Digital disrupts all in its wake. Even our language is not safe.
Consider the word “content.” It’s a word I have adopted to clarify my professional specialty.
In April 2006, I was promoted from senior copywriter to content director at BFG Communications in Hilton Head. I was head of my own department, the content department, which set about filling vast digital spaces, a.k.a. our client’s websites, with content.
Given my history with and attachment to the word content, Tim Kreider’s opinion piece, “Slaves of the Internet, Unite!” got my attention when he turned his argument to what words mean and how they build or destroy real market value.
The first time I ever heard the word “content” used in its current context, I understood that all my artist friends and I — henceforth, “content providers” — were essentially extinct. This contemptuous coinage is predicated on the assumption that it’s the delivery system that matters, relegating what used to be called “art” — writing, music, film, photography, illustration — to the status of filler, stuff to stick between banner ads.
Most content, especially content made to sell, is in fact filler. Therefore, in the context of an advertising industry discussion, I am not grappling in the same way Kreider is with this problem. But he and I both agree that real writing must be called writing, not content. Same for real writers—they are writers not content producers or managers.
For me, this presents an important choose-your-words-wisely moment. Because content departments and content directors are not all that common, even today, so it’s not simple for me to easily convey my value to prospective buyers of David Burn-made content.
I was speaking to an old friend the other day. I thought how can my friend, or any friend help, me land new business when he or she doesn’t clearly understand what I do for a living?
“Hi, my name is David. I convey brand value.”
Sadly, especially for a writer, the above explanation and titles like copywriter or brand storyteller don’t do enough to communicate our market value. I am not sure there is much in the way of a workaround here.
I don’t want to over think this, but when you tell someone you are a writer, there’s an immediate suspicion (in gentler souls, a curiosity) about how you earn your way in the world. That’s likely why we come up with fancy words for what we do, or worse, long-winded explanations. It’s also why we work in fields like advertising and media.
I think every American can agree that wasteful spending by the federal government needs to be corrected. The problem is we can’t seem to agree on the “wasteful” part.
As we have seen, people with radical views on the right want to slash and burn any shred of a safety net for our nation’s most vulnerable citizens. Are they doing this because the most vulnerable among us have little or no voice, and thus can’t fight back? Or are Tea Party anti-populists actually heartless and delusional?
If it is the former, at least I understand the strategy. If it’s the latter, we have a sickness in our land that needs a strong remedy.
Let’s take a closer look at the human side of this problem. According to Fortune, the median wage for fast-food workers nationally is $8.69 per hour, and only 13% of these jobs offer health benefits, compared to 59% of jobs overall in the U.S. Thus, it comes as no surprise that 52% of cooks, servers and other fast-food workers receive public aid — nearly twice the percentage of the overall workforce.
Senator Tom Harkin (D-Iowa), said that “anyone concerned about the federal deficit only needs to look at the numbers to understand a major source of the problem: multi-billion dollar companies that pay poverty wages and then rely on taxpayers to pick up the slack, to the tune of a quarter of a trillion dollars every year in the form of public assistance to working families.”
McDonald’s alone accounts for $1.2 billion of the cost to taxpayers. The massive burger chain and others use a low-wage, no benefits model that forces workers to turn to the public safety net.
Any student of American history knows that labor-management disputes are commonplace, particularly since industrialization. And fast food workers have been busy protesting and asking for fair wages. I hope they keep the pressure on their employers, and I hope consumers will refrain from supporting companies with questionable labor practices. But resisting a cheap burger isn’t easy, especially when you consider the advertising budgets fast feeders have at their disposal. Hell, Carl’s Jr. even makes salad look good.
Jonathan Heller, president of KEJ Financial Advisors, believes it is the wrong time for fast food workers to ask for $15/hour, as protestors have done recently. “If the economy was booming, and labor markets were tighter, wages would rise naturally as there would be greater competition for labor. But not in this tepid economy.”
Wages would rise naturally? Get the hell out of here. Wages do not rise naturally, no matter how strong the overall economy. Owners and operators want to keep costs down, so they can earn more. It’s the name of the game, and we all play it to some degree. But at what cost?
By paying shit wages a company engenders no loyalty from its staff, and this lack of concern then gets passed on to the consumer in the form of poor customer service and a host of other problems. Therefore, paying low wages is un-American — it hurts American consumers directly, and it hurts American taxpayers directly.
Asking American corporations and employers to help fuel the economy via investment in its people is not asking too much. We have all the money in the world in this nation, we simply do a very poor job of distributing it. Partly due to greed, but it’s not greed alone that holds us in this trap of our own making. It’s also the idea that the owner and investor class is a better class of people.
Class, race, income, education, location and political leanings can all be used to stratify and separate us. It happens all the time, and no group is free of this pack-making tendency. We feel more secure when we belong to a pack. In Portland, for instance, one might belong to the rich white liberal Prius-driving pack. Once upon a time, we saw ourselves as Americans. That was the pack we all belonged to, but no more. Now we belong to a subset. Now we’re Christian conservatives or secular humanists or a hundred other labeled things.
The crisis in Washington, DC is merely a mirror onto the larger national identity crisis. We don’t know who we are as Americans any more, and it shows in ugly ways: tragic gun deaths every day, pointless foreign wars, media illiteracy and so on. It can be terribly depressing to look at and consider, but we need to look at it and consider it, if we intend to fix it.
When I make time for broadcast news, I am appalled. The product is increasingly unwatchable at a time when the need for insightful and brave analysis is at a premium.
I feel like a lot of people are shrugging their shoulders these days, and asking what the hell is wrong, and what can we do to fix it?
I had an interesting exchange about one thing that is wrong on Twitter today with writer, speaker and social media strategist Tara Hunt. She rightly noted how narcissism is a problem in brand communications.
.@davidburn Many brands are afflicted with a level of narcissism that any human would be committed for.
Clearly, one big brand with a toxic level of narcissism running through its icy veins is the Republican Party. David Frum, writing for The Daily Beast neatly identifies “self-reinforcing media” as one reason why.
Politicians sooner or later arrive at the point where they believe what they say. They have become prisoners of their own artificial reality, with no easy access to the larger truths outside.
Swap the word “politicians” for “brands” and you get the same results. That’s why it’s key to have people with an outside perspective in positions of power both inside and outside your organization. Of course, culturally we don’t want to reward the truth-to-power speaker, do we? We want to banish him and belittle him. But that is wrong. Instead, we need to celebrate and elevate the truth carriers in our midst.
My hero of all artisan heroes, Frank Lloyd Wright, faced banishment and several personal and professional hardships in his day. But do you know what Wright’s personal motto was? Truth against the world. His contentiousness is right there on the surface. Along with his righteousness.
Wright was a difficult man, a complex man. He was also a genius who remade architecture, and he did some of his best work in his 80s. In fact, Wright was 76 when he landed the Guggenheim Museum commission, a project which occupied his next 16 years. Wright died a short time before the museum’s opening in 1959.
Wright was a man of faith and conviction, and you have to be to fight the rising tide of shit. There’s no question we are drowning in bullshit today. The noise is deafening. And our ability to concentrate is weakened. But it’s not the first time, and it won’t be the last. Let’s turn to Yeats and his astute poetic observations in 1919, as Europe emerged from WWI.
Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.
The worst are full of passionate intensity. Interesting how a century does nothing to dent the fundamental nature of things — fundamentalists are terribly offensive blowhards who lack the substance their own ideas. It’s enough to make “the best lack all conviction.”
The thing is, the best don’t give up easily. Wright did not give up. Ever. He had an abiding faith, in nature, truth and beauty. I think President Obama has this same abiding faith. I have been disappointed by some of his more conciliatory and conservative moves, yet I am continually amazed at his resolve. Obama is more than a good man, he is a good leader. U.S. Citizens may not realize, and may never realize, just how fortunate we are to have a man of his intelligence, grace and patience in the White House today.
The experience of watching college football is altered considerably when using a double-screen setup to watch the game on one hand, and talk about it on the other.
It used to be one would simply jump up from the couch and yell affirmations or hurl curses. Today, we express our emotions as fans on Twitter, the closest thing we have to a real-time coversational platform on the web.
Sports writers take part in it:
Nebraska came ready to play today. But #Huskers didn't come ready to respond when adversity hit. Horrible response.
I think it is fair to ask, does the Tweeting make for a richer college football viewing experience, or is it a digital distraction that we’d be better off without?
During today’s game, Nebraska came out running the I-formation, slashing and gashing for ground yards. I was happy and I was stunned. I hadn’t seen this team–our team, the real Nebraska–for many years. Sadly, the vision did not last. It slipped away in what seemed like an instant and the madness on Twitter got loud fast. I decided to put the second screen away and watch the game.
Of course, there’s also the post-game commentary to consider and take part in.
I'm done with this. I tried to stay positive. I've defended the staff. But I have to say the "Bo has to go" camp is pulling on me.
I wonder how many college programs are using social listening software to judge fan/consumer sentiment about the players, coaches and program. We don’t need to guess at the sentiment of fans or customers. Their support, love for the program and alternatively, their disbelief and disgust with it, is all neatly cataloged in the database for data scientists and marketers to mine.
Another thing worth noting about these game day “conversations” on Twitter: Good luck trying to engage with Bo Pelini, the NU athletic department or even the journalists on the Huskers beat. All of the above clearly approach Twitter as a broadcast channel, and they don’t want to get entangled in the complexities of managing fan anger or opinion of any kind. As a result, they ignore 99% of all @replies, which makes no sense within the context of Twitter itself, but plenty of sense when you realize how access in college sports is a privilege—one that Bo Pelini has been keen on revoking. His team’s practices are closed to the press, for instance.
The segment provides an instructive look at modern media, and the audience for bite-sized pieces of news and entertainment.
I do not always like the BuzzFeed product, but I like the bold way Steinberg talks about his media company.
“For us, Facebook and Twitter, that’s the new network, that’s the new cable system. And we’ve mastered a way to create and optimize content on social,” claims Steinberg.
For revenue, Buzz Feed famously shuns the ad banner in favor of content-driven social advertising. “People only share things that they’re proud of, that make them look good. Things they want to stand for. So it’s the same thing with the advertising content,” he explains.
Steinberg says, “We look in 15-minute increments and our system gives more promotion to things that are being shared. It has to be shared to get additional promotion. That’s a really high standard.”
You vacation in a foreign country to stretch and make new discoveries. Which is exactly what happened last week in British Columbia, Canada.
Once we got settled in our vacation rental, I looked up local disc golf courses in the Okanagan Valley and found two — a short, unsatisfying municipal nine-hole course in Kelowna, plus Fallow Ridge, a 28-hole private pay-to-play course outside of Vernon.
Fallow Ridge is unlike anything I’ve ever seen or played before. The course is laid out in Ken Fallow’s steep upward sloping backyard. There are lots of trees and if you miss a putt you better hope your disc lands flat, because if it rolls, you’re going for a big hike.
I called Ken on the phone to inquire about his course and to set a time to play. I learned that we had to become members of British Columbia Disc Sports Society in order to play.
We paid our dues upon arrival, plus another $6 to play and Ken gave us a scorecard and several pointers about the course ahead. With hanging baskets, tonals, hanging propane tanks, and robot targets, a bit of explanation was welcome. For one, I wasn’t sure what a tonal was but upon encountering this piece of old-school ingenuity in the woods behind Ken Fallow’s home, I’m now a fan of copper pipes hanging from trees. When you hit a tonal with your putter, it makes a resounding GONG! Hence, the name.
Now that we’re back in the USA, I’m excited to go into production on some Oregon-made tonals. I know just the wooded acreage near Corvallis that will soon benefit from this improvisational (and affordable) twist on disc golf targets.
Working on a team with other like-minded people, all striving to reach a common goal is the path to progress.
But it’s not an easy route.
Jerry Garcia Life Lesson #9: Collaborate
Jerry is known for his singular sound on guitar. One lick and you knew it was him. But for all his chops as a soloist, Jerry’s true strength came in group settings. Grateful Dead, Jerry Garcia Band, Old and In The Way and Garcia Grisman were all wonderful showcases for Jerry’s musical gifts, and each band was also a great fit for Jerry in that he found partners in the music to help make his own work better.
Of course, one of Jerry’s greatest artistic partnerships was with songwriter Robert Hunter. Many of the best songs in Grateful Dead’s canon were written by this duo, including “Sugaree,” “Althea,” “Ripple,” “Terrapin Station,” “They Love Each Other,” “Row Jimmy,” “Standing on the Moon,” “Birdsong” and “China Doll” to name a few favorites.
Hunter and Garcia shared more than an artistic sensibility. Like conjoined twins, they shared a brain.
There’s a great story about the writing of “Terrapin Station.”. Hunter wrote “Terrapin Part One” in a single sitting while overlooking San Francisco Bay during a lightning storm. On the same day, while driving to the city Garcia was also struck by a singular inspiration. He turned his car around and hurried home to set down the music that came to him. When the two met the next day, Hunter showed him the words and Jerry said, “I’ve got the music!”
Let my inspiration flow
in token lines suggesting rhythm
Writing is a solo act, like playing guitar. Yet, if your writing is to go anywhere– if it is to connect with other human beings — then the writer needs to collaborate and find an editor, a publisher, a filmmaker, songwriting partner, or what have you. Same with a musician. It’s not enough to be the master of your chosen instrument, you have to learn to listen, to play in a group and be part of something bigger than yourself.
The ad business, where I’ve toiled now for nearly 18 years, also requires tons of collaboration. Whatever I might have to say on the client’s behalf, has to be done artfully, but that’s not the hard part. The hard part is retaining the artfulness while dozens of people inside the agency and at the client hack away at the idea in effort to improve it and to make it partly their own. Even when I’m given a solo opportunity to create a long copy ad for instance, the piece has to fit the into a much larger framework. It has to meet the client’s objectives and motivate people to buy.
As a writer, I can be a bit touchy about people messing with my copy, but I also know that the power is in the collective. When I work with an editor or a client who consistently makes my writing better, I’m not touchy at all, I’m ecstatic.
Jerry was surrounded in life by friends and fellow musicians who helped make his work better. He was a great listener (duh!) and he worked well with people. But he could be touchy too, because he cared. There’s a funny story about Jerry throwing Phil down a set of stairs after a show because he was upset about the quality of Lesh’s bass playing on that San Francisco night. When Jerry listened to the tapes later, he heard how stellar Phil’s playing was and knew he’d been wrong about the show and his response to it.
Jerry had amazing things to offer the world. His music is going to live on for generations, possibly for centuries. Much of the credit for this goes to his ability to find his tribe and to work well with some super talented people therein. Whether he was picking and grinning with David Grisman, or working on a new song with Hunter, Jerry knew when to add a little here and give a little there. That’s art and alchemy, and it’s a large part of what helped make Grateful Dead soar.
To make it big in the music business you need to know the right people, get several lucky breaks, listen to your producer and your label and generally speaking you need to be willing to be shaped by others. This was true when Jerry Garcia and members of Grateful Dead were growing up in the 1950s and ’60s, and to a large extent it remains true today.
Unless you find another way.
Jerry Garcia Life Lesson #8: Do It Yourself
Jerry Garcia and friends were masterful at finding a way. I believe, finding a way was in the air in the San Francisco circa 1967. Take the Diggers. They found a way to feed all the hungry kids in Golden Gate Park who showed up for the Summer of Love with no place to stay, little money or food and basically no clue. Sure, the Diggers redistributed other’s wealth to get the job done, but I don’t want to judge their Robin Hoodishness. I just want to acknowledge their “can do” spirit.
Grateful Dead was an ingenious outfit and they were not afraid to go it alone, or do it themselves. Thanks to benefactor Owsley Stanley (a.k.a. Bear), his money from the sale of LSD and his uncanny ability to make complex things, the Dead had a homemade but totally state-of-the-art sound system. The band later created its own record label, produced its own feature film and created its own mail order distribution system for concert tickets.
The band’s DIY ethos was in part a rejection of mainstream music business culture, but that’s not all it was. It was also about the balls out pursuit of innovative solutions. It meant creating something elegant and better than what existed before. I met Owsley in 1987, and we had a long talk in the car as I drove him from Alpine Valley to the Hilton in Lake Geneva. He didn’t say this, but I am pretty sure he felt the technology that the band relied on had to be good enough to compliment with the LSD people were taking. Put another way, bad sound could easily ruin a perfectly good trip and Owsley wasn’t about to let that happen.
Jerry was also an avid painter and illustrator throughout his life. He did attend art school in San Francisco for a short time, but like he did with most things he figured it out. And then some, as Jerry’s larger canvases were selling for $40,000 while he was alive. Today, his work (including prints) continues to fetch top dollar.
I should note here that Jerry was a super smart guy. He was witty, sharp, a great conversationalist and brilliant in a lot of ways. Jerry had the other essential qualities to go with it: curiosity, passion, charm and a great ear. He’s also a native San Franciscan, and this makes a difference because there’s a pioneering gene common to many residents of the city by the Bay. It’s not known as the “Athens of America” for no reason. In San Francisco so many things are possible, and this wide open approach to things — “if we can dream it we can do it” — was Jerry’s way.
It’s pretty clear to me that this lesson, about self-reliance, innovative thinking and not taking no for an answer, has impacted me in a large way. I didn’t study to become a copywriter. I just became one, by attending the school of hard knocks and by learning on the job. Same with hypertext markup language. I wanted to make websites, so I took an online tutorial in html and started building. That was in 1999 on slow days at the agency. Since that time, I’ve built many client sites, but also established myself as a leading ad industry critic (and champion) thanks to another DIY moment in 2004, when a former colleague and I started AdPulp.com. In 2009 I founded Bonehook, a guide service and bait shop for brands to serve the needs of companies making a difference in their customers’ lives. Clearly, I listened to Jerry on this one!
By the way, doing it yourself doesn’t mean flying solo. When you combine the DIY ethos with superior teamwork, magic happens.
Note: I am grateful for this entry from Kirk Leach, a friend from Franklin & Marshall College. The band had a profound influence on many F&M students in the ’80s, and it’s a pleasure to recall what we were thinking and doing back then.
I came to the Dead relatively late in life, at about age 21 or so, thanks to an incorrigible housemate who played their tunes incessantly (thanks, DB). Over the next ten years, I had the good fortune to catch 50 or so shows, though I missed about two and a half years in that time span doing something that, in hindsight, I think in some measure relates back to getting to “know” the band and the scene around it. That something–Peace Corps service in Honduras—lead me to value exploration and a certain level of defying convention that may not have happened had I never encountered Jerry and the band.
Jerry Garcia Life Lesson #7: Explore
Let’s go back to 1985, the year of my first Grateful Dead concert. I was an Army brat who grew up up in a very typical homogenous American suburban setting for 14 years, attending a private school where almost everyone went to a four year-college, and then on to be lawyers, doctors, bankers, teachers, etc. Convention was defied only at great risk to one’s psychological and/or physical health. So naturally, I went on, as one did, to an elite northeastern liberal arts college, where, again, convention was the order of the day and exploration of ideas was sadly minimal.
My first show was in 1985, but I started regularly seeing shows and getting to know the scene in 1987, and it was, indeed, an eye-opener. Here was a band, and its followers, who, in many (but not all) ways explored and defied conventions, both musically and in life-style choices. As I read more about the band and its history, particularly about Jerry, it struck me that Grateful Dead were truly inveterate explorers and risk-takers. This appealed to me, though I didn’t fully realize it at the time.
In 1988, after graduation and having worked a couple of office jobs, I decided that there was no reason to be following this path, particularly at such a young age. So, I applied for the Peace Corps and spent 1989-1991 in Honduras building gravity-flow water systems. This sealed the deal for me. I was an explorer unafraid to chart my own way, over the queries and objections of some (though not my immediate family, who were always supportive).
The next 15 years were spent working in International Development, with six more years in Latin America in three different countries. Tucked into that time was a cross-country bicycle trip from Oregon to Connecticut. Another adventure I must have been “crazy” to do.
I’m still a fairly conventional person. I’m not naturally inclined to the truly unconventional lifestyle of Jerry and the band (particularly in their early days), and its hardcore followers. But, I can definitely give at least partial credit to them for influencing the choices I have made that were outside the norm.
Today, they continue to inspire me to explore the possibilities for that next great unconventional experience, and for that I am, indeed, grateful.
Note: This entry is courtesy of John Shaski, a friend from Franklin & Marshall College. ‘Ski and I were super fortunate in that we got to see the band tour Europe together in October 1990. Today, Ski and his family live in The ABQ, where he works in food waste recycling.
“He really had no equal.”
Thus commented Bob Dylan on the passing of Jerry Garcia in the late summer of 1995. I could read Dylan’s considered line a few different ways, but what strikes me is how unassuming Jerry was, both on and off the stage.
Jerry Garcia Life Lesson #6: Be Kind
I recall moments, not uncommon, with Jer’ layin’ out, standing outside the spotlight, strumming rhythm, searching for the most appealing complimentary chords. Not just turning the rudder over to another musician but putting a shoulder to the effort. The star toning it down, creating “space” in his composition, then encouraging some other artist to grab the opening and run with it, jazz style.
Another example from an otherwise unsatisfying show — where the open musical canvas that was most Grateful Dead shows had to be prettied-up and chopped into segments, as guest after guest paraded to the stage for a cameo — was the Rainforest Benefit at Madison Square Garden. September 24, 1988. Suzanne Vega was center stage, head bowed, strumming chords on an acoustic guitar. She waited for the downbeat, the cue for her to begin the arranged progression and set the tempo with the first verse of lyrics. Then, there was that awkward moment when the band, and then the audience recognized that the cue was missed. A smirk. A few knowing glances. No problem. This is show business. Play it off and wait for the downbeat again.
But Vega missed it again. Oops. Strike two. Tension was creeping in. Will she or won’t she handle the pressure of the moment? Then, right when he was needed, Jerry worked his simple magic. Garcia leaned forward with his head slightly cocked, eyebrows raised, searching for Vega’s eye. She met his gaze, smiled and…viola! He rocked the neck of his guitar gently forward and fingerd the chords. She picked it up, found the one, and was once again herself, with a helping hand from Jerry.
Dylan also said, “To me, he wasn’t only a musician and friend, he was more like a big brother who taught and showed me more than he’ll ever know.”
Action from humility and compassion has always been natural for me. Yet, sometimes our cultural cues cause us to worry whether a bolder, more self-centered attitude is not more productive. Jerry knew that to be a false premise. And his influence, always bordering on HUGE, was consistently collaborative, whether leading the sprawling ensemble that was the Grateful Dead through uncharted musical territory or sitting on a couch backstage, waving a lit cigarette about and contributing to some journalist’s interview.
It’s no exaggeration to say all of the great rewards of my life including my marriage, my children and my work owe their value and meaning to the concept of relationship. Relativity. Reflection. Teamwork. Community. Family. We!
Garcia knew the way, shedding light, never to master. I for one am eternally grateful for his guidance and all that he provided, musically of course, but also in the way he carried himself. Jerry was confident and secure in his gift, which helped him become the humble but effective leader that he was.
