Christmas 1984 @ approx 3am:
I run into my parents bedroom, bursting with excitement and asking if I could open my presents.
Because my parents loved me [read: I was an only child] they only needed minimal cajoling before traipsing down the stairs half asleep and joining me by the tree so that we could start our annual habit of handing out each other’s presents.
As usual, I would be subjected to the torturous pleasure my parents got from handing me some pointless present from god knows before finally I’d get to the ‘good stuff’…
Over the years I’d had all sorts of great [even if they broke within minutes] presents …
Blip
Astro Wars
Demon Driver
Tin Can Alley
Merlin [possibly the first, and worst – multigame handheld system]
An Ingersol digital watch [that told the ACTUAL DAY as well as the date!]
G7000 videogame system
My beloved Raleigh Grifter [where I passed out when I saw it]
… however in the early hours of December 25th, 1984, I received a present that was probably the best value-for-money gift my parents ever bought, because it started a love affair that has lasted – so far – at least 25 years … because on that cold, dark morning, I was given a Les Paul copy electric guitar.
To be honest, I knew I was getting it because my parents had taken me to Carlsboro Music in Nottingham to check it out – mainly because they thought I had shown talent on a 2 string acoustic guitar that was lying around the house [where do these guitars come from? Seemingly every house has one – they’re worse than rabbits for breeding] and liked the idea of me learning a musical instrument – however even though I had previously had my heart set on a synthesizer and thought the Les Paul was a bit girly [till I picked it up and it weighed more than a small car] I was excited. Very, very excited.
Of course part of the ‘deal’ was that I had to have lessons and so in Jan 1985, I started a weekly half hour ritual at ‘Dave Mann’s Music’ where I would learn the basics with the brilliant Jim – who after a year, pissed off to earn a damn site more than the 2 pounds 95 pence my parents were paying him to be Ozzy Osbourne and Bryan Adam’s guitarist.
Over the years I fell more and more in love with the guitar … playing up to 8 hours a day every-single-day, starting a band, recording, touring, buying ever more ludicrously expensive equipment … basically just having a ball.
And here’s the thing … there were days when I would wake up, pull out the twanger [that’s slang for a guitar, not a euphemism for pubescent activities] and think I was quite simply the greatest guitarist in the World. EVER!
My fingers would do as they were told, the sounds from the guitar would be exactly what was in my head, the tone would be huge and perfect … in short, I was the new Jimi/Clapton/Beck/Angus/May/Bettencourt all rolled into one and was quite simply, invincible.
However just 24 hours later – having experienced no dramatic change to my environment or mental health – I would pick up the guitar and suddenly find my hands were crippled with arthritis, my guitar would be in a strop and refuse to play anything my brain instructed, the tone would be tinny or waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay to bassy … in short, I was a fucking retard who had never picked up a guitar in his life.
It as if it there was an inbuilt anti-overinflated-ego component in my brain – ensuring I could feel good about myself but pulling me back when I was beginning to feel too good about myself – and that’s the thing about the guitar, it keeps you fighting to succeed, there’s never a point you can think you ‘know it all’ and that keeps it all exciting and challenging … so while I don’t play nearly as much as I once did – and almost never plug in my copious amounts of amps and technology – I still can feel exceedingly energised or freakinglyfuckingfrustrated when my fingers pull, or stop pulling, weird shapes along a piece of wood to make a glorious/catastrophic noises.
The reason I have written this long – and boring – history lesson is that I think what I have explained will resonate with anyone who has ever played a musical instrument [or pretty much any other activity that is driven by passion] and yet in adland, we seem to have this belief that we can always do stuff … that we will always perform brilliantly … that we ‘know it all’ and not only is that plainly bollocks, but it reflects an industry that doesn’t really care about maintaining high standards, because if it did it wouldn’t protect it’s ever-decreasing niche, it would welcome with open arms, different opinions, thoughts and ideas as opposed to the usual strat of ‘ad churn’ simply because its the only way they can get their cash these days.
Yep, adland is in the volume business.
Of course not all people or agencies behave/think like this – but there is a worrying trend of feeling invincible – and while confidence is a good thing, over-confidence has the ability to destroy everything in the blink of an eye and when you look at the state of what our industry produces on a daily basis, over-confidence is the last thing we should be feeling.
So if advertising feels all too easy for you – then may I suggest you start seeking out frustration or start your own agency.