critics' lives, no matter how tempting the trimmings, and that will usually decide the matter. So no, I didn't go. I can't say I don't regret it, though.
(In case you're wondering: I've never met a critic unethical enough to review an artist for whom they've written a biography without confessing their involvement. When I had a conflict of interest regarding James Blunt, I began the review by admitting I was his biographer.) (And yes, go ahead and blame me for him.)
The infrequency of such invitations illustrates the nature of the critic/artist relationship now. It's almost adversarial, as rock stars don't trust the press, and writers - unless they happen to be big fans - see it as their job to ask nosey questions. If the artist is in the mood, you may get a good, insightful interview. If not, you'll get an hour of polite Q&A. If a rockster were going to try to butter up a critic in the hope of getting good press, an interview would be the moment to do it, but it simply doesn't happen. Even the most shameless reality-pop hussy seems to be above that kind of behaviour. Hard to believe, I know, but it's true.
The conclusion: if a major rock star ever tells me to release a song I've written, shoot both me and him/her. That will teach other stars and critics to keep their distance.
