The Journo Chronicles: Career Suicide

British author, commentator and legendary rock scribe Mick Wall once described music journalists as “the dish washers of the music industry.” It is a perfect metaphor. Underpaid and routinely mocked by both industry insiders and outsiders, music journalists are routinely portrayed unscrupulous cads, doggedly pursuing seedy exposés and career-destroying gaffes of the rich and famous. Either that or bespectacled nerds used as emotional piñatas by narcissistic rockstars looking for an easy target to abuse.

In reality, most rock journalists that I’ve met and worked with are absolutely lovely people; passionate, dedicated women and men, stridently committed to giving the rest of the world a wide, clear-sighted view into an industry that touches nearly every human on the face of this earth. Although we exist primarily as observers and commentators, after a number of years, it’s all but impossible not to have created a small space within your niche, where you’re known to other writers and photographers and over time, more and more musicians remember your name. Occasionally, we’re let in behind the curtain, into the unguarded realm where celebrities speak and act candidly in ways that might contrast with their typical press — with the firm understanding of all parties involved that unless we’re explicitly on the record, nothing going on will hit the pages of whatever outlet we’re representing.

Other times we become unwitting participants. Such as the time, several years back, when I found myself dumped into a front row seat of an up-and-coming musician committing career suicide.

Metal Hammer used to do a feature called “Masterclass,” where you’d have a grizzled heavy metal legend interviewed by some rising star on the scene. The role of the journalist was to record the interview and facilitate the discussion, making sure that interesting, reportable questions are being asked and that the time is being maximized. Less idle banter about, “How’s your missus?” and more direct questions like, “What did you really put on your rider?”

I once facilitated a “Masterclass” between Steel Panther and former Guns N’ Roses drummer Steven Adler at the Rainbow, in Hollywood, and it remains one of the funniest, most engaging interviews of my career.

And speaking of GNR, the career-destroying story involved bassist and living legend Duff McKagan, one of the most fascinating, accomplished and down-t0-earth dudes that you’ll ever meet in the music biz. But it wasn’t his career being torpedoed. No, that honor belonged to a dude in this band that, at the time, had a very reputable label and had just come off of a successful tour supporting Corrosion of Conformity.

I’d seen the band on the San Diego stop and they blew me away, unleashing one roof-destroying anthem after another. It was the kind of riff-powered, old school sound that lives somewhere between heavy metal and hard rock. Mind-blowing fretwork, storming tempos and an unrelenting pace that left the crowd sweaty and screaming for more.

When Metal Hammer asked me about doing a “Masterclass” some time after, inspiration hit. I’d recently interviewed Duff for another outlet and I still had his number. Now, full disclosure, what I should have done in this situation was to call his publicist or manager and pitch the idea. However, this was many years ago — a time when I too often chose convenience over protocol. Thankfully, I didn’t get called to the carpet on this one, though I very well could — and should — have.

I reached out to Duff to see if he’d be up for doing the feature. My idea was to get the frontman of the up-and-coming band to interview Duff about life in one of the most successful bands in rock history; the advice that someone like Duff could impart to a journeyman rocker would be invaluable to him and fascinating for readers.

Not to mention some seriously big exposure for his band — without needing their publicist or record label, a choice promotional opportunity had been laid at their feet, a multi-page spread, with photos and all, hailing the band as an important new voice on the scene in the biggest metal magazine on Planet Earth. Jackpot!

Except, it wasn’t. I reached out to a friend at their label. He was thrilled and said he’d reach out to the frontman and see how his weekend looked. Because it had to go down over the weekend for us to make the magazine’s print deadline. No sweat, my friend promised.

Well, it turns out that sweat was very much on the menu. The musician said that he had work on Saturday and couldn’t do it. I called Duff — a guy with more irons in the fire than a blacksmith — to see if Sunday might be a possibility. Not only did Duff say that he could make it work, but he offered to meet at a local studio, which offered phenomenal photo opportunities. My photographer partner Stephanie was available so we told the label, no worries on Saturday, we’re good to go for Sunday.

My friend got back to me a little while later, tension emanating from his voice. “Sunday is his friend’s birthday,” he said, “and he doesn’t want to miss it.”

Huh?

“We’ve got a four hour window,” I said. “Can’t he show up a little late or leave a little early? This would be huge for them. I’m sure his friend would want him to do this.”

“I know,” my label friend replied through what sounded very much like gritted teeth. But the cat wasn’t budging. I suspect, in hindsight, that if Duff had offered to parachute into the party and chat with him there, he’d come up with some other excuse why it would be inconvenient for him.

I don’t recall who ended up doing the feature but it wasn’t the dude and it wasn’t Duff, who was nothing but gracious throughout the entire ordeal. That was the worst part — having secured Duff’s commitment and imposed upon his schedule on a fairly tight timetable, he was nothing but helpful and understanding.

More importantly — and this is the kicker — as I sit here and type this, I honestly don’t recall the name of the musician or his band. I was trying to come up with it while running earlier this week but it eluded me then and it still does. And the fact that I don’t recall the name of the guy or his band…well, that pretty much says everything.