If This Is A Blog Then What's Christmas?

I now live in a country where people actually say ‘Happy Super Bowl Day’ to each other as a greeting.

I love that, and wish people in England would say ‘Happy FA Cup Final Day’ to each other on the appropriate date.

I also live in a country where the ads that run during this game are heavily scrutinised by all sorts of people who should probably have something better to do with their time.

Anyway,  I thought I’d post a few ‘spots’ (we say that over here as well) that caught my eye for various reasons.

First up is a massive, throbbing turd. Mercedes have created a strange story where both of the main characters are massive bells. That ain’t easy. What’s even harder is getting lots of people (CDs, clients, directors etc.) to keep that vision consistent all the way up to its $9m media spend:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oF–p4Dkv_Q

By contrast this one is excellent: a great idea that seems to have far stronger legs than I expected, married to a great execution with a fine, expensive twist:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rqbomTIWCZ8

Here’s a lovely bit of perceptive piss-taking (marks off for feeling strangely dated, as in it feels like it’s making a point from the first dot com boom):

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AZnUG0EFPkU

This one seemed to light up Twitter with utter revulsion. I think it’s an interesting idea, but its depressing tone was entirely out of place for the occasion, and the message seems to be, ‘If your kid dies in an accident – something that’s quite common – we’ll give you some cash. Hope that takes the sting out of things’. No, not really. Odd that the people involved thought it would go down well:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dKUy-tfrIHY

Finally, if you’d like to spew rich, pungent vomit through your nose and mouth for the next three hours, watch this:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HCmh8cBjUeM

When I first met my wife her dad came round to visit. Somewhere in the living room lay a copy of The Sun newspaper, which, for the unenlightened, is a tawdry tabloid rag that I read every single day from 1987 to around 2004. Now, my father-in-law used to be Head Of Music at the BBC and ran the English National Opera, so he was understandably somewhat aghast at the idea that his only daughter might soon marry a (hold your nose) Sun reader. So when he noticed it and mentioned it I told him that I kind of had to read it in order to have some idea of the mindset of the people to whom I hawked various products. He accepted this explanation, apparently considering my behaviour to be some kind of noble and necessary sacrifice.

But, dear reader, my explanation was a was a barefaced lie. I mean, maybe it had that effect, but in truth I just liked reading the sport section (always read it from back to front) and the showbiz stuff, neither of which, in those days, were much better provided elsewhere. So, Dennis, in the unlikely event that you’re reading this, I fibbed. Sorry. I just enjoyed reading it (until it began to bore me, then disgust me, sending me into the loving arms of the Guardian).

Sorry for the long intro, but that story reminds me of the skepticism I experience when I think of how well qualified us ad folk are to sell things to the rest of the people in the countries in which we live. Even if we grow up under quite average circumstances, anyone who works in the industry for more than five years will undoubtedly become much richer and far wankier than the most of the target markets we aim at. And if that’s the case, how do we really know what the fuck we’re doing?

Although I think a bunch of us enjoy Britain’s Got Talent or I’m A Celebrity.., does that really balance out a working day where you discuss the relative merits of Nadav Kander vs Mark Seliger? Do the visits to the cinema to see Captain America: The Winter Soldier provide some sort of cultural tipping of the scales against watching a movie like Amour? Can you claim a well-rounded cultural education to be a better fuel than a constant diet of the ITV dramas and Jordan novels that entertain many of the people we try to persuade to do things?

And does it matter? Anyone living as an artist is likely to have a somewhat different set of influences to someone who runs a launderette, or mends boilers (not that I’m denigrating either of those valuable jobs), and anyone who has been a successful advertising creative has had to battle through their newly-acquired riches and wankiness to communicate with the ‘masses’. And if a lifetime spent in a less creative occupation were the key to advertising success then we’d have tapped into that resource a long time ago.

But perhaps reading The Sun would help (in most agencies I’ve worked where it’s one of the daily papers it’s usually the most-read). Perhaps going round the National Gallery once a week would help. Perhaps a love of the work of Simon Cowell and Simone De Beauvoir needn’t be either mutually exclusive nor mutually detrimental. I suspect the best creative people like a bit of MacDonalds mixed in with their foie gras, and it’s that collision of disparate influences that helps you to strike gold.

Whatever the truth is, I’m off to watch a really shitty Cameron Diaz ‘comedy’ – for professional reasons, of course.

This film about archery will blow your socks off (thanks, P):

How to fall asleep in one minute (thanks, D).

The essence of marriage (thanks, A):

Calm yourself by looking at balanced rocks (thanks, S):

Yoko Ono sings the Good Life theme (thanks, T):

If you’re not watching Bob’s Burgers, you’re letting the best in life pass you by (thanks, J).

Ang Lee on Ingmar Bergman.

Louis CK has a new $5 stand-up special out and it will make you weep with laughter (especially the bit where he stimulates a rat’s anus to orgasm).

Real life Street Fighter:

Alternative landmarks of Philadelphia:

Here’s an intriguingly different press ad, along with an explanation from Simon Morris, the AD (interest declared, also a friend):

How’s things? Sorry for the intrusion, but we thought you might like to take a look at the attached ad we created for Jungle Sound Studios in London. As you can see, although the ad very much takes the form of a ‘traditional’ long copy ad, there are no words on it at all. The sound waves are actually a translation of 613 words of written English espousing the expertise and love for sound that the people at Jungle have.

We (‘We’ being my copywriter, Dean Webb, and myself) basically wrote a ‘normal’ press ad, recorded the words at Jungle using a professional voiceover artist, and then took the resulting sound wave images and used those to create the ad in place of the original words. It’s the first time any of us had ever ‘recorded’ a press ad and we don’t think we’ve seen anything done like this before. And although there are no words as such, we really feel that the ad conveys Jungle’s dedication to their craft and their sheer love of sound much more than it would had we simply left it in English.

The ad has just come out in the trade press (i.e Campaign) and we really can’t predict how people in the industry will react to an ad with no phone number, no web address, no name and no call to action. We’re hoping that those people familiar with Jungle – most of the advertising creative community in London, the studio has been around for 20 years – will recognise the logo and appreciate the audacity of the approach, and that maybe others will realise that there’s something interesting going on with a sound studio here and be intrigued enough to find out who’s responsible.

I’ve also attached the full translation as it makes quite an interesting read in itself. Of course, not very many people will ever get to read that.

There’s not a lot of money behind the ad so we’re trying to get it as much exposure as possible, if you could help in that respect we would be most grateful, even if it means we’re about to be pilloried for making a long-copy ad that no-one can read.

Will they be pilloried? Only you, dear reader and potential commenter, can decide.

But this takes me back to a campaign I did with Daryl, where we wrote three recruitment ads for a typographer in Wingdings and Dingbats. We didn’t have much cash either, so we did some predatory thinking® and made the kind of ads that would be covered by the advertising trade press. Zero money spent, lots of the right eyeballs on the ad.

Creating work for Jungle work being interesting enough to feature on this blog is another instance of that.

Job done.

A modern phenomenon is the opportunity to unsubscribe from emails sent to you by companies with whom you have done some business on the internets.

Allow me to explain why this gets way further up my nose than it should:

I go and buy a thing from a new site and think nothing of it. A day or two later I receive an email from the company who sold it to me, asking whether I want to join some club or other. My initial thought is always, ‘Hang on, so when I gave them my email address to process the transaction I was actually surrendering my contact details so they could spam me later. Why does this always surprise me? Why can’t I buy something without the email address being handed over? Do they need it for anything other than future spam opportunities?’

Call me naive, but at the time of the transaction it never occurs to me that I’m not just buying a thing like I do in the shops; apparently I’m inviting the shopkeeper to knock on my door every couple of days to see if I want to buy anything else. No one ever seems to say ‘Could you please give us your email address. Please tick this box if you don’t want to hear from us again’. They all assume I’ll love the extra contact, or maybe the benefits of the repeat business generated by the spam outweigh the negative side of annoying a few of their customers. But this seems like a constant version of the U2 album thing from last year. Can’t we choose what enters our lives? After all, I’ve just given the company $35. Why is part of the deal a presumed permission to send me messages?

You might be wondering why I don’t just calm the fuck down and click unsubscribe, and that’s a good question. Sometimes I’m rattling through a lot of emails and don’t have the time, other times I’m on my iPhone so it all gets a bit fiddly. But mainly my response is ‘Why the fuck should I have to?’. I don’t want the message, I never asked for it, and if the company had asked I’d have declined. I repeat: I just gave the company some money in exchange for goods. I have now left the shop. Leave me alone. I’ll come back when I feel like it. Or rather I won’t because you’ve annoyed me, so I don’t like you as much as I did before. You took a liberty in our relationship that struck me as rude. Do one.

Which brings me on to the third point of my annoyance: what happens when you press unsubscribe. Full marks to the companies that take that single click and accept it as your clear decision to stop the emails. Slightly lower marks to those that require another ‘Are you sure?’ click. ‘Thanks for asking. The decision was touch and go, so thanks for giving me the chance to change my mind. I’d actually like to continue receiving your pointless shite in my inbox’. Much lower marks to the ones that then ask you to send an email explaining that you don’t want any more emails. Even lower than that are the ones that want you to type your email address in (the one they just used), then send that to somebody. Still lower are the ones that tell you they’ll process it in 24-48 hours. But the lowest of the low are the tits who want you to fill out a little questionnaire on why you don’t want any more emails.

Just. Fuck. Off.

This pile of irritation brings me onto the real reason this gets so far up my nose: when I go into a shop that asks me if I’d like a paper receipt or an emailed one I choose the paper receipt. I don’t want the paper receipt. I think paper receipts are a colossal waste of paper, ink and electricity. But no matter now much I hate them I hate the email rigmarole more. I don’t know if the shop’s emails are going to make it annoying for me to unsubscribe, so I don’t get into that situation. Instead I choose to waste the planet’s precious resources on something utterly pointless.

There is a MASSIVE gap in the market for companies that either ask you if you want any follow up emails when you hand over your address, or ones that just don’t email you in the first place. Those companies I would clasp to my bosom as I do my wonderful son and daughter. I would love them and tell the world how much I loved them (the companies, not my kids). They would receive this alternative benefit in spades.

(By the way, I know one of you is going to suggest setting up an alternative gmail account for the spam, but I’m too worried that the companies I buy from won’t be able to get in touch if there’s a problem with the order etc.)

Update: I just found this on Louis CK’s website. Thank you Louis:

I don’t think I’ve ever mentioned how fantastic I think this ad is:

It’s a brilliant reworking of the tired old tropes of charity advertising. It stops you in your tracks an demands you read, and, if you have a heart, give a shit.

And it’s a proper charity ad with lots at stake (not a freebie paid for by an agency so they can win awards). Here’s the story behind it.

Anyway, the question is, what do you do next?

Well, the creative responsible sent me an email yesterday to explain:

I feel a bit wanky typing a title like that, but let me explain…

Of course I don’t mean the kind of bravery that involves the removal of neophyte humans from fiery edifices, or storming the Normandy beaches on D-Day. But all creativity involves the possibility of ridicule, and, despite what Adam Ant suggested, ridicule is something for many of us to be scared of.

Let’s just take a small example: you’re sitting with friends in the pub and a remarkable witticism occurs to you. Timing it just so, you send it out into the conversation with its best foot forward only to watch it fall sadly flat, necessitating a self deprecating reference to tumbleweed as you try to internalise your embarrassment. And that’s just one little bit of unsuccessful ‘bantz’; not too much riding on it and plenty of chances for another go during the rest of the evening, but it still stings a little. As with all creativity you took a chance: would your bons mots bring the house down or become the proverbial fart in the lift? Only one way to find out, and you had a couple of seconds to formulate the gag and decide whether or not it was too near the knuckle, safe and dull, or of a high enough standard to meet with your friends’ approval. You had to judge your audience and the moment, then write and deliver the gag as brilliantly as possible.

And I say again: this is a joke in a pub.

What about when it’s your job? When you have much of the above riding on what you come up with (probably not the pressure of spontaneity) along with your ability to pay the bills, raise your family, be professionally fulfilled, get the next (better?) job etc. And have you wasted the last week/month/year/decade of your life with a an ad/article/screenplay/novel that no one wants?

That’s a hell of a chance to take.

I’ve probably littered the conversations in my life with many thousands of attempts at humour, big and small, funny and flat, and it still amazes me when I have a little go with a nothing comment that I don’t think much of only to see it bring the house down. Equally, I can fire what I believe to be an Exocet missile packed with the ghost of Richard Pryor and every great gag Louis CK ever wrote, only to watch it slide to the ground like a turd that’s thoroughly ashamed of itself.

So imagine what it was like when I sent my first novel out to the 29 agents who said no to it. That was literally years of work that I might have had to consign to a dark and shadowy corner of my desktop. Fortunately it didn’t turn out that way, but when I embarked on the three years when I could have been skipping through tulips with my wife or not ignoring my son’s formative experiences, it might have been an utter waste of a large chunk of my life (educational experience aside), and that’s a BIG chance to take.

So that’s what I mean by bravery. If you spend your time doing a job where there is a definitive, objective right or wrong then you don’t have to go through that. You can add up numbers or ride a bike or mop up the floor of a peep show, and as long as you put the hours in you know you’ll complete your task with success. But if you write music or design houses or come up with headlines that translate Brazilian shampoo ads for a multinational conglomerate, you’re taking a chance.

And that’s bravery (kind of).

What paintings see (thanks, V).

Springsteen does Staying Alive:

Facebook ad from 1995 (thanks, D):

Kubrick interview.

Richard Dawkins reading hate mail (thanks, J).

Stock photo photobomber (thanks, J).

Ten days ago I decided to see what life would be like without Facebook. I’d been thinking about trying it for a while but hadn’t got round to taking the plunge. I think I’d describe myself as a regular-to-frequent status-updater, averaging about five a week, but as a tool for procrastination I was finding it second-to-none. If I had a bit of free time I’d often check out the notifications (or more likely head to Twitter, about which more later). Would I describe that as ‘addicted’? Not really. It wasn’t so much that I missed it when I wasn’t doing it, but more that it was an easy choice when there was nothing pressing to get on with.

But whatever my devotion to Facebook I’ve generally been more of a tweeter. Over the last five or six years I’ve written over 12000 tweets (that seems like an awful lot now I’m writing it down; I guess it comes down to maybe eight a day. Some tweet more; some less). Anyway, it’s an even more ‘addictive’ procrastination, since you can almost justify it as some kind of news or inspiration feed, and it’s updated all the time, particularly if, like me, you follow a lot of people in the UK and the US.

With both I would experience a mild feeling that if I didn’t check in regularly I might be missing out on a really interesting or helpful post/tweet. This manifested itself most strongly in the morning, when my first act would be to check emails, Facebook and Twitter, a process that would take up to half an hour. I could justify this (the Twitter portion, at least) as some version of the morning paper, where I would find out what had been happening in the news/sport/etc. while I had been asleep. If I’m being honest, though, much of my feed could be described as ‘pointless’ and/or ‘shite’.

So I’m sure you’re gagging to know what the last ten days has been like. Well, I haven’t missed it one iota. Most days Facebook only enters my consciousness because my wife often checks hers somewhere near me and starts a conversation about someone’s update. But I’d go further than that: I feel as if a cyber-weight has been lifted from my shoulders; as if an odd kind of freedom has cleared some portion of my mind, and I like it very much. I left with the suggestion that my absence would be temporary, but I currently have no desire to return. (Perhaps it was quite telling that two of my good friends are not on Facebook, and I’ve always been kind of jealous and admiring of that.)

So far, so good, then. Serendipitously, I found this fascinating article in Sunday’s Observer. It confirms many of the feelings of which I’d been vaguely cognizant but goes even further explain the very real damage social media can do to our effectiveness and brain functions. My immediate response was to leave Twitter, too. It’s only been a couple of days, and I’m a little disappointed not to have enjoyed a celebratory tweet about Arsenal’s magnificent victory away to Manchester City, but I’ll have my fun on the Guardian match report comments, and if I can get the same beneficial effects as the Facebook cold turkey it’ll be a small price to pay.

(By the way, an unfortunate side effect of this experiment will be an emaciated Friday links post. I get most of them from Twitter and Facebook, so unless you (plural) send me good stuff by email, that post will be going on a crash diet.)

I hope a positive consequence will be more time to devote to the thinking and writing that goes into this blog. The longer format works well for me to be able to explore things in more than 140 characters, and the responses you give are often longer and much more thought provoking. Let’s see…

And I’m interested (as usual) in whether or not you’ve tried the same thing, and if so, what happened.

I was watching this mini documentary the other day:

For those of you who don’t have time to watch the whole thing, the upshot is that there’s a guy who’s kept Putin in power for fifteen years by supporting his friends, enemies and random parties who don’t have much to do with anything. He’s let it be known that he’s doing this and the result is that no one who wants to oppose him has the first clue what the hell is going on. It’s a constantly moving target that can’t be grasped, let alone attacked. The doc then goes on to say that the same thing is happening in the UK: we’ve pulled out of Afghanistan, but did we win or lose?; we practice quantitative easing at the same time as austerity; we prosecuted DJs who felt up a fifteen-year-old on Top Of The Pops forty years ago but not the bankers who brought the country to its knees.

Interesting…

I often find myself scratching my head and wondering why people who commit such obvious crimes get away with it. Sure, they are powerful and in that amorphous bracket we refer to with the phrase, ‘those kind of people always get away with it’. But it happens again and again without consequence. A prime example is what’s happening with the Chilcot Inquiry, which has now taken five years to properly explain what happened in the illegal, hated and disastrous Iraq War of 2003. We hear of messages between Tony Blair and George Bush that can’t be published, so now we’ll only bet getting the ‘gist’ of them. Clearly, every intelligent person who hears that then thinks, ‘Bloody hell, there must be some incredibly dodgy stuff in those letters. I wonder what it could be…?’. My guess is the financial divvying up of Iraq’s oil reserves, along with allocation of arms contacts that enriched the US and UK to a massive extent, and still do.

But what can we do about it? I’m not sure I agree with Adam, who says we tend to greet our impotence in these situations with the words, ‘Oh dear’. Instead I think we tend to come at it from the angle of ‘Fucking hell’, where we know lots and lots of terrible things are happening behind the scenes to exploit the less well-off and powerful so that they/we might benefit those who are pulling the strings, but we feel entirely unable to do anything about it.

–It’s obvious the NHS is not being supported so it can be called a failure and placed in private hands for people to make money from, leaving the care of the unwell as a lower priority than the generation of cash.

–No one can rationally agree with the ridiculous proliferation of gun ownership in America, but the ‘powerful’ gun lobby prevents all calls for reduction. How? And why do supposedly intelligent people happily go along with extending this terrible situation?

–£80bn in bankers’ bonuses and £80bn in austerity measures. WHAT THE FUCK? People have to go without food and education so incredibly rich people can become even more incredibly rich? No one is stopping that? No one capped the bankers’ bonuses after the crash they created? And no one was jailed for that crash?

–The newspapers vilify supposed benefit ‘cheats’, who cost the country £2bn, while doing nothing about the giant corporations (Starbucks, Amazon, Vodaphone etc.) dodging tax worth £25bn. We can’t change the law to make them pay that tax? Why the fuck not?

–HSBC laundered drug money for Mexican cartels. Did anyone get in trouble for that beyond a fine which represented a tiny percentage of the bank’s income?

And EVERYONE KNOWS THIS IS GOING ON. It’s in massive newspapers like The Guardian and the New York Times, in hugely popular magazines such as Rolling Stone, on millions of Tweets and Facebook posts. None of it is hidden and yet it still happens all over the world, every single day.

Fucking Hell…