Doorways In Bristol

Bristol, Rhode Island is having its moment this week. It has the oldest running string of Fourth of July parades in the country; or claims to, anyway. We walked there on Sunday in the afternoon, and we saw a lot of people preparing for the parade already. It’s pleasant there, with pleasant people in it.

There’s a kind of pall over that town. I had met some people who were struggling to be merchants there, who have recently given up. They explained that the local business climate had improved enough after a long fallow period to tempt the local government to milk it, hard, for revenue. They were way ahead of themselves. There are a lot more empty storefronts now. And there were plenty of empty ones before.

It’s interesting to walk through the ruins of previous civilizations. I wondered if that’s what I was doing in Bristol, Rhode Island. July 4th is nothing. The parade is everything. But it’s useful to remember that no-one went to the drive-in theater in the daytime. It’s not the screen they came to see, but what was projected on it.

Me? It occurred to me that I’m looking at the blank, rusty screen among the weeds and the broken speaker poles now.

 

 

 

 

Sales 101

Advertising has got to shift.

If you wish to advertise now, you have only one mission. People have got to want to look at the advertisement itself. Nothing else answers. Super Bowl ads are fantastically expensive not because so many people tune in, but because it’s common that many, if not most of the audience, is going to watch the commercials for the entertainment value that’s in them.

I don’t have an opinion one way or another about Evian water. I rarely drink water out of a bottle. When I do, only its temperature and the shape of the spout would matter. There is no important difference from one bottled water to the next unless it is carbonated. Even then it’s pretty much all the same.

All that being said, I can’t imagine that Evian is produced by soulless rapacious oligarchs after watching the following. Even if management had nothing to do with the production of the commercial, if they were heartless people they would have watched the video as a pitch from the ad company and said: That’s sappy. Can’t we have Chuck Norris or Britney Spears or something?

The most creative people in the world work in advertising. Always have. After all, Michelangelo Simoni Buonarroti’s statue of Moses is just an advertisement for the dead Pope Julius, isn’t it?

I imagine the reason why all the greatest visual work you’re ever going to see is advertising of one sort or another is because a person that wants many others to like them or be interested in them hires the most talented persons in the visual and audio arts to make sure it happens. And artists go there to yoke their horses to a cart that’s going somewhere, and has hay for the horse, too. All the frauds are in the art gallery.

I’m pretty sure it happens about the opposite of the common image of advertising for the most part. It’s not the callow businessman ordering the nice artist to fool the public with pleasantries. Really callow businessmen always appear in their own ads and bark at you to come on down. No, I imagine that the immensely talented artist that wishes he was doing something else sorta edgy brings the businessman his idea for the campaign: “How about a dystopian future, where global warming has desertified the planet and a few tribes of Neo-cavemen battle it out with cudgels in a bone-strewn desert trying to kill one another for the last bottle of Evian?”

There is a short silence and some polite eye-rolling.

“I don’t know…” says the executive. “How about some nice babies?”

Month: July 2007

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