OK… OK… Pour yourself a stiff drink and sit down and relax while reading my interview with Nicole Powers over at Suicide Girls… Which I have said over and over, is the very best example of what I consider to be a true community based social networking site. One that makes Facebook like “Playtime for F*cktards!” Not only does Suicide Girls have luscious ladies with brains to match their pulchritude, it also has great content, encompassing everything from art to literature to politics. Anyway, it’s a long interview with an emphasis on political advertising… ‘Cos I’m an expert on that, along with all other forms of advertising. I am also modest… And, as you know, a Prince. Nicole is obviously a very bright lady (and a fellow Brit) ‘cos she describes me as a rare beast in the advertising world, one that has lived life to the full yet has a sense of decency, and a conscience to match. And it was worth every penny of the fifty quid I paid her to write that. Get your arse over there and read it.
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So, how did that “Pop Music Legends” concert for the Queen’s Diamond Jubilee Thingy go the other day? From what I have read, the list of “Artiste’s” included Stevie Wonder, Sir Paul McCartney, JLS, Sir Elton John, Kylie Minogue, Sir Tom Jones, Jessie J, Dame Shirley Bassey, Annie Lennox and Ed Sheeran. Meaning all the people your Mum and Dad thought were already dead. Wot, no Sir Cliff Richards? Did the picture in the attic finally endure a melt down that exposed him as Caligula’s favorite nephew? And, was Englebert Humperdinck unavailable, ‘cos he was recovering from his next to last finish in the Eurovision SongNozzle exercise in churlish stupidity? However, moving on, the question I am forced to pose, which is in two parts, so pay attention, is this: What is the reason for the British populations obsession with pop music, particularly when it involves “Artistes” who were born when their grandparents were still alive. Secondly, why is this encouraged by the popular press with it’s concentration on pseudo news concerning pop stars, football wankers, and their various WAG’s? Thirdly… Ooops, touch of the Spanish Inquisition there… Why does BrandRepublic encourage this by reporting on all the pusillanimous sh*t I am ranting about? Oh, right. I forgot… It’s all about artisanaly curating the optimum digital audience that can monetize social media experiences. And by the time you’ve figured that load of old bollocks out, I’ll have moved on to the “Next Big Thing.” In the meantime… Send me all your money! Namaste…
You have to admit that if Joel Ewanick was a car, he would have certainly piled on the miles over the last few months and would perhaps be in need of a service, a wash down and a detailing. For the odd person out there on the other side of the pond who isn’t with me on this, Joel is the CMO of Global Marketing for General Motors. Before that, he was VP of Marketing at Hyundai, North America, and before that he was Marketing Manager for Porsche, North America. In other words, this guy is an auto industry marketing heavyweight.
I can’t believe you guys are still putting up with the Eurovision Song Contest. I mean c’mon. I understand that in Britain, some things never go away, no matter how horrible. Terry Wogan, Cliff Richards, Benny Hill (Yes, I know he’s dead, but he hasn’t really gone away.) I mean even Coronation Street has murder, rapes, sex changes, nuclear explosions and all kinds of wild sh*t, but the Eurovision thing never changes… It is a cringe festival of momentous proportions. Pre Kick-Off the betting had Sweden’s pop tart, Loreen as the 5/4 favorite. She’s singing something called “Orgasm.”
Oh, no, hold that… It’s actually called “Euphoria.” Which can be the same thing, or so I’m told. Anyway, she’s closely followed by the unbelievable Russian grannies baking cakes in their polyester peasant outfits at 7/2. The UK was mid-field, ranking 6th at 20/1, but with ninety nine year old Englebert Humperdinck singing our entry, the Queen must be on the edge of her seat.
Catching up on all the news from across the pond, I was not surprised to read that British TV viewers under the age of 35 are “chatterboxing” whilst watching Coronation Street and eating packets of tripe flavored crisps (last time I was over there and bought a packet, there was no more than four crisps in it, and it cost about ten quid).
Apparently, most of the shows are so bad, the young whippersnappers can fire up their dole paid for iToys, then go on Twitter and Facebook to moan about it to all their brain dead friends, who are watching the same shows. Why not just pin a picture of Simon Cowell on the wall and throw darts at it?
Yeah, I will readily admit that the headline is an “homage” to French ad agency legend, Jacques Seguela’s 1979 book… “Please don’t tell my mother I work in advertising, tell her I play the piano in a brothel.” Amongst his other notable quotes are “Everyone has a Rolex. If you don’t have a Rolex by the time you reach 50, then you have clearly failed in your life.” And, “The consumer is a child who must be reawakened every day to buy his toys.” Ha, you can’t escape the fact that these consummation de fromage, boire de Chablis, singes de surrender, certainly have a way with le mots! (Apologies to French language purists!)
So, I was going to do a post about how WPP has increased its rancid profits up to twenty eight gazillion pounds, so enabling Sir Martin to more than pay for the monthly flower bill at the Gramercy Park love nest. Particularly as, the last time I looked into it, WPP’s corporate headquarters were still in Dublin. Ergo, more of that loverrrllly dosh remains in the Knighted One’s pocket.
As you are no doubt aware, the never ceasing political season here in the US is in full swing. Actually, it’s been in full swing since the last presidential elections nearly four years ago. Unlike the UK, where at least the politicos try not to appear as if they are in perpetual state of flogging themselves to the highest bidder. Over here, they shamelessly spend most of their time after being elected to office, running for office.
This requires them to spend at least eighty percent of their time fund raising, rather than doing what their brain dead constituents elected them to do… Governing.
Over here in the US, today, Monday, February 20th, is Presidents’ Day, one of ten Federal holidays, including a couple that are only celebrated in certain parts of the country (I’ll let you work out which two, that way I don’t have to be accused of saying there might still be just the smallest hint of racial bias in the Land of the Free!).
Anyway, most US holidays are an excuse for a three-day weekend and a chance to buy useless stuff in yet another useless sale. Commercialized beyond even Christmas, like most holidays, President’s Day has lost its meaning.
Isn’t it funny that with all the talk these days about how thanks to our ability to mine data, particularly from social media, for insights that will help us target audiences with more meaningful message, we still seem to go out of our way to turn those messages into “corporate speak.”
You know, lots of synergizing innovative technologies, incentivizing customer engagement and integrating frameworks of excellence. Right now, the Bon mot, d’jour award goes to “Curate.” I remember when we used to cobble stuff together, preferably after a visit to the pub.