Thursday, November 05, 2009
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Less Interesting
I think Dos Equis has jumped the perverbial shark.
Which is a shame, because "The Most Interesting Man in the World" is one of my favorite campaigns done in the last ten years.
But the radio spot I just heard leads me to believe they are running out of material (or the client/brand manager/copywriter/CD are drinking entirely too much of their product - if that's possible).
It's a Halloween ad.
And it is scary, all right.
Unfunny.
Uninteresting.
Basically, it undoes in 30 seconds what they've been seeding for two years.
Way to go.
How did this happen?
How can a brand that gets it right for so long, go so so wrong?
Who went on vacation?
Or quit?
Or got fired?
And left this brand to fester in its own cleverness, until all that was left was tired cliches delivered in super-serious tones? About ghosts and chains and whogivesafuckwhat?
I am disappointed. And I am disinterested.
Which is a shame, because "The Most Interesting Man in the World" is one of my favorite campaigns done in the last ten years.
But the radio spot I just heard leads me to believe they are running out of material (or the client/brand manager/copywriter/CD are drinking entirely too much of their product - if that's possible).
It's a Halloween ad.
And it is scary, all right.
Unfunny.
Uninteresting.
Basically, it undoes in 30 seconds what they've been seeding for two years.
Way to go.
How did this happen?
How can a brand that gets it right for so long, go so so wrong?
Who went on vacation?
Or quit?
Or got fired?
And left this brand to fester in its own cleverness, until all that was left was tired cliches delivered in super-serious tones? About ghosts and chains and whogivesafuckwhat?
I am disappointed. And I am disinterested.
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Highlights / Lowlights
As all are now well aware, my age makes me a shoo-in for the "backed-by-symphony" rock concert.
As such, I was at the Ben Folds/DSO even this evening.
Highlights:
A capella "Aaaah-aahs" on Not the Same
Rocking the Suburbs, sans orchestra
Sleep
Lowlights:
Feedback for three songs (three? really?! WTF Meyerson?)
Muddy sound, despite "flawless acoustics"
Brick. Dear Ben: let this song go.
Chick with bad breath madly wooooing in wife's ear
Ass-dragging rendition of Steven's Last night in Town sounded more funerary than fun.
Have I gotten too old even for symphony-backed concerts?
I miss my iPod.
As such, I was at the Ben Folds/DSO even this evening.
Highlights:
A capella "Aaaah-aahs" on Not the Same
Rocking the Suburbs, sans orchestra
Sleep
Lowlights:
Feedback for three songs (three? really?! WTF Meyerson?)
Muddy sound, despite "flawless acoustics"
Brick. Dear Ben: let this song go.
Chick with bad breath madly wooooing in wife's ear
Ass-dragging rendition of Steven's Last night in Town sounded more funerary than fun.
Have I gotten too old even for symphony-backed concerts?
I miss my iPod.
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
So Not Laughing
While all the twittererers were tweeting about how little miss new thing dropped an F bomb in her first skit, I was temporarily distracted by the phenomenal photographs of Megan Fox shot by SNL's long-time house shooter, mary ellen matthews.
Love that lady's stuff.
Saturday, September 26, 2009
The few, true copywriters.
You know who you are.
You are a copywriter.
Preferably one who can write.
About anything - and I do mean anything.
The writer is a squirrelly breed. The true copywriter is a moody, Holden-Caulfield-esque, pencil behind the ear, dram of whiskey in hand type who eviscerates you with a razor-sharp wit, and then carefully sculpts three perfect lines of body copy about the tampon he'd use to stop the bleeding.
I've known a few good ones. Few enough that I know they are rare.
I knew a copywriter who could write a squirrel into a medical brochure.
I knew another who got me to sing "Somewhere" to a bunch of dudes at a sales meeting in Vegas.
These guys don't want to write novels.
Or ads.
They want to achieve greatness. Laughs. Admiration. They want empathy. They want to be understood. Trusted. By their partners, their bosses and by african american women ages 35-55.
Where are they now?
Making lemonade?
This guy is.
You are a copywriter.
Preferably one who can write.
About anything - and I do mean anything.
The writer is a squirrelly breed. The true copywriter is a moody, Holden-Caulfield-esque, pencil behind the ear, dram of whiskey in hand type who eviscerates you with a razor-sharp wit, and then carefully sculpts three perfect lines of body copy about the tampon he'd use to stop the bleeding.
I've known a few good ones. Few enough that I know they are rare.
I knew a copywriter who could write a squirrel into a medical brochure.
I knew another who got me to sing "Somewhere" to a bunch of dudes at a sales meeting in Vegas.
These guys don't want to write novels.
Or ads.
They want to achieve greatness. Laughs. Admiration. They want empathy. They want to be understood. Trusted. By their partners, their bosses and by african american women ages 35-55.
Where are they now?
Making lemonade?
This guy is.
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
Philly Represents
Jealous of about 75% of the work being done by this agency in Philadelphia.
Design.
Ideas.
Art.
Photography.
Typography.
Fuck yeah.
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