Rebecca Barry: Trapped with a rock star

On Saturday I found myself trapped in a room with one of the world's best guitarists. Not to brag or anything but it's not every day you realise the doors won't open, and that you and Tom Morello can't get out.

I admit the lock-in lasted only a few minutes, and that during this time the man in question looked very worried but it's what happened during our brief time together that is worth recounting. This is not a story about the colour of his socks, by the way.

Morello is the guitarist for Audioslave and the former axeman from Rage Against the Machine. His fleeting weekend visit was to present the band's new album to the record company, journalists and radio programmers.

The event was slightly surreal. First, 20 or so of us got comfy in the York Street Studio's lounge. Then Morello gave a little thank-you-for-coming speech. Then we all had photos with him like he was Santa. You'd agree it's a big deal to get a rock star from the other side of the world to personally introduce the fruits of his labour to the people who will be selling it, writing about it and broadcasting it. So it seemed an anti-climax when the record company guy put on the stereo, put the CD in the machine and pressed play. I guess part of me expected the music to come out of nowhere, like the voice of God.

For the next 45 minutes, music blared, feet tapped and eyes stared at specks of dust on the wall. This absurd means of listening to an album from start to finish is nothing new but it's becoming more common. Record companies rarely send out advance copies of big albums any more for fear they'll be leaked onto the net. Instead they host "listening parties" like this, where, drawn by the promise of actually meeting the talent, you get to hear the album in a safe, closed environment. A bit like taking an illicit drug while being monitored by a medical team.

When I say monitored, I mean there were two security guards at the door who banished cellphones and recording devices on arrival. They did, however, refrain from frisking us for wires or turning us away because of our shoes. Between songs the silence was particularly awkward - we were all acutely aware that the man responsible for those huge guitar solos was in the same room, surveying our response.

After the album had been played, we had lunch, got our recording equipment back and Morello (who proved to be a disarming chap), did interviews in the recording booths.

At the end of our chat we realised we were trapped in the booth with nothing but the grand piano and the dictaphone.

Now I won't say we discussed Chinese politics, compared the width of our thighs and exchanged phone numbers because it simply didn't happen. But I will say this: there was another private listening party that day, this one hosted by yours truly on piano (Killing in the Name Of, the Alicia Keys remix), and recorded by Morello on my dictaphone without my knowing until it was too late.

If it wasn't for my cat-like reflexes, Morello would have stolen the tape, leaked my opus onto MySpace and ruined me financially.

Security at these things just isn't tight enough.