Filed under: A Bit Of Inspiration, Attitude & Aptitude, Comment, Culture, Death, Emotion, Empathy, Love, Loyalty, Metallica, Respect
Over the past 9 months, we’ve heard a lot from companies talking about loyalty.
Whether that’s loyalty to their staff, loyalty to their shareholders or loyalty to their values and commitments.
Sadly, in a lot of cases, this has been nothing more than a PR statement.
Something that looks good and makes the C-Suite feel good, without having to actually be good.
Of course there have been the exceptions, but in many cases, that’s all there is.
Now I am not naive.
I know in a commercial organisation, tough decisions need to be made every day … but the reality is, in many cases, it’s not that tough for them. Or it shouldn’t be given how often they do it. Though I do find it surprising how many companies are OK with letting people go but don’t like it when their employees let their employer go. Funny how they see that as an act of betrayal.
But that’s by-the-by, because this is about what real loyalty means and it revolves around Metallica.
So when the band started, there were 4 members.
James Hetfield
Lars Ulrich
Kirk Hammett
Cliff Burton
On September 27th, 1986, the band were in their coach travelling through a rural part of Sweden. They were there as part of their tour supporting their ‘Master of Puppets’ album.
It was a long and gruelling tour and sleep was in short reply. The band members had been complaining the sleeping arrangements on their bus were unsatisfactory so to decide who received the pick of the bunks, Hammett and Burton played cards.
Burton won and said to Hammett he wanted his bunk … leaving Kirk to sleep up front near the driver.
Around 7am, the bus flipped over onto the grass in Kronoberg County.
Cliff Burton was thrown through the window of the bus, which then fell on top of him, killing him instantly.
While there is debate on whether the accident was the result of black ice or the driver sleeping at the wheel, the reality is Burton – a much loved, highly talented musician – was dead.
So where’s the loyalty?
Well it’s true the band decided to continue rather than split up – like some other bands who had suffered the loss of a member.
And it’s true the bassist chosen to replace Cliff, Jason Newsted, faced a lot of tension from a band still grieving for the loss of their friend.
However, it’s the connection the band maintained with Cliff’s father – and the support Cliff’s father gave to the band – that is something to celebrate.
From the moment Cliff died, his Dad – Ray Burton – encouraged the band to continue.
Despite being in unbelievable grief, he was adamant the best way he could honour his son was having the band go on.
To play the music he helped create.
To let his name, talent and spirit continue even though he is no longer here.
And while the band probably didn’t need that endorsement to make their decision, they treasured it.
But more than that, they treasured Ray Burton.
In their mind, he was a part of the band because he had fathered the guy who helped father the band.
It was a mutual love … based on respect, compassion and a love of Cliff.
I know that sounds like the sort of cliched ‘bro’ statement you would hear from a band or brand in a desperate attempt for a PR headline, but in Metallica’s case, it’s true.
Demonstrated and proven by the duration this relationship has been celebrated, nurtured and expressed.
What’s wonderful is they always managed to do it in a way that was respectful yet positive.
Whether that’s having Ray join the band on stage to be conducted into the Rock n’ Roll Hall of fame, or just having him come to whichever band gig he chooses.
And then celebrating his attendance on stage.
But Ray also plays a big part in keeping this relationship healthy.
Because while he loves the acknowledgement the band and the fans give his beloved son, he also wants to ensure the memory of Cliff doesn’t overshadow or become a burden to his replacement. Or the band.
He loves the music and wants that to be the focus.
And that gives the band the freedom to keep moving forward.
Which, of course, makes them love and support him more.
Which is maybe why their loyalty is so strong and positive.
Because where many [read: companies] believe loyalty is about compliance regardless of situation, Metallica and Ray see it as being founded on openness, honesty and positivity.
They can’t change what has happened.
They can’t live in the past.
But they can celebrate where something they created is going.
Sadly, Ray died recently, aged 94.
The band’s loyalty to him still lives.
Filed under: A Bit Of Inspiration, Anniversary, Attitude & Aptitude, Birthday, Childhood, China, Comment, Confidence, Context, Culture, Dad, Daddyhood, Death, Emotion, Empathy, Family, Fatherhood, Football, Goodbye America, Goodbye China, Grand announcements, Health, Home, Hope, Innocence, Italy, Jill, LaLaLand, Love, Loyalty, Mum, Mum & Dad, My Fatherhood, Nottingham, Nottingham Forest, Otis, Parents, Sentimentality, Shanghai, Shelly, WeigelCampbell
So today is June 1.
In 11 days, I wave goodbye to my forties and enter a decade that seems impossible for me to fathom.
50.
FIFTY.
Seriously, how did this happen?
I still remember sitting on the hill outside Erica’s newsagent with my best mate Paul around 1978, when we worked out that in the year 2000, we would be turning 30.
But here we are, 11 days from 50.
[Though it’s 15 days for Paul, who will LOVE those 4 days where he can bang on about how he is a decade younger than me … though he will also moan that my present for him isn’t like the full page newspaper ad I got him when he was 40, but a Forest shirt signed by all the members of the 1980 European Cup team. Asshole. He knows about this present as I bought it for him years ago so I’m not ruining anything for him. But I still have a surprise for him. Oh yes.]
Turning 30 bothered me a bit.
I was totally fine with becoming 40.
But 50!
I’m both bricking it and utterly casual about it.
And while there are some practical reasons for the shitting myself part – health, work, life in general – the fact of the matter is the older I get, the better my life has become.
I totally get the privilege of that statement, I don’t take it for granted at all, but it is definitely true.
Personally, professionally, emotionally …
Sure there have been some bumps along the way – some terribly hard and emotionally destructive ones – but looking at the big picture, the reality is my life has generally been on an upward trajectory.
Now even I know that it can’t keep going like that forever … but it doesn’t mean I have to stop trying.
The fact is, the older you get, the more you discover …
From what you like, what you don’t … to what you didn’t know and what you want to know.
And what makes it even more amazing – and annoying – is that every step you take, in whatever direction, reveals a whole host of other possibilities you would like to explore and investigate.
The problem is time is now officially, not on your side … so there’s a point where you have to accept you won’t get to try, play, experiment with all you want to do, so while that might put some people off, it kind of makes me want to try and pack more in.
And I am … because on top of work, Metallica, the school with Martin, I’ve already agreed to do a couple more projects that are intriguing and – frankly – ridiculous.
But there’s another reason for this attitude and it’s because my Dad died at 60.
Death is something I’ve talked a lot about over the years – mainly due to both my parents passing away.
I’ve talked a lot about the importance of taking about it, but I must admit, I’m scared of it.
I’m in generally good health, but fifty is still 50 and my Dad still died just 10 years on from this age.
Now of course it doesn’t mean I will … and I’ve come to this completely unscientific view that I should live till I’m at least 71 because if you take away my Dad’s age of dying [60]from my Mum’s [83] … that leave 23 years. Halve that … add it to Dad’s age … and voila, I will live till at least 71.
But then that means I only have 21 years left.
TWENTY ONE.
That’s nowhere near enough.
My wonderful little boy is only 5 for fucks sake. 26 is way too young to lose your Dad … hell, that’s even younger than I was when I lost mine.
Years ago, an old boss I looked upto said that if you can’t feasibly double your age, that is when you know you are – at best – middle aged or – at worst – the last stage of your life.
Well I suppose I can still feasibly double my age – even if it’s against the average age of death for a man in the UK [79.2] – but the reality is where I’m going is shorter than where I’ve been.
But shorter doesn’t mean less interesting.
And arguably, I have more exciting things in my life now – both personally and professionally – than I have ever had.
It also helps I am insanely immature with a desire for mischief, experimentation, creativity and adventure.
And I intend to fill it up with even more.
Fortunately I get that from a number of sources.
My wife.
My son.
My job.
My other jobs.
My friends.
My mind.
A while back, Pete said something I found pretty profound.
He said the narrative of strategy tended to focus on the importance of curiosity when discovery is far more valuable for driving the standard of the work you create and the adventure you go on.
Now I’ve written a lot about how I hate when planners talk about curiosity – as if they’re the only people who have it – but I really, really like that idea of the hunger for discovery.
I absolutely have that.
I owe so much of what I have to that.
The countries I’ve lived in. The people I’ve worked with. And most importantly, the family I am fortunate to have.
So while I enter a new decade, I will continue to live like it’s the old one.
Not in terms of dressing like I’m younger than I am – mainly because I have always dressed like I live in 1986 – but with the hunger, ambition and desire I’ve always had.
I genuinely believe my best work is still ahead of me.
Truly believe that.
And the goal of this decade is to achieve some of that while discovering new things that make me believe even better work can still lie in my future.
Filed under: A Bit Of Inspiration, Attitude & Aptitude, China, Chinese Culture, Comment, Culture, Death, Sport, Wieden+Kennedy
My god. It seems impossible.
You were the black mamba … the one with superhuman powers, how is this even possible?
And we must not forget the others who died by your side, including your young daughter.
You leave a billion fans with a billion memories crying a billion tears.
I’ll never forget how you showed your love to the obsessed young fans in China. It was the same kindness and compassion you showed to someone who didn’t know shit about basketball.
Me.
Maybe that’s why my favourite work with you was Mentu. Not just for what you did for young, Chinese players, but for making me truly appreciate just what you brought to a game I didn’t then understand.
I still believe the music we used was the perfect soundtrack to present your dramatic, distinctive elegance.
There are players famous to a team.
There are players famous to a game.
There are players famous to a country.
But there’s few who are famous around the world, whether that sport is played there or not.
You are one of the legends.
You will remain forever.
But your loss is a tragedy.
Filed under: A Bit Of Inspiration, Anniversary, Attitude & Aptitude, Comment, Confidence, Culture, Death, Emotion, Empathy, England, Happiness, Health, History, Insight, NHS, Otis, Parents, Paul, Social Divide
The NHS is 70 years old this year.
While that is a remarkable age, it blows my mind there was a time when it didn’t exist.
The story of its foundation is a remarkable one … one filled with foresight, fight and a governments desire to raise the standards, dreams and potential of an entire nation.
Whether we will ever see something of such audacious good from a government anywhere in the World is debatable.
Obamacare may have come close, but thanks to America’s blinkered fear of socialism [despite having one FBI for example], it means its potential has been destroyed by that criminal, also known as The President of the United States of America.
And all the Republican sheep.
But back to the NHS.
Despite having not lived in England for 24+ years, it’s been a quiet partner throughout my life.
Helping me deal with some of the best and worst times of my life.
And even though there was a time I grew to despise walking along the corridors of the QMC hospital in Nottingham, I was always grateful for it … because it ensured the people I loved weren’t allowed to fall through the cracks at their greatest hour of need.
The NHS has saved my parents life, saved my sight, looked after my dear Paul when he’s undertaken acts of complete stupidity, taken care of my son when he came down with an illness [despite not yet having a British passport] and ensured my parents were given dignity in their final days … it is the single most important and valuable institution the UK has.
I’ve been incredibly fortunate to have lived all around the World and while there have been a number of occasions where I have needed the urgent and serious attention of Nurses and Doctors, I’ve paid heavily for that service.
Of course I’m grateful for all they did for me – they were excellent – but I was also in a privileged position where I could afford to pay for it which is why the NHS is so important because the reality is, everyone deserves the right to being looked after, not just those with a healthy bank balance.
Countless UK governments have tried to undermine or strip away the NHS … seemingly ignorant to the fact it’s one of the few things that is the envy of the World and should be treasured, not pillaged.
So to everyone who has ever worked for or fought for the NHS, thank you.
You deserve so much more than just a nations gratitude.
Filed under: Comment, Death, Family, Love, Mum, Mum & Dad
When Otis was young, we bought him a book called The Invisible String.
It’s a delightful book about family … love … and connection … and helps kids understand the idea of being together even when their parents aren’t around. Whether that’s because they’re at work or have sadly passed.
I write this because 6 years ago today, my wonderful, beautiful Mum died.
It seems so long ago and yet I can remember every second of that day.
From waking up early to see her before her operation … to the rise of worry as she was in theatre for longer than the person before her … to the relief when she came out and I could sit by her side … to the confusion I felt when the nurse asked me to sit somewhere else as an alarm started to sound … to the horrible, painful moment the doctor and nurse told me the worst thing that could happen, had happened.
And like when my Dad died, the memories of her are consumed by the moments of this day.
However, also like my Dad, I know that will eventually pass to be replaced by the moments of love, happiness and wonder I shared with her.
She was an amazing woman.
Her capacity for compassion knew no bounds.
I felt – like with Dad – loved and supported, even at my most ‘difficult’ times …
Her loss was – and still is – a huge hole in my life.
She never got to meet Otis.
She never got to know we had moved to America … then England … and now NZ.
She never got to see the beautiful garden at our house in Herefordshire or the mad treehouse in Auckland.
But I know she would be happy about it all.
And that makes me happy for very different reasons.
Because while for her, it would be that her only son was enjoying his life, for me it would be that I am making my Mum proud.
That’s all I want to do.
Always.
I miss you Mum.
I can still feel our string.
I hope you’re holding hands with Dad and laughing at my jetlag.
Love you.