A series of interviews last week got me thinking about a few of the ancillary aspects of this job.
Doing interviews is one of the weird sidelines being a touring musician requires. There is no choice, really. Any band needs every ounce of publicity it can manage. Me, Sean and Alan do dozens of interviews a year. We understand quite clearly that it is at worst a necessary evil, and at best a pleasant conversation. The reality usually falls somewhere in between.
For example, morning radio requires a certain sense of humour combined with a penchant for brevity. In the gaga world of commercial radio, you will have at best two or three minutes to get it all in. You may also have to gargle a Queen song, judge a funny pet contest, crack a few jokes with the weather guy, make up a dirty limerick on the spot, or perform some other indignity. All for a good cause, one might say.
TV interviews can also be hazardous. If it is two or three of us the interviewer will invariably direct all questions to Alan. It is then up to him to share the burden as best he can; (“…wouldn’t you agree, Sean?” or “…actually, Bob was talking about just that topic the other day…”). TV is also where we tend to get the strangest questions. It is hard not to physically react with dismay when you get tossed something strange. Often such questions either require no answer at all, or one so convoluted you hardly know where to begin. Recent examples include “Is Newfoundland an influence on your music?”, “Do you really play all those instruments?”, “Do you guys like kids?” and a personal favourite, “You guys still play the pubs at home, right?”. (Answers: Ummm…yes, Uhhh…yes, Hmmm…, and, Errr…no.)
As a former print journalist, I rather enjoy those interviewers the most. The print reporter usually has had enough time to at least ask a question requiring a real thought or two. Although in era of many layoffs, even there the job gets harder all the time. The other day a reporter began the conversation by stating that he had (a) never heard of the band, (b) had no idea what sort of music we played, and (c) had no time to either listen to a CD or look at the website. I never saw the piece that resulted, but I can only imagine that it did little to enhance our fan base. Even so, I tend to feel a little sympathy for journalists in that situation. Many times in my TV Guide days I interviewed C, D and E-list Hollywood types I would not have recognized on my doorstep, about TV shows that I had not bothered to watch. Despite my gallant attempts to bullshit my way through those situations, I have no doubt my ridiculous questions were greeted with as much chagrin as the many we endure.
After 16 years at this, I doubt there is a journalist of any stripe in Canada whom we have not encountered. Though they are all probably well bored of us, apparently we have a reputation for being ‘good to interview’. To my mind, any aspiring rock star needs to master that skill as soon as possible. Therefore, as a way of assisting those who may find themselves in the spotlight, here are a few media relation hints, gleaned from painful experiences on both sides of the fence:
1) You and the media need each other; therefore, even when it’s difficult, help them out. They need a good story, and they need to spend as little time at it as possible. Give them what they need: good quotes, a bit of wit, and enough hard information to fill out the details.
2) Remember what the medium is: commercial radio likes it quick and snappy, so save the longwinded digressions for the CBC. Indie street papers want things edgier, and love a bit of profanity or a crazy road story. Daily print journalists just want the facts. Student newspapers are inherently quirky, and the funnier you are, the better the story. Give them each the material they want, and avoid unnecessary cringing when you see the results.
3) As a rule, web site journalists have a lot more time than your average commercial journalist. Save those types for long travel days when you have the time to answer complex questions that require thoughtful answers. Careful what you say, though - things last forever on the Internet. I abandoned an interview once backstage in Edmonton (in 1997) due to a sudden attack of bees. It seemed reasonable at the time - bee stings hurt. I have since seen that incident referred to literally hundreds of times, as if I was some sort of cartoon character, hiding in ponds and puddles like Winnie the Pooh. It just refuses to die.
4) Morning TV can be a trial for all concerned. We have done morning TV shows all over the world, and while we are probably only marginally better at it than we were a decade ago, here are a few pointers learned from my own sad and embarrassing experiences: Do not, repeat, do not, stay up all night drinking the night before. Do not perform your most difficult and heartfelt ballad at 5:30 am. Memorize where you are and to whom you are speaking; write it on your hand if necessary. Interpret stage directions literally. Do not comment on news events of the day about which you know nothing. Agree on any arrangement alterations before hand. Embrace the offer of makeup. Smile and look perky - remember, no one cool is watching, but your antics will be witnessed by thousands of people, including your Nan, your Grade 2 teacher, and every ex-girlfriend you have. They will be examining you from a critical perspective. Do not give them any more ammo.
5) If all else fails, ignore the questions. No matter what the reporter wants, you need to discuss the new album, the gig that night, or the DVD release on Friday. Pointed looks, a furiously gesturing director or an awkward silence should not prevent you from getting the word out.
6) When in doubt, keep smiling. Once they see the fear in your eyes you are doomed.