There’s an unfinished novel in the desk drawer of every advertising copywriter. Or so goes the longstanding cliché. The implication, of course, is that we scribes of the tagline are failed novelists, or screenwriters, or poets, or—whatever. The idea is that we’d rather be writing almost anything else. Is this true? Not in my experience—or at least the cynicism rings false. Sure, many of us have lofty aspirations—what writer wouldn’t love being hailed the author of the Great American Novel?—but to suggest we take no satisfaction, no pride, in the work we do now…well, copywriters of that stripe don’t last long in our industry. The best writers, in any genre, of any subject, in any profession, are the ones who simply love to write. Who are driven to write. About anything. About everything. And who feel lucky to have the opportunity. “I would write ads for deodorants or labels for catsup bottles, if I had to. The miracle of turning inklings into thoughts and thoughts into words and words into metal and print and ink never palls for me.” So said John Updike, giant of American letters, legendary author of Rabbit, Run and countless other now-classic novels—not to mention a nearly 60-year stream of short stories, poetry, and literary criticism—who died this week at age 76.
Far better writers than I are now rushing to pay tribute to Mr. Updike, to assess his prodigious body of work, to help us appreciate his profound and lasting impact.For my part, I’ll simply say that Mr. Updike’s writing had a profound and lasting impact on me. And I’ll let today’s final words be his.
“Perfection Wasted”
And another regrettable thing about death
is the ceasing of your own brand of magic,
which took a whole life to develop and market—
the quips, the witticisms, the slant
adjusted to a few, those loved ones nearest
the lip of the stage, their soft faces blanched
in the footlight glow, their laughter close to tears,
their tears confused with their diamond earrings,
their warm pooled breath in and out with your heartbeat,
their response and your performance twinned.
The jokes over the phone. The memories
packed in the rapid-access file. The whole act.
Who will do it again? That’s it: no one;
imitators and descendants aren’t the same.
Larry Tate was a jerk. But aside from that undeniable parallel with real-world ad execs (I kid, I kid), the fictional agency of McMann and Tate (employer of Bewitched’s long-suffering Darrin Stephens) had little to do with the industry we all know and love. Sure, there were campaigns and comps and clients, but as a template for how ad agencies actually work, the inordinately sleek operation of McMann and Tate was more than a little misleading. (Like many ad professionals of my generation, this was my first impression of the biz, and I still feel a little betrayed by the discrepancies.)
“Pink Moon” by Nick Drake is an amazing song (I’ll brook no argument here; if you don’t agree, keep it to yourself). There’s an aching wistfulness that’s so sweet it almost hurts, but at the same time there’s an ominous quality at work—the combination can leave you emotionally wrung out after just one listen. So how do you think I felt, a few years back, when said masterpiece was prominently featured in a VW television spot?
Licensing already existing music for use in an ad—it’s a charged issue for lots of people. How dare greedy corporate tools, some ask, subvert the purity of art in order to transact commerce? If the song in question is a beloved favorite, fans often feel a very real sense of anger and betrayal that extends beyond the advertiser and the agency to the artist, who they accuse of selling out. Other listeners are cynical about the practice; they expect artists to make a buck whenever possible and companies to push whatever emotional buttons they can in the attempt to increase sales. As for the artists themselves, opinions run the gamut. Some absolutely refuse to license a song under any circumstances; others welcome the exposure (and compensation). Apple’s iTunes and iPod commercials, for example, have become a regular forum for breaking previously unknown acts.
Because I’m in the ad biz, you might expect me to defend the practice, but my sympathies tend to lie with the idealists who don’t want the emotional impact of their favorite songs compromised. Plus, as someone who has developed a TV spot or two in his day, I know that a great song is also a great shortcut; you can infuse your ad with an emotional resonance and heft it wouldn’t otherwise have, and that is totally unearned.
Which brings us back to “Pink Moon” and that VW spot. It was created to help sell cars, to be sure, and that’s an awfully mundane context for such an ethereal song, but the result…well, it’s a piece of art, itself. Maybe not on the same level as the song, but the spot transcends its origin and purpose to become a creative work as legitimate as any other. It’s sixty seconds well worth experiencing, because it communicates something human and recognizable and true, with a real emotional wallop. Which, by the way, is why it’s also great advertising. But don’t take my word for it. I just found it on YouTube, so you can see for yourself.
Blogging is not exactly the new frontier. In fact, there are already more than 133 million blogs on the web, according to estimates by Technorati (a frequently cited source for this stuff). And if that doesn’t boggle (bloggle?) the mind, how about this? Around 175,000 new blogs are launched every day. That’s two new blogs a second.
And now Big has a blog, too. “Just what the world needs,” you may be thinking. “Way to jump on an already overloaded bandwagon.” An understandable reaction, perhaps, but to be fair, it’s a little less common for an ad agency to blog, as opposed to yet another self-appointed political pundit, junior-high-school diarist, or celebrity gossip wag. Still, we’re far from the first agency to enter the blogosphere. And we’re not even the first agency to put a blog front and center, right on the home page. So we have to admit, at least in terms of format, our Big website is not a big breakthrough.
