Filed under: A Bit Of Inspiration, Anniversary, Attitude & Aptitude, Birthday, Comment, Love, My Childhood, Nottingham
This week has been a week of – of me – serious posts.
So maybe it’s because I can’t keep that up for 5 days straight …
Or because Colenso won ‘Agency Of The Year’ last night in NZ …
Or that today would have been my Mum and Dad’s 61st wedding anniversary …
Or – also today – it is my friend, Heleen’s, birthday …
… but I thought I’d end the post on something else entirely.
When I was growing up in Nottingham, there was a busker affectionately known as ‘Xylophone Man’.
Part of the reason for this name was because he actually played a xylophone. The other part was he played it absolutely terribly. But with unbelievable enthusiasm.
If truth be known, all he did was run his mallet the entire length of the notes and then – at the end – he would flamboyantly raise his hand in the air as if he had just performed a concerto to a stadium of adoring fans. He’d do this over and over again … sometimes up the xylophone, sometimes down … but always with his big, toothless smile on his face.
I’d see him every Saturday in town [AKA, Nottingham City Centre], outside C&A … always playing, always happy, rain or shine.
But what is amazing is he was adored by all.
Rich, humble, famous, infamous, families, teens, drunks …
No one gave him any trouble because everyone was captivated by the enthusiasm and happiness he had for what he did and the sound he made.
His name was Frank, and when he died in 2004, the city got together to honor him … not just paying for his funeral, but also contributing to a plaque to commemorate who he was, what he did and where he did it.
Because what he gave us was far more than some xylophone ‘tunes’.
He gave the people of the city a common connection …
A way for us to step out of our lives and into our community …
A moment to bond, to smile, to laugh, to clap, to cheer. Both at the beauty of life and the absurdity of it.
And I think that’s what Frank liked the most. Being seen for who he was rather than being ignored because of who he wasn’t.
There’s a million different sort of Frank’s in this world.
Some may be in your office.
Some may even be part of your family.
But basically, they’re individuals who are happy with who they are and don’t aspire to be anything more than that.
And the funny thing is, while a lot of society often regard these people as lacking drive, value or ambition, I am increasingly of the opinion they’re the one’s who have got life worked out the best.
Because they appreciate what they have.
They enjoy and value what they do.
And they never waste their time, energy or emotions chasing things that only matter to those who spend too most of their life hiding who they are.
Writing this post, I found an old interview with Frank – and I have to say, he sounds exactly the same way as he played.
Eccentric.
Endearing.
Amusing.
The Frank’s of this world matter.
They remind us of what’s important.
They connect us to where we’re from.
The help define who we are.
At a time where we are surrounded – and as a byproduct, encouraged – to engage in ‘professional bravado’, the Frank’s of this World have, arguably, never been so important.
To remind us experience, trumps popularity.
That fulfillment, beats job titles.
And substance, smokes speed.
And while many may discount or ignore them the Frank’s of this world, it’s worth remembering he got a city commemorating him, whereas most of us are lucky if an ex-collegaue occasionally emails us.
Filed under: A Bit Of Inspiration, Alcohol, Aspiration, Attitude & Aptitude, Beer, Career, Childhood, Comment, Culture, Friendship, Mischief, My Childhood
I haven’t touched a drop of alcohol since I was 15.
That means almost 40 bloody years!!!
And yet, over the years, I’ve been arrested for being drunk and disorderly all over the World … even though in reality, I was just being a stupid idiot.
A sober, stupid idiot.
For people who know me, that shouldn’t be too hard to imagine … however the reality is ‘being a stupid idiot’ is why I stopped drinking in the first place.
Not because I ever had a problem with how much I drank – if truth be told, I only ever got properly ‘drunk’ twice in my life and, being so young, meant I never had too much access to alcohol in the first place – but because I had a problem with feeling out-of-control.
I appreciate that may make me sound like a psychopath, but what’s even stranger is that I have a very addictive personality.
Over the years, that’s got me into a bunch of different types of trouble … which is why I am so glad my addictive side is offset by also being in possession of a stubborn-as-a-mule side.
What this means is that if my addictive side goes too far, my stubborn side kicks in and stops me dead.
I don’t just mean ‘stops me’ for that moment, I mean it stops me doing whatever it is I was doing, for good.
It’s like the ultimate flex … showing my addictive side that as influential as it thinks it is, it decides what I do and don’t do. And nothing proves that more by ensuring that when it stops me, it never ever lets me do it again.
It’s why I stopped drinking alcohol.
It’s why I stopped playing fruit machines.
It’s why I – eventually – stopped eating so much shit.
It’s also why I never tried drugs because it’s a given I’d have gone all in on them.
However, I am a bit confused why it hasn’t stepped in to stop me walking around like an idiot. But then, I guess I am choosing to do that rather than because I have a compulsion to – which is, arguably, even scarier.
Or sadder.
Anyway, I am writing all this because I read something recently that triggered all these thoughts.
It was something the actor/host Rob Brydon said this about the best time to be in a movie.
I love that. I love it for the objectivity, the vulnerability and the self-awareness.
Some people dream of being in a movie.
Some people dream of writing a hit song.
Some people – god forbid – dream of working in advertising.
And that’s great, until you let that define who you are.
Because the moment that happens, you’re no longer in control of who you are.
You are at the mercy of those around you.
Desperate for the acclaim. Hurt by any criticism. Doing all you can to stay where you think you are .. and yet, always craving to be something more.
Some companies actively try to cultivate this attitude …
Making you feel you’re special for being where others aren’t.
Letting you enjoy the trapping of industry success and clout.
Feeding your confidence with stories of acclaim and fame.
But while this is going on, they’re slowly changing the dynamic.
Shifting you from a position of strength to dependency.
Turning the screw until they’re the one in control.
Where you’ll be complicit to whatever keeps you in favour.
Because to be let go by them would feel like you no longer exist.
Until they decide you don’t.
Trust me it happens.
It’s kind-of why I started Corporate Gaslighting.
Because the way they win is creating the conditions of control. And shame.
But this post has taken a bit of a turn …
Because while that quote from Rob Brydon may be about the dangers of getting what you want, it wasn’t the point I was originally using it for this post.
The real reason was that when I read it, it reminded me of something The Chemical Brothers once said.
Something to do with alcohol consumption – which is where this post started, just to connect the dots in case you were as lost as I appear to have been.
You see, they were once asked, “What’s your favourite part of being drunk”.
To which they gave one of the best answers to any question I’ve ever heard:
“The second before you know you’re going to be sick”.
Those are the words of someone who has been there more than once.
Who has learned the lessons of excess the hard way.
Who’s personality is all addiction, and no stubborn.
Filed under: A Bit Of Inspiration, Craft, Creativity, Culture, Emotion, Family, Love, Mum, Mum & Dad, My Childhood, My Fatherhood, Otis, Parents
As you know, I love music.
I play it.
I make it.
I listen to it.
I used to make my living from it.
I work with people who play to millions while they do it.
Music is, in many ways, a version of oxygen to me.
However, while I like all manner of music … from heavy metal to opera … there are some bands I don’t really connect to. One of those is Radiohead.
Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate their talent and there are music/songs they’ve written that I feel are genuinely masterful. But do I think they are worth the reputation that so many people hold them to?
Hmmmmmn, probably not … which I appreciate is entirely subjective rather than anything approaching a considered point-of-view.
And yet, I recently saw someone perform one of their songs – the admittedly iconic, ‘Creep’ – that has had such an impact on me, that I literally burst into tears at a specific point of the song, every time I listen to it.
And I’ve listened to it a lot.
I should point out that while I have always liked that track, it’s less to do with the song and more to do with who performs it and how they perform it.
It’s this [with my tears starting at exactly 2 minutes 8 seconds ]
Oh my god, I’ve just listened to it again as I am writing this and the tears are streaming down my face.
Now I should point out I have form at crying to music.
My Mum used to tell me that when I was very young – like 6 months old – I would cry at classic music that she’d put on the record player. Not because I didn’t like it, but because I was overwhelmed by the emotion of it.
And here I am, aged 54, still doing it.
There are many reasons for it.
First it’s just fucking beautiful. Proper, proper beautiful.
It’s both so simple and yet so layered …
But it’s also how two totally different musical styles bend and blend into some sort of harmonious rapture.
Where different orchestrations seem to be going on their own paths and yet, at some point, come together.
Not mechanically, but with almost a slow motion to them … making the impact of it even more majestic.
But, if I am being honest, as amazing as that is, what really hits me is this is Son and Mum.
It makes me emotional just thinking about it.
Not just because it makes me miss my Mum so much, but because both of them have come together to create something special for each other. And I do think it started that way.
The son believing his Mother’s voice was incredible. The mum wanting to support her son’s musical talent.
A genuine interest in what each other is interested in.
No judgement.
No criticism.
Just interest and openness while being able to stay utterly true to who they each are.
And by doing this, they’ve taken their separate world’s and created something together. Something special. Something that elevates their relationship because it has opened the door to new ways to share and express their love that maybe they previously never imagined.
But it’s even more than that.
Because running all the way through those 3 minutes, 25 seconds is a celebration of love.
Not just because they’re bonded by blood, but because you feel the deep sense of pride, respect and adoration of who each other is and what each other does.
It’s similar to when Pink Floyd guitarist, Dave Gilmour, turned up unannounced to a pub in Brighton to support – and sing – with his daughter Romany and yet it is also very different.
Because where Dave and Romany sang a song that was a relatively faithful rendition of the original [not to mention something you imagine they’d done together in private for years – which is said with love, not judgement] the version of ‘Creep’ is something else.
A mash-up of totally different musical styles.
A creation of something not heard before.
Something that not only takes the song to a completely new place, but demands all who listen to it open their eyes and ears to a musical style that they may of never heard before or most probably never considered would be something they’d like.
But how can you not like this.
How can you not be moved by it.
Because while the song is about low self esteem, loneliness, and the struggle to accept yourself, it inspires, radiates and ignites pure love.
The sort of love surely everyone hopes they will one day get to experience, create, share or remember.
And that is what my tears are for. And that is why I’m so grateful for them.
Remember to tell the people who matter to you, what they mean to you.
Have a good weekend.
Filed under: A Bit Of Inspiration, Advertising, Attitude & Aptitude, Brands, British, Comment, Communication Strategy, Creative Development, Creativity, Distinction, Family, Fast Food, Innovation, Luxury, Marketing, Marketing Fail, Mum & Dad, My Childhood
When I think of the ads I saw when I was growing up, there are so many for categories I just don’t see – or don’t see much – any more.
Cream Cakes.
Carpet Stores.
Digital Watches.
Stranger Danger Campaigns.
Maybe they’re still happening and I don’t know it because I don’t watch much TV … but given I work in the industry and I don’t hear about them – let alone see them – it does feel they are campaigns of a bygone age.
But of all these category of ads, one that is burned into my mind is Smash.
Smash was a mashed potato brand.
It came in a packet and by adding boiling water and stiring vigourously, you’d get masses of creamy mash.
The original ‘fast food’.
This approach to food prep was space-age technology back in the day … which is why the ads featured alien robots who were so impressed with the technological advancement that Smash represented, they chose not to invade Earth because they felt they couldn’t compete with our innovation, despite the fact the humans they had been secretly watching were – to put it lightly – thick as shit, given their traditional choice for mashing spuds.
I know. I know … sounds bonkers doesn’t it, so have a look at this early ad to see what I mean:
OK, so it was bonkers.
But as you can tell, it was all most definitely tongue in cheek, however – as demonstrated by the fact I am writing about them decades later – the alien robots soon became iconic in British society.
Still are in fact. At least for people of a certain age.
But despite this – and despite being 54 years of age – I’ve never eaten Smash.
Not knowingly, at least.
Not because I don’t like it or don’t like the idea of it … but because my parents never allowed it in the house.
Just to be clear, it wasn’t because they were against such manufactured ‘convenience’ food – we used to eat Angel Delight for fucks sake – but because compared to boiling some spuds and mashing them, it was too expensive.
I say all this because recently I walked past a Prada store and saw this.
Now I am sure they didn’t intend to create the ‘luxury version’ of the Smash alien robots, but they’ve created the luxury version of the Smash alien robots!!!
And while this decision could open a lot of conversations about a lot of different subjects – from the changing definition of luxury, the influence of nostalgia, generational creativity and the overall decline in the quest for originality – the biggest thing it did for me was prove my parents were right in believing SMASH is an expensive indulgence for people who want to short-cut their way to satisfaction rather than earning it.
Or something like that. Probably without the judgement on the character, motivations and aspirations of those who would bung it on their evening meal plate.
Still would give my left arm to eat some.
Which is why Prada would probably be disappointed to learn that their ‘robots’ have made hungrier to eat SMASH mashed potato than to buy and wear their clothes. Or worse … anyone seen wearing a Prada coat can be called a ‘Jacket Potato’.
In terms of branding disasters, that has to be up there with these classic [bull]shitshows.
Filed under: A Bit Of Inspiration, Bird, Bonnie, Cats, Comment, Family, Happiness, Home, Jill, Love, Loyalty, Mum, Mum & Dad, My Childhood, Otis, Rosie, Sky
I’m back.
But I barely survived.
Part of that is because my trip was full-on.
The other part is having a puppy is even more full-on.
Seriously, it’s like having a baby all over again. Fortunately, we loved that period of our life so it’s not too bad … but bloody hell, it’s also pretty demanding.
A few months ago, I wrote about how people in agencies should be taught ‘the art of conflict management‘ … but now I think the other skill we should all be taught is puppy training.
If that doesn’t teach you how to be patient and calm when facing a barrage of noise and needs, nothing will.
That, or go work in China, hahaha.
That said, it is lovely having a pet in the house again. As I wrote before, while Rosie was a small cat, she filled the house with her presence and personality – and while we still have had Otis’, Sky, over these months, it hasn’t been quite the same.
But now, with Bonnie, the house has a new energy in it.
Sure, it’s slightly manic and lacking any degree of peace … but that’s a small price to pay to have life bubbling again. No wonder my Mum loved it when I came home to visit her. Not just because she was very happy to see me, but because my friends would come around and suddenly the place was a bustle of noise and laughter … a rewind to what daily life was like when Dad and I were around.
I get it. I just wish I could tell her that I do.
What’s interesting is we didn’t meet our dog until we picked her up … so we were totally reliant on the breeder being smart with her recommendation. Not because we were being picky about its looks … but because in addition to being a family pet, she has to be a trained support dog for Otis, hence temperament is key.
Thanks to the training she’s received from the breeder – and us – so far, it’s been good, but like Rosie it will definitely take some time until we find our own unique rhythm.
Finding the rhythm is a magical thing.
Some of it comes from ritual. Some from the environment. But most of it comes from the interactions you have and keep having together.
But when you find it, it’s special because it evolves into a sort-of invisible bridge where you can come together in the middle … with the knowledge to understand the unsaid. To interpret different sounds and signs.
It’s why that quote at the top of the page made such an impact on me when I read it.
A reminder that one of the most powerful ways to know how much someone has impacted you, is to look for those traits in others. Not so they become who someone was, but because they show you the best you can be.
So welcome Bonnie. Thank you for what you’ve given us already.