17 March 2014 Vogue snaps up Kate Moss as a music critic – music press collectively kicks itself Forget 25 years of modelling, fashion collections for Topshop and shenanigans with Pete Doherty, what Kate Moss was really put on this earth to do was review an MOR covers album by her mate George Michael. Kate Moss attends the launch party for "Kate: The Kate Moss Book". She is now a music writer too. Photo: Getty. Sign UpGet the New Statesman's Morning Call email. Sign-up Kate Moss has become a music critic. The British supermodel has starred in music videos, dated several musicians and in 2011 married the Kills’ guitarist Jamie Hince – so writing an in-no-ways-biased review of her bezzie mate George Michael’s new album, Symphonica, for Vogue was in many ways what she was destined to do. One can only speculate why the NME didn’t snap her up years ago. The album was hand-delivered to her by George Michael himself. It was 8.45pm on a Tuesday night when the doorbell rang and she opened the door to find the actual George Michael outside, just standing there. This was OK though, because, she reveals, “I knew he was coming”. He’s clearly calmed down with that turning up unannounced on a weekday night thing. Supermodels get cross and don’t review your albums when you do that – you should have seen what Naomi did. George makes Kate tearful but sometimes not quite so tearful. The new song “You’ve Changed” almost made her want to cry – which is a pretty big deal, but not as bad as when she was 12 and she didn’t get tickets to his last Wham! gig. Then, she remembers, she really did cry: “I was so upset that I just cried.” When you’re fashion’s Kate Moss, you can bring something different and exciting to music reviews. You can liven up your critical opinions with colourful, gritty insider stories, as K-Mo does when she tells the story of how she danced with George Michael at his house and – EXCLUSIVE! – “he did all the George Michael moves!” All his own moves?! (Though presumably not the one in which he drives his car into Snappy Snaps.) This is truly Hunter S Thompson gonzo-type stuff. More please, Kate. Also, when you’re celebrated music critic Kate Moss, you can call on your hubby for special, even more expert opinion. Take this insight from Hince, for instance: George “has got this thing with his voice that’s kind of crazy. He’s in that tradition of Sinatra, Johnny Cash and Elvis.” So, um, yes, just like Sinatra, Cash and Elvis, George is indeed a male singer. With a voice. Who sings. You can’t buy this kind of blinding insight (but you can buy Kate’s new collection for Topshop – available in all flagship stores soon!) But Media Mole agrees completely that George Michael has got a “kind of crazy” thing with his voice. A thing with which George touched Kate in places she is only today attempting to fathom. But not just that – oh no – as well as its mining strange, new places deep within Moss’s physiology and/or psyche, it simultaneously transported her to galaxies hithertoe untravelled or comprehended (do keep up). Presumably the unfathomable places deep within K-Mo were also transported to the unfathomable new places beyond, otherwise – ouch: For me, it's the vulnerability, openness and richness of his voice that does it. The depth of where that comes from touches you in a place that you can't even begin to understand and all of a sudden it's not just a song anymore; it becomes an emotion and it takes you into another dimension. But you know what? Kate Moss can teach fellow journalists a hell of a lot. Most professional scribblers who have gone through years of journo school, internships and training will understand the difficulty of finding the right ending for a piece. You need a sentence that will sum up your argument, something that’s profound but doesn’t sound too trite or pretentious. You want a thought or an idea that might challenge or provoke the reader, or that will stick in their mind. Few of us ever achieve this. Kate solves the problem perfectly, finishing her piece with: I LOVE YOU GEORGE! › Osborne's housing plans are too little, too late I'm a mole, innit. Subscribe For more great writing from our award-winning journalists subscribe for just £1 per month!