Screwing Up My Shot With Beck

“My mind’s telling me ‘no,’” Beck said to me, softly, from across the couch.

“But my body,” I replied, “My body’s telling me ‘yes.’”

The words escaped my lips as though I were lost in a dream. As we intoned those sacred verses from R. Kelly’s 1993 hit, “Bump n’ Grind,” I dissolved into Beck’s baby-blue eyes. It felt as if, in the middle of the MTV studios, at the heart of New York City, with three cameras and countless PR agents looking on, Beck and I became one. My fingertips were numb with ecstasy.

But then I saw the director of the shoot waving his arms like a hummingbird, panicking. The trance was over.

I was screwing up my interview with Beck.

A LONG AND WINDING ROAD

How did I get here? How did I end up talking to this man whose music had changed my life when I was a bullied junior-high student?

It was pretty boring: I subscribe to an online newsfeed about all things Beck. A month ago, an intern for MTV’s college-oriented offshoot, mtvU, distributes a solicitation that made its way to the feed: the network was looking for a college kid to interview Beck. I submitted my information and 15 potential questions for the interview, and a week and a half later, I get a call telling me I’ve won. I’m headed to Times Square to do an interview with Beck.

But the magic rush wouldn’t last forever.

It turns out that the interview is for an mtvU program called “My Shot With,” where college kids get to chat with their celebrity heroes for a scant few minutes.

I watch archived broadcasts of the show and see lunkheads ask Sarah Michelle Gellar and the Flaming Lips inane questions. In the pre- and post-interview segments, the lunkheads talk about how they’re “totally huge” fans.

The director and I communicate back and forth through e-mail and the telephone. He thinks most of my question list “pretty much kicks ass” but reminds me that the reality-show format frees me up to ask “stupid stuff,” as well as more “professional questions.” As we edit, I quickly find out that his suggestion was actually more of an order.

Out the window go any questions about Beck’s embrace of Scientology. In go questions about his favorite snacks. Ted finally concludes that we’re good to go. If only I’d listened to Ted. If only.

BRIGHT LIGHTS, BIG CITY

In the blink of an eye I’m in New York, buying movies and room service on the network’s dime. I’m wracked with nerves. I can barely sleep.

I wake up and commute to the MTV studios. And there we are, right in view of the TRL set and the teeming streets of Broadway below.

I’m walked to the green room for the artists, where the interview will take place. A PR lady tells me not to hug Beck. Then, we wait. And we wait. Suddenly, there are whispers on the other side of the door. Ted rushes out to set up Beck’s mic.

I sit on the couch, cameras ready, oversized index cards in my sweaty palms. The silence is pregnant.

Then, he enters.

He’s almost exactly like me: same height, a little hunched over, a little pale, and immaculately fashionable. Golden tresses flow out of a tweed fedora.

He sits down next to me, shakes my hand with a friendly “Hello!”

He’s totally unguarded. He’s humble, doesn’t use big words, and speaks about his music in a frank way. We ease into a groove. He reveals a shocking secret about “Midnite Vultures.” We sing the R. Kelly tune together. I stop looking at the question-cards.

And then, just as it’s all happening, it happens.

ULTIMATE CRISISVILLE

In the middle of ad-libbing a question about a set of songs recorded exclusively for Beck’s website, I see Ted’s hummingbird arms.

The interview stops in its tracks.

“Let’s just stick to the questions on the cards,” he says, obviously nervous about the watchful eyes of the PR vultures.

I’m lost in a haze of shock and panic that takes me completely outside of time and space. What have I done? They won’t air the show! Beck will forever speak grimly of the day!

Then, the demigod intervenes.

“Actually, I liked the question,” Beck says, with a meek sort of determination. “I want to answer it.”

Silence.

“I mean, I can just skip ahead to the next question on the cards,” I say. But Ted pauses. On second thought, why don’t I ask the question, he suggests.

IT WAS A GOOD DAY

I do. From there on out, it’s all icing on the cake. After the cameras cut out, while the PR vultures are talking amongst themselves, it’s just me and Beck. I thank him for the interview.

“No, it was my pleasure,” he says. “That was one of the best interviews I’ve had all year. It was just like we were having a conversation.”

I hardly know how to respond. I think I said “thank you” again.

And that’s the story of how I met Beck. The lesson? If you’re ever interviewing your hero, don’t be afraid to go off-script. He might thank you for it later. But then again, don’t pass up the official suggestion to ask some “unprofessional” questions. Otherwise, you might miss an opportunity to sing some sex jams with a man who changed your life.

The program debuted last night, and cam be viewed at mtvU.com. Check it out.

—Staff writer Abe J. Riesman can be reached by e-mail at riesman@fas.harvard.edu.