All posts by squad

An electric shock

Brand Management, Communication Tools, Culture, Identity, Insight, Inspiration, Internal Comms, Process, Purpose, Values Development, Vision Development,

 

An electric shock

On July 25 1965, 17,000 adoring fans gathered in anticipation at the Newport Folk Festival.

The star-studded concert was playing out perfectly.

Hillbilly singer Cousin Emmy had just performed “Turkey in Straw”.

Up next was a 24-year-old Bob Dylan, who had already written one of the anthems of the freedom movement: “Blowin’ in the Wind”.

Introduced by Peter Yarrow of Peter, Paul and Mary, Dylan strode on stage in a bright orange shirt and black leather jacket with a Fender Stratocaster electric guitar dangling from his neck.

Dylan, who was always chatty and cheerful with his audience, didn’t say a word.

His fans were expecting his usual stripped-down acoustic set, but he took to the stage backed by the five-piece Paul Butterfield Blues Band.

Just the night before, Dylan had got together with the band and rehearsed until dawn.

He wanted to try something new. Something different.

The band thundered into an electric rendition of Maggie’s Farm.

Dylan leant into the microphone: “I ain’t gonna work on Maggie’s farm no more,” his vocal almost drowned out by Bloomfield’s piercing lead guitar.

It was aggressive in tempo, distorted, raw — and above all, electric.

The majority of the fans looked on in confusion.

Legend has it that festival organizer Pete Seeger was so outraged that he grabbed an axe and tried to smash the sound system.

To many it was a musical betrayal: Dylan had abandoned the authenticity of folk for the glamour of rock ‘n’ roll.

This wasn’t the folk purist people had paid good money to see.

“Bring back cousin Emmy,” cried sections of the crowd.

The boos were intense.

After twelve minutes and just three songs, Dylan and the band unplugged and left.

That’s when the place went completely nuts.

And although he returned to play a further couple of acoustic numbers, for many his performance was an act of sheer heresy.

He didn’t appear at Newport again for another 37 years.

But it was to be a pivotal point in the history of rock music.

Dylan had turned everything on its head: proclaiming his artistic independence, demonstrating the poetic possibilities of rock ‘n’ roll.

And while fans in England a month later still booed and cried “Judas”, it wasn’t long before audiences got on board and eagerly followed Dylan into the mainstream.

His next rock album, Highway 61 Revisited, was hailed an instant classic and “Like a Rolling Stone” became his first hit single.

By the time his album Blonde on Blonde was released in 1966, the majority of former critics had been forced to admit that his switch to electric instruments hadn’t subdued his knack for writing rebellious songs.

Creative businesses talk a lot of differentiation and disruption.

But how often do they plug in and turn it up to eleven?

Favouring slight difference over blowing the doors off.

To be truly creative you need to take risks.

And sometimes that means being comfortable with an unpredictable outcome.

If Dylan had conducted, and listened to, research after his ’65 Newport appearance, he would never have blazed a high-voltage trail into rock history.

If he’d listened to Peter Yarrow, who had tried to convince Dylan to warm up his audience with a few acoustic numbers and explain that he was going to try something new that he’d been working on, there wouldn’t be documentaries and books dedicated to that summer’s night in 1965.

Like Dylan, creative businesses (and clients) have a duty to avoid dilution.

Say no to compromise and do stuff that stops people in their tracks.

People will remember that.

As Bob Dylan penned in Maggie’s Farm: “I try my best, to be just like I am, but everybody wants you to be just like them.”

Be brave.

Develop a distinctive voice of your own.

Now that’s electrifying.

— DB

Cousin Emmy doing her thang

Faith vs Metrics

Insight, Research, Strategy

 

Faith vs Metrics

I was leaving the supermarket a while ago.

My hands were full of shopping and I was late.

As I hurried along I was accosted by someone on a promotional stand.

They were handing out free attachments for showers, which they said would reduce water consumption.

“Great, that sounds like a good idea”, I said. “Just pop one in my bag would you?”

They replied: “You’ll need to come over to the stand and fill in a form first. It’s a government-backed scheme you see.”

Standing there with all my shopping, my interest started to wane.

I asked them how it worked-starting to wonder whether this device was going to be worth the hassle.

“I haven’t got a clue, I’m not a plumber”, they said.

My interest level dropped to zero. I made my excuses and hurried away.

I’m all for measuring and evaluating. Large sums of money are invested in marketing and anything that can improve its effectiveness should be embraced-particularly when it's being funded from the public purse.

But all that survey would have ascertained was that I’d taken a shower attachment.

They’d have been able to produce a report showing how many shower attachments had been handed out. But if the promotional staff were trustworthy, they could have reported this themselves.

I’m sure they’d have collected lots of other data to show breakdowns by sex, age, socio-economic group, geography etc. All very interesting, but not critical.

What it wouldn’t have told them was whether I got around to installing it.

Or how much water it actually saved me.

So why did they let the survey get in the way of achieving their goal?

Evaluation must always measure the right things.

And measuring the effect mustn’t get in the way of achieving an effect.

Sometimes this requires a little more faith and a little less reliance on incidental metrics.

– RG

Brainstorming (still) doesn’t work

Culture, Design, Innovation, Insight, Research, Strategy

 

Brainstorming (still) doesn't work

Brainstorming was invented by Alex Osborn in 1939 and popularised in his book How to Think Up, published three years later.

It has since become commonplace in meeting rooms across the world. Many of you will be familiar with the rules of such sessions, the first being that no idea is a bad idea. Criticism is to be avoided.

A couple of years ago I wrote about how brainstorming doesn’t work.

I recently came across some more research about why.

Charlan Nemeth of UC Berkeley divided 265 undergraduates into five-person teams. Each was given the same problem and 20 minutes to invent as many solutions as possible.

The teams were randomly divided into three different group types:

The first group were given no instructions. They were free to approach the task as they saw fit;

The instructions given to the second group were classic brainstorming rules, emphasising the need to refrain from criticism. This group generated marginally more ideas than the first team;

The third group were told to say anything that came to mind but also advised to debate and even criticise each other’s ideas.

On average this group generated 25% more ideas.

After the exercise the groups were asked if they had any more ideas. People in groups one and two contributed two more on average, compared to seven more in the group told to debate.

This makes a lot of intuitive sense to me. Many of our creative breakthroughs stem from moments of tension and debate within the team.

At the time it was invented brainstorming may have improved on the absence of structure that came before, as this research supports. But it also shows that now is the time embrace new approaches.

One of the key challenges is culture. Many of us are conditioned to refrain from criticising each other’s ideas. It is in our collective best interests to become more comfortable with this.

- RG

Out for a duck

Brand, Communications, Inspiration, Purpose, Squad

 

Out for a duck

Sir Nigel Gresley was an imaginative man.

A gifted inventor.

Probably the most famous locomotive designer associated with the London and North Eastern Railway.

He designed arguably the most famous locomotive in the world: the Flying Scotsman.

And as well as being a great engineer he had an eye for beauty.

Designing engines with muscle and elegance.

The attractiveness of his locomotives were not wasted on the advertising department of the LNER at King’s Cross: many of his engines appeared regularly on posters, luggage labels and booklets.

Anywhere the company could take advantage of the locomotives’ impressive good looks.

But when LNER were able to prove that their engines were not only safe and stylish but very, very fast, they had a real marketing property on their hands.

On the 3 July 1938, driver Joe Duddington climbed into the cab of the Mallard: an A4 class locomotive with sweeping art deco lines.

Joined by fireman Tommy Bray, and the inspector, Sam Jenkins.

Attached to the engine was a dynamometer car full of charts and instruments to record their speed.

Turning his cap back to front, Duddington took the helm and they started their outward journey from Wood Green.

Resting at a siding in Barkston, thoughts were collected and packed lunches eaten, as Jennings and Bray made the fire up, right to the doors of the firebox.

The train left at 4.15pm, rising through Peascliffe Tunnel and on to Barrowby Road Junction, where the line levelled out on the way to Grantham.

Work on the line meant that the train slowed to 24mph temporarily then gradually picked up the pace, passing through Stoke Tunnel and heading uphill towards Stoke summit.

Passing Stoke Box at the top of the climb, Duddington gave the Mallard a head of steam at 85mph.

And she jumped to it like she was alive.

After three miles the speedometer in his cab showed 107mph, then 108, 109 …

Before he knew it the needle was at 116mph.

Bray and Jenkins shovelled frantically.

Duddington nursed her through Little Lytham at 123mph.

The excited passengers in the dynamometer car urged her on.

And then for quarter of a mile they all held their breath as they reached previously uncharted speeds of 126mph.

The Mallard had booked her place in history, clinching a new world record for steam locomotives.

So it feels very fitting that a statue of Sir Nigel Gresley should be commissioned by the Gresley Society Trust.

And unveiled at King’s Cross Station next year: the 75th anniversary of his death.

A seven-foot-tall bronze figure of the man, created by sculptor Hazel Reeves.

And here’s the clever bit: he has a bronze mallard duck at his feet.

An inspired idea.

A duck that will make people stop and take notice.

A duck that will help spark interest in the story of how the Mallard broke the world steam record.

A duck that will mark out this statue from the plethora of other statues celebrating the great and the good around London, and make people remember it.

Without the duck, it’s just another statue of a kindly old gentleman.

But it appears that’s exactly what a minority of trust committee members would prefer: to remove the duck, because it may invite ridicule and detract from the dignity of the statue.

So after widespread consultation with their president, vice presidents, members and Sir Nigel’s family, the duck is no more.

That’s the danger of design by committee: you’re rarely going to please everyone.

Compromise can lead to watered-down designs or strategy that everyone likes (or can live with), but that no one really loves.

Which will be picked up by your audience.

Your audience aren’t always as interested as you think they are.

You need to make them sit up and take notice.

It takes daring to be different.

Different doesn’t need to be wacky.

It should be salient and meaningful.

It should stick something in people’s memory banks.

Relevant difference is a calculated risk.

But far too often people fear too much what will happen if the risk is taken.

But the question should be: what are we risking if we don’t take it?

Because if your brand doesn’t provoke a reaction then it’s the equivalent of a kindly old gentleman.

Hold your breath and give your brand a head of steam.

And don’t let your best ideas be out for a duck.

– DB