Of course teenagers want to be pop idols like Liam Payne. Given the perils, should we let them? | Martha Gill

Sex, drinking, smoking, gambling, joining the army, being put to work – we now take it as obvious that there should be strict laws protecting young people from certain parts of the adult world.

Of course there should. Young brains are soft, excitable and easily addled. There are many things they should be sheltered from, and some choices that should not be theirs to make.

If there’s a surprise here it’s that this did not always seem blindingly clear to us: the past is littered with periods of child marriage, child labour, tweens loading cannon, and soothing one’s baby with a measure of gin. We like to think of ourselves as enlightened by comparison, quick to spot any violation of a child’s rights or safety – but I wonder if we still have a blind spot when it comes to a particular group of youngsters whom we prefer to regard as lucky.

Will we one day look back on this era of teen pop stars, child actors and tiny influencers as on some unfathomable age of barbarism, and wonder what on earth we were thinking?

At the time of writing we do not know the full circumstances that led to the death of 31-year-old former One Direction star Liam Payne, who was found on an internal patio of a Buenos Aires hotel after a fatal fall from his third-floor balcony. Police said they discovered alcohol and clonazepam, an anti-anxiety medication, in his room. In a released recording of two 911 calls made from the hotel, a manager says he fears for the life of a guest who is breaking things in their room, and calls for assistance “urgently”.

We do, however, know that Payne first appeared on The X Factor at the age of 14, and that a mere two years later he and his bandmates shot to the kind of global fame that had fans hiding in bins at the back of hotels and gathering in screaming hordes outside their windows. And we do know that there is an established pattern of untimely death for those fed early into the fame machine.

Amid the grieving posts by fans were dotted other names, such as Amy Winehouse and Brittany Murphy. There are many, many more. Payne’s death has already sparked calls for changes in the way the music business treats its stars.

Rebecca Ferguson, who was a contestant on the same series of The X Factor, made this statement: “I’ve spoken for years about the exploitation of young stars and the effects – many of us are still living with the aftermath and the PTSD.” Katie Waissel, another peer, has called for an investigation into Syco, the media company owned by Cowell and which runs The X Factor, for negligence and breach of duty of care. There should be new laws, she said, to protect artists in the music business.

It’s hard to fault this idea: while the protection of young stars is taken more seriously these days, there is plenty more to do. But would it be enough? Even the perfect safeguard would merely shield the artist from the nastier side effects of fame: exploitation and abuse by managers, drink and drugs, and intrusive behaviour from fans. Isn’t there something inherently dangerous about fame itself – the vertiginous drop beneath you, the near evisceration of privacy – that no in-house psychiatrist, team of bodyguards or HR policy could cover?

Consider that celebrity is desperately unhealthy even when it happens upon fully grown adults. Researchers led by Mark Bellis at Liverpool John Moores University once looked at survival rates for over 1,000 European and American musicians who had their first chart success between 1956 and 1999, and found they were up to three times more likely to die than their non-famous counterparts. Common among the causes were overdoses, chronic disorders brought on by drugs and alcohol, and accidents. It is of course hardly surprising that people struggle to cope with these levels of scrutiny, criticism and praise. The drive to succeed was supposed to propel us to the top of perhaps a hierarchy of 50, not 50 million. We simply weren’t built for these altitudes.

Now imagine the effect of global renown on the teenage brain, malleable and still adapting to the world, attuned particularly to the opinions of others. Imagine your teen self looking a bit rubbish or doing something stupid, and then finding this has been documented as fact in 15 separate tabloid headlines the very next day. Imagine not even being able to go to the shops without being somehow “got at” – the fan wanting a picture, the non-fan wanting to provoke. No wonder it is the rare famous teen who gets out unscathed.

The documentary One Direction: This Is Us showed a punishing tour schedule that began almost immediately the band was formed. In one scene, Payne recalls, amused, that one fan “tried to literally grab” his ear off. Later, he told interviewers of his struggles with mental health, drink and drugs.

It’s time, I think, that we created a law protecting children under 18 from the kind of work that leads to massive global fame. Would it really be such an incalculable loss to the culture if producers had to shelter teen singers for a few more years before releasing them to the public? And what if future films and TV shows had no substantial parts for children? Would it really matter all that much?

It’s interesting that we have at last come to recognise the damaging nature of fame in the case of certain young people: the children of royals and celebrities, whom we go to some lengths to protect. The difference, I think, is that we see these youngsters as “innocent”; they have not “chosen” fame, and therefore do not “deserve” to be hounded.

But can a teenage boy who chooses to be a famous pop star when the opportunity is offered fully comprehend the price he might have to pay?

Martha Gill is an Observer columnist

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