Kevin Courtney writes rock reviews, interviews and features for The Irish Times, but sometimes steps out of his rock 'n' roll world to cover other topics. He is given to journalistic flights of fancy. Sure isn't it great being a rock journalist, Ted? Breakfast with Bjork, brunch with Bono, lunch with Liam, dinner with Daniel, in bed with Madonna - just another busy day in the life of a humble rock critic. The reality, however, is not quite so glamorous - though there is the odd backstage pass, awards ceremony, launch party and chance meeting with a rock star in a nightclub.
Usually, though, a typical day would consist of doing a boring telephone interview with the Bluetones, going through a batch of new CDs to see if there's anything worth listening to and fielding endless calls from record companies, promoters and managers, all of whom are trying to get their artist on the front page of The Irish Times. My day would normally begin late, because I would probably have been at Lillie's Bordello the previous night, dancing cheek to cheek with Toni Braxton . . . or was that just a dream? Back in the real world, the postman has just delivered the latest batch of CDs, demo tapes, press releases and invitations, so I sit down with a (strong) cup of coffee and listen to the advance copy of the new Verve single or the preview cassette of Portishead.
When I get to the office, there's usually another batch of post waiting for me, so I find an empty desk and start sifting through all the paperwork. Every day, there's a press release announcing the arrival of "the next U2". The band names are always different, but the hype is always the same. Irish rock bands might be good at guitar solos, but, as I was saying to Noel Gallagher down the pub the other day, when they're let loose with a word processor they seem to lose sight of the line between fantasy and reality. Other correspondence includes music news, concert and club listings, new release information, and band biographies. There's also the odd letter asking for spare tickets to U2 or Oasis.
At lunchtime, there's the launch of the Bacardi Hot Press Unplugged competition, so it's off to the Herbert Park Hotel for a meal and a press pack. That's assuming I can finish the "Album Of The Week" review in time. By early afternoon, I'm already running dangerously past the deadline to submit my interview with Primal Scream, so I rush back to the office and frantically type up my copy, probably misquoting Mani in my haste.
Then it's off to the Clarence Hotel, where Huey and Fast from the Fun Lovin' Criminals are ready to rap with the press dudes. After an hour of fun and chat, it's time to get back to the office and phone Gwen Stefani from No Doubt at her hotel in Nuremberg. Sometimes I get to fly abroad to meet an artist in person and watch her concert, but more often than not it's a telephone interview, which is not quite the same . . .
It's now teatime, but instead of going home I'm heading to Bucci restaurant, where Virgin Records are having an exclusive listening session for Janet Jackson's new album. There's an assortment of press people, rock pundits and record store managers, enjoying delicious Italian food and tapping their toes to Wacko's sister. The real reason I'm here, though, is because Virgin are also letting us hear the new Verve album, Urban Hymns, a sort of reward for enduring La Jackson.
Soon, it's time to go home and change into the leather jacket for tonight's gig. When you're a rock journalist, you gotta look the part, so I iron my Ozzy Osbourne t-shirt, put on my Marilyn Manson makeup, fix my Bon Jovi wig (he doesn't use his anymore), polish my chains and studs and lace up my Doc Martens. Now I'm ready for that Brian Kennedy concert. After the gig, it's back to the office to write up my review for tomorrow morning's city edition - and then it's off down to Lillie's, where Kylie is waiting . . .
