Shattered Dreams

It seems that getting a recording contract in these play-safe days of the multinational music corporation is next to impossible.

I remember my one and only meeting with a record label (the now defunct Go! Records). Before I arrived at their shabby West-London offices, the A&R guy had demanded I record a new set of demos specifically for him - at my own expense.

I sat petrified as he scanned impatiently through the first 15-20 seconds of each song. His instant verdict as he handed the tape back to me was, "it's not what we're looking for, but you could try selling them to Kylie."

This was at the nadir of Kylie's career in the mid-90s.

It was soul-destroying for a day or two, but it turns out the A&R guy was more prescient than I realised... I've now found a niche writing songs for children, and Kylie's recorded the theme tune for The Magic Roundabout. Snap!

Despite that, the brief flirtation with a record deal counts as one of the bigest disappointments of my life. And all those unpleasant memories were forced to the front of my mind by an article in yesterday's Observer.

Mr popjustice has followed the fortunes of some pop's latest hopefuls and found industry doors slamming in their faces. Even the acts being represented by big name managers are getting door-handles in their eyes.

Looks like I'll have some competition when they need a new theme tune for Chucklevision.

The Observer: When will I be famous?

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