The Musings Of An Opinionated Sod [Help Me Grow!]

I don’t mean in the way I fill out the front of my trousers … I mean it in the sense that occasionally, I have an overwhelming urge to splurge.

Yes, I am a man that likes shopping – not all the time and certainly not for things like carpet, kitchen tiles or cupboards – but the truth is that every now and then, I like to while away a few hours walking around shops and seeing what techno-wizardry I can waste my cash on.

Yes, I know you know I like gadgets – but it’s not all R2D2, Nabaztag’s and Aibo’s – sometimes I like things that are a bit practical and recently I bought what has quickly become something very precious to me, a Wifi-Radio.

Look, I know streaming radio via the internet is nothing new, but this box makes it much easier and – to be honest – more special, because by it not being directly linked with a computer, you are not distracted by incoming emails or a desire to check out some websites.

Anyway, the reason I call it a time machine is because I’ve loaded it up with all my fave stations from all the countries I’ve lived/live, so at the flick of a switch, I can be transported to a time and place that holds a whole different bunch of feelings and emotions – especially when the presenters at many of the stations are still the same old miserable gits that were on it when I first listened years ago.

To be honest it’s nice.

Very nice.

Don’t get me wrong, I love my life but there is something very comforting about having a bunch of stuff around you that lets you still feel connected to your past.

And it’s even more comforting when you can decide when they are part of your life and when they’re not, ha!

Saying that, there is one station that affects my mood to a much greater extent than the others and that is TalkSport.

To explain why, I have to give you a bit of a background …

I left England in the 90’s and whilst I have continually popped back for holidays and projects with various agencies, I have not seen it as my ‘home’ for 15 years, even though it still represents a very important place in my heart and mind, and not just because my Mum and best friend live there.

Anyway, when I go back to visit, I always hire a car and more often than not, listen to TalkSport on the journey between Heathrow airport and Nottingham.

I love listening to it, not just because it helps pass the time, but because it lets me overdose on football news/trash … news/trash you just don’t get [at least in the way the British media present it] outside of the UK.

So when I’m at one of the other places I get to call home, I can listen to it and regardless of whether Forest have won, lost or drawn – makes me feel good because the frame of reference I have for that station is ‘holiday’.

Frames of reference are an amazingly ignored area for planning … so much focus is given to what is happening now, that we forget that first experience forms an incredibly powerful impression on people’s minds, be it good, bad or ugly.

The greatest advocate of this approach is the consultant, Clotaire Rapaille – who is famous for a number of things, including costing a fucking fortune for even breathing in your presence – however one of his ‘greatest hits’ is was when Nestle were trying [and failing] to sell coffee to the Japanese and he told them that because they had no cultural frame of reference for that particular ‘taste’ they should start creating a range of products where ‘coffee’ was a flavour variant.

Zoom forward 10+ years and those young people have not only got used to the taste, but have developed a coffee drinking habit resulting in Japan being the iced coffee drinking capital of the World.

Of course there’s lots of other factors behind the success [factors Clotaire conveniently doesn’t acknowledge] but understanding the frame of reference that someone has towards a particular taste/mood/feeling/brand can not only help drive a creative and effective solution to the challenge but can be the difference between living in the category of advertising or culture.

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

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.

I find that amazing because I still think the 90’s were only a couple of years ago … so even though it makes me sound like an old fart, I have to ask where the hell does time go!?

My wife has a theory about this which is basically …

If you are 6 years old, then 1 year is equal to 1/6 of your life, just like if you are 60 years of age, then that represents 1/60th of your life … therefore over time, a year becomes a smaller & smaller proportion of your overall life and therefore feels shorter.

To be honest, I’m still trying to get my head around that concept but what I do know is that when I read a magazine and it features someone who says they were born in 1990, my first reaction is that they look old for their age before remembering that it’s 2009, not 1999 so they’re almost bloody twenty which means I’m a bloody old fart who is nearly 40.

FORTY!

Jesus, the next significant age after that is 50.

FIFTY.

And then I’m only 10 short years till retirement and waiting for the grim reaper to come and get me.

HOLY FUCK I’M GOING TO DIE SOON.

Christ, where did that all come from? Sorry about that – kinda lost it there for a minute – and given my Mum still goes to rock concerts at nearly 80 [even if it was because she thought the Electric Light Orchestra [ELO] were a symphony group rather than 70’s Rock Gods] I guess I am not destined to be one of those people sitting at home in my slippers watching Coronation Street and complaining how the streets were safe ‘back in my day’.

That’s kind of disappointing because it sounds quite nice.

Remember, loose lips sink careers.

Anyway, over the next few weeks, I am sure we’re going to be inundated with blog posts detailing the authors year … and I bet I am not going to be an exception … so instead of boring everyone stupid, why don’t we have a bit of fun and reinstate that character assassinating questionnaire NP and Mr M subjected me to a few years ago and develop a set of probing questions – all linked to our individual activities of the last 12 months – which we all have to answer on a designated day prior to buggering off for whatever festive break we’re getting?

Think of the opportunities …

HOW MUCH MONEY DID YOU EARN?

WHAT WAS THE SINGLE MOST DEVIOUS THING YOU DID AND TO WHOM?

Get the idea?

OK, to allow people a little modesty, my thought is we come up with 15 questions of which the recipient can choose to answer any 10 from. Sound alright?