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I Like Driving In My Car.

- or; What Will Jezza Do Next?

The rights and wrongs of Clarkson-gate to one side, his ‘moving on’ raises some interesting questions about the relative strength of media brands in the 21st Century.

Let’s assume that, for whatever reason, Clarkson and the team want to continue making some type of Top Gear-style programme that has the same global reach as the show which, one way or another, is now no more.

20 years ago, without the support of a big distributor, and probably, in the UK, that really would have meant the BBC, this would have been almost impossible.

Now? Not so much.

Even our grannies could tell us that they could air it on YouTube, without even beginning to think about all the other multiple methods of non-classic 21st Century distribution.

Of course, without serious equity in the Top Gear brand, or at least that of its stars, this would be no different to Cousin Jonny posting videos of his latest Minecraft moves.

But that equity does exist, and by the bucketload. Indeed, such has been the commercial success of the show, that attracting funding for producing it would be the least of the makers’ worries. They’d be thinking about which sponsors not only can provide the dough, but which are brand-assonant.

None of this means that the BBC’s brand is anything other than incredibly strong. That would be naive.

It’s just that, if he wants to be, Jezza could very easily see himself in the driving seat again.

In more way than one.

Nick Jefferson is a partner with the advisory firm, Monticello LLP, and a curator of The Library of Progress.

Video Killed The……..?

If a picture paints a thousand words, then a moving image says it all (nearly).

The world is about to undergo another huge, technology-led revolution.

Last week the conversation amongst the twitterati was all about Meerkat, the twitter-centric live video streaming service.

This week it’s all about Periscope, the rival but yet-to-be-launched service that Twitter itself has recently acquired.

It doesn’t really matter which of these services becomes the BetaMax, and which the VHS. It may be neither, of course – it’s entirely possible that a fresh social media/live video provider, with a kickass offer that users just can’t resist, emerges and takes the crown.

The point is that real-time, live video, peer-to-peer(s) broadcast is here to stay.

And (cliché alert) that really is going to change everything. Because Flo Public can now stream her reality, live, to thousands, maybe even millions of others.

Yes, some of that content will be boring. Crap, even.

But not withstanding folks’ appetite for live feed crap (the bizarre success of Big Brother, anyone?), there will be some gems in there too.

We can expect to see users live feeding anything and everything: from riots and revolutionary exhortations, to product reviews and service critiques.

Consumers will be able to demonstrate, beyond question, the live reality of a brand, as opposed to the brand’s own carefully, and expensively, developed version of itself. The same goes for governments……

Video, or at least MTV, didn’t, in the end, kill the radio star.

But real-time, live video, peer-to-peer(s) broadcast video will kill plenty.

We just don’t know quite what yet.

What we do know is that nations, dictators, advertisers, broadcasters, newspapers and almost anyone else with a vested interest in media can expect to find themselves further disintermediated; and having to work even harder to prove their relevance in the 21st Century.

Perhaps, in the end, Gil Scott-Heron was wrong.

Because it looks increasingly like the revolution will, in fact, be televised.

Nick Jefferson is a partner with the advisory firm, Monticello LLP, and a curator of The Library of Progress.

Thank You For The Music.

A friend of mine recently hosted a birthday for his Dad.

Who was 100.

That’s a big birthday, by anyone’s standards. Especially when the birthday boy is up on his feet, and dancing.

My friend had put together a slideshow, telling the story of his Dad’s life.

Because his Dad is deaf (and had invited a lot of his deaf friends), my pal made sure that the narrative was set out in headlines and subtitles.

But he also added a beautiful soundtrack for the benefit of the hearing guests.

They all cried as they watched the show.

But none of the deaf people did.

This isn’t, of course, because deaf people don’t have emotions.

It’s because they weren’t exposed to the soulful music that was playing.

When you stop to think about that for a minute – people watching the same slideshow responded in emotionally differentiated ways exclusively because of the soundtrack – you can’t help but marvel at music and its ability, in and of itself, to have a very profound impact on us.

Those of us who can remember Simon Bates’ ‘Our Tune’ know this of course.

Would we all have sobbed quietly in our cars quite so much if Bates’ voice had not been accompanied by the lachrymose strains of Nino Rota’s ‘Romeo & Juliet’?

And Dr. Dre knows it too.

Fast Co. recently ran a brilliant piece on Beats’ astonishing ‘Hear What You Want‘ campaign.

Whilst outwardly, it might appear that music sits at the heart of the storytelling, it turns out that in fact Dre’s business was insistent that the films be made silent.

Only once the makers were happy with the final edit was music added – on the basis that many folk would be watching the films in public places where the sound is often muted.

Certainly the campaign works without music, but my goodness it is poorer for it.

All of which has served to remind me quite how rich I am to have music in my life.

Play on. Give me excess of it.

Nick Jefferson is a partner with the advisory firm, Monticello LLP.

Is the answer really 42?

In Hitchiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, the supercomputer Deep Thought says, ‘The answer to the Great Question of Life, the Universe and Everything is 42.’ This great question, the meaning of life, the Purpose is one that is asked by many different people at many different times, especially at an individual level – what is my Purpose?

Increasingly, brands are asking themselves these questions too (and some brands have been doing so for a long time). Many of the world’s biggest companies have started to articulate Brand Purpose statements. Brands like Innocent help us to ‘Live well, die old.’ Apple ‘empowers creativity and self-expression.’ And campaigns like ‘Like a Girl’ from Always are getting a lot of attention, including from yours truly.

But, does any of this work?

Data suggests that brands with a Purpose can be successful and grow. Dove, of which I’ve blogged before, is one very good example of a brand challenging culture and convention and growing sales to boot.

Likewise, a study in the Harvard Business Review suggests that companies with a Brand Purpose outperform their competitors’ revenue growth. This has intrigued us at Ipsos and we’ve been looking at Brand Purpose.

And our investigations take us back to Douglas Adams, whose characters scurry off to determine what question ‘42’ answers.

Just what is Brand Purpose? What does it mean? And, really, are those HBR figures true? Will my CFO love me if I give my brand – and my comms – a higher Purpose? Will consumers believe it’s real?

Based on what we’ve seen so far, we’d say Brand Purpose is probably worth your while. But, like anything else, it needs some thought. Successful Brand Purpose must resonate at all levels – me, my world, the wider world. Brands that only focus on the wider world might be seen as greenwashing and connect less. Connecting across all three levels has potential to drive your brand for the long term.

This week, we’ll be talking about Brand Purpose at an event on Wednesday morning. If you can’t come along, watch our Twitter feed and watch this space for more ideas on just what makes Brand Purpose a worthwhile endeavour. Although I can’t promise the answer will be 42.

Tara Beard-Knowland is a Director at Ipsos ASI. Follow Tara on Twitter @TaraatIpsosASI and Ipsos ASI on Twitter @IpsosASIUK.

Never Gonna Give You Up?

If you play a certain type of ‘Jesus Game’, today marks the start of Lent.

This is where you traditionally deny yourself something as a form of penitence.

Serious Jesus Games players tell of how it prepares them for the ‘Big Event': remembering Jesus’ death, resurrection etc. at Easter.

Perhaps more importantly for us, they also tell of the ecstatic delight that they feel when they allow themselves to go back to the chocolate/carbs/whatever that they had given up.

As ever with religion, once you cut through all the superstitious nonsense, they’re probably on to something.

Think about the beer that you drink on holiday. It tastes good. But it never, ever tastes as good as the beer you drink after a hard day’s work.

Because you haven’t earned it. The same might be true of advertising.

Certainly it is everywhere else in life – that immutable , and annoyingly accurate, “parents’ law” that every child is subjected to: ‘you only get out what you put in.’

As consumers, we all tend to get more out of an advert we’ve had to put a little effort into. The intellectual flattery, the implicit ‘club membership’ and the nod-and-a-wink that says you’re part of something vaguely exclusive, it’s all terribly rewarding.

My first experience of this was Paul Arden’s Silk Cut ads. I can still remember the thrill as a boy when I worked it out – ‘purple silk….., pair of scissors…….,….Cut…..Silk – Silk Cut: got it!.’ More recent examples include the magical double-take that BBH forced us all to make for their Marmite/Margaret work (‘of course! She also brought about strong feelings either way!’) and, funnily enough, the less glamorous but arresting Nuffield Gyms campaign which features strong art direction heroing all the things that Nuffield, as a gym, are in fact not.

Is the delight brought about by these ads directly proportionate to the investment that the creative concept forces us to make; the process of ‘working it out’?

Clearly there’s a fine line.

Overdo it, make the consumer feel like they’re having to work too hard, and it’s game over. Self-indulgent, overly complex puzzles are a definite no-no.

But leaving just a little bit to be ‘discovered’, just enough to show the consumer, leaning on Ogilvy’s famous dictum, that you do not consider them to be a moron, then that can render fabulous rewards, share-of-mind-wise.

We’re much more likely to remember things that we’ve had to think about, things we’ve explored in our own minds, even if only fleetingly, than things that has simply been served up to us on a plate, without any chance to use our imaginations at all.

It is perhaps the cerebral equivalent of the Victorian flash of ankle, in a world dominated by full frontal.

For, as your parents might also have said, in an altogether different context, it’s important not to give away the goods too soon…….

Nick Jefferson is a partner with the advisory firm, Monticello LLP.


Recently, the brand agency, Aesop, published a simple guide to planning. The Five Cs of Planning. It’s a wonderfully concise summary of the basics of strategy. It got me thinking about some other C-words. Good, bad and ugly c-words.  Read More

Now, The World Don’t Move To The Beat Of Just One Drum.

This week, the scientific journal Plos One published a piece of research by Annabel Nijhof and Roel Willems.

Their paper is entitled ‘Individual Differences in Literature Comprehension Revealed with fMRI’, and its results are, to say the least, noteworthy.

You can read it here.

Nijhof and Willems conclude that people (or their brains) move into ‘literary worlds’ in qualitatively different ways; that ‘some people are mostly drawn into a story by mentalizing about the thoughts and beliefs of others, whereas others engage in literature by simulating more concrete events such as actions’.

And they have the fMRI scans to prove it.

Isn’t that, just, well, fascinating?

And doesn’t it explain why you and your other half are always arguing about what was genuinely important about the film you just watched, or the book you both just read?

And – crucially – why that tv spot meant oodles to you, but diddly squat to him? Or vice versa?

Nick Jefferson is a partner with the advisory firm, Monticello LLP.

And If You Tolerate This, Then Your Children Will Be Next.

The election looms.

And most of us, according to Russell Brand, will respond with:

“absolute indifference and weariness and exhaustion from the lies, treachery, deceit of the political class, that has been going on for generations now.”

He’s got a point.

And you only have to accidentally flick the remote onto ‘Question Time’ to be reminded of it.

There, every Thursday night, we are treated to the formulaic:

“what I say is this:….”
“I think the important thing here is….”
“I see people up and down the country”
“I’m really glad you’ve asked that question”

and all the rest of it: frankly just very weird phrases and sayings, trotted out left, right and centre.

When did you ever hear a normal person talk like this?

And where on earth do politicians learn to speak this pompous, top-down, duplicitous, jargon-laden, deeply patronising gobbledygook?

But more importantly, why are they so surprised by our “indifference” and “weariness”?

And why do they blame it on us – telling us that we don’t care enough about the big, political issues of the day?

It’s absurd.

Imagine if, as marketers, we sought to attribute any lack of engagement in our products or services as somehow the fault of our prospective customers. They would, quite rightly, great us with the contempt that we would deserve.

Marketers know, in a way that their behaviour at least suggests that politicians do not, that British people, in fact, have never been more engaged. Arguably, the market for something to believe in has never been stronger.

We also know that if you have a message that you need to convey, you can’t simply expect that it will willingly be taken up and understood by the people to whom you are trying convey it.

We know that we have to do all the hard yards: to articulate the message in a style and format that will resonate, and then to promote that message in places where the people we want to digest it might see it.

If politicians were genuinely serious about engaging us, this is what they would do.

It’s not rocket science, rusty or otherwise.

Nick Jefferson is a partner with the advisory firm, Monticello LLP.

I Get So Emotional, Baby. Every Time I Think Of You.

Arsene Wenger said that ‘we have moved from being a thinking society to being an emotional society’.

He might be right. (Although how much did the West ever genuinely think after the Battle of Corinth….?)

In any event, most agencies seem to be on board with Le Professeur. They’ve all got their own ‘human’ this or ‘emotional’ that as they enthuse to clients about the importance of connecting with Haidt’s elephant, and not his rider. It makes sense. We know that the best work gets us at a visceral, unconscious level.

But the relationship between emotion and great creative work isn’t straightforward. It’s actually pretty complicated. And it’s getting more so.

This isn’t so much about agencies overdoing the schmaltz (though that’s a real risk, as the last round of Christmas and Superbowl ads showed), nor is it about a return to the bad old days of the Stiff Upper Lip.

It’s simply that too much emotion can often turn into intolerance. And intolerance kills creativity.

Britain looks like a fairly highly-strung place these days; a far cry from the tolerant country that I grew up in. We seem to be in the grip of a pandemic.

‘Outraged’ and ‘offended’ are the mots de nos jours.

Hypertense, strangulated tones surround us, from the distinctly un-British aggro in queues, to roadrage, to angrier and angrier letters to newspapers and calls to LBC.

It’s like everyone in the country is engaging in their own equivalent of being the nutter at the bar; almost goading you to spill his pint so he can ‘have a go’.

To a large extent, of course, this has been driven by the ubiquity of social media. We are all being exposed to many more opinions, much more of the time.

James Blunt, himself no stranger to a bit of twitter-baiting, was once quoted as saying that opinions are like arseholes: everyone’s got one. And many of them are horrendously unpleasant when you see them up close…..

Those of us who care about creativity in the workplace need to guard against this. This is not least because tolerance is the goose that laid our golden egg.

Tolerance is a precondition to novation; the willingness to think that little bit differently, to accept new ideas from new places, is what produces genuinely fresh thinking. Orwell’s Big Brother knew that if he stifled freedom of speech, he ultimately stifled freedom of thought, which in turn would mean no creativity – just what he wanted.

Tolerance is what we Brits, the world over, are famous for. We don’t like the state-knows-best dirigisme of Arsene’s patrimoine, preferring instead to put our faith in the eccentric ingenuity of our (often odd, and quirky) people.

Tolerance is the Magna Carta; tolerance is John Stuart Mill, the Non-Conformists, the Suffragettes, Quentin Crisp, Sid Vicious and Vivienne Westwood.

Tolerance is the creation, lauding and awarding of a TV spot that would never even get thought of in the US, let alone commissioned.

Tolerance is Britain and Britain is tolerance.

And here’s the thing: the world needs tolerance like never before. If we play our cards right, we have a golden opportunity.

So let’s get emotional, absolutely. Cry me a river. Or at least a bathful of water.

Just don’t chuck our beautiful baby out with it.

Nick Jefferson is a partner with the advisory firm, Monticello LLP.

The Storyteller

Once upon a time there was an old man.  In his prime, he’d been an important figure in his village: a master craftsman who could make the most beautiful ornaments.  But as the years had gone by, he’d become lazy.  He’d put less care into his work, preferring to count his gold coins instead.  He hadn’t  learned the new ways that the younger craftsfolk were experimenting with – or paid attention to the exciting ideas that traders brought from afar.  Over time, others took his place and he moved to a cabin at the edge of the village, where people soon forgot about him.

Then one day, the old man woke up.  It was cold outside, but he couldn’t afford fuel for the fire. He missed the admiration that had followed him in his youth.  He wished that people listened to him, valued him, like they used to.  So vowing to reinvent himself, he dug out some of his finest old ornaments and arranged them at the front of his cabin.  But instead of setting up stall as a craftsman again, this time he put up a sign which read: “Storyteller”.

“That should do it,” thought the old man, for he knew there was nothing the villagers liked better than a good yarn.

Well, the Winter crept in and the cold winds swirled round and passersby sometimes looked in on the little cabin at the edge of the village.  But nobody reached into their leather purses, to buy anything.  So, the old man was at his wits end when a wizard appeared one frosty morning (as they often do).

“What’s the matter?” asked the wizard and the old man told him his sorry tale.

“Ah” said the wizard, “I fear the problem may be that you’ve called yourself a storyteller.  But you’ve forgotten the most important bit of the job: to actually tell some stories.  You’re just selling the same ornaments as before.”

The old man looked puzzled, so the wizard continued: “Look.  To tell a story, you need to develop characters that people care about”.  At this point, he waved his wand and three cute little pigs appeared, alongside a big, bad wolf.

“You also need to create a plot with some tension, some darkness, a conflict that must be resolved,” continued the wizard.  Here, the big bad wolf licked its lips menacingly.  Only for the pigs to push it into a cauldron of boiling water.

“And finally, you need to be original,” said  the wizard.  “Storytellers are two-a-penny these days so you need to do something to stand out.” And with a final wave of the wand, he turned the pigs into a massive bacon sandwich and scoffed the lot.

“You mean I can’t just repackage the same old stuff as before?” said the old man, dejectedly.

“I’m afraid not,” said the wizard. “But you can certainly write about the things you make.  Just as long as you make sure your stories have a deeper meaning and are interesting to others. If you can crack that, I promise that your fortunes will improve.”

At this point, the wizard disappeared and the old man began to write.  It was a story with characters, conflict and deeper meaning that would hopefully resonate with others in the village.

Here’s how it began…

“Once upon a time there was an old man…”

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