Teach the World to Sing

Brand recognition. Advertising’s Holy Grail. How to get them - who are so inundated, so immune to marketing messages – to think of us, long after they’ve watched our thirty seconds of creative toil.

With all due respect to Rosser Reeves and his Anacin campaigns of old, not to mention the commanding voice of a burly, bearded, charismatic pitchman, today’s consumer craves intelligent, beautiful, even provocative creative work.

A creative masterpiece, however, runs the risk of losing its purpose – to bond consumer and product in an (admittedly, irrational) emotional manner. While “that commercial, with a thousand colored bouncing spheres that amalgamate in the center of the city like an epic ball pit (this one)” has a creative junkie like myself drooling over the keyboard uttering phrases like “genius visual metaphor” even after my third straight viewing, the channel-flipping, attention-impaired “other 95-percent” need simple, recognizable cues within advertising to form that illogical brand love.

For those brands without a battery-powered bunny, a self-righteous caveman, or an ageless pancake-loving Auntie waiting in the bullpen to drag their creative out of the doldrums, the silver bullet often lies in music. An impeccably-placed classic, or the introduction of a fresh new artist with faith that the spot will have youth flooding Google and iTunes with requests, can provide the missing link to morph passive viewers into enthusiastic consumers.

Strategic music makes subpar creative memorable (just think how many people, after the commercial’s airing, heard Modern English’s “Melt With You” and craved a cheese-dripping chalupa from the drive-thru.) In the case of Volkswagen (as well as many others), the right music provides a beautiful background for creative that can only be described as art.

These five ads are a tribute to some of the greatest music ever to appear in commercials. Do they take these spots from advertisements to anthems? That’s for you to decide.

 

Enur, “Calabria” for Target

 

 

The Killers, “All These Things That I’ve Done” for Nike

 

 

Nick Drake, “Pink Moon” for Volkswagen

 

 

The Fratellis, “Chelsea Dagger” for Amstel Light

 

 

Stereo Total, “I Love You, Ono” for Dell (Thanks Fiona!)

From the School of "Show, Don't Tell"

This is my summer to date.

Allow Me to Embarrass Myself

I always said I’d marry someone within the Industry.  So, this guy may not have a Bachelor’s in English, or even his bartender’s license (per my knowledge, he’s only familiar with one kind of cocktail.) But the Disarrono spokesman is, no matter how you mix it, truly intoxicating.

Oh, what’s one more?

Thank you for your time.

Icing on the Cake

Updates, revamps, perhaps a little bit of ‘splaining coming in the near future. Forgive me for losing some of my blogging mojo to the job search, the New England summer air, and the ubiquitous (and arousing) imagery of Chris Pine and Zachary Quinto in space suits. Until then, enjoy the product of my most recent brush (or squeeze) with creativity.

The Process

The Masterpiece

'Little Boxes' Beats Cardboard Boxes

I abided as long as I could. But after two weeks reveling in my undergraduate success from the musty basement of 205 East Green, stubbornness finally gave way to sanity. I was on Southwest’s site cashing in my Rapid Rewards faster than you can say Bradley International.

And so, here I am, sitting in surrender. Digesting home-cooked sausage and ziti, analyzing Joba’s eight-inning gem right along with the YES Network, and scouring every potential source to snag myself a ticket for Dave Matthews Band next weekend. Sure, I’m antsy and angsty and ready to get a move-on with real life. But, as a chronic sufferer of “New Kid Syndrome,” there’s a familiarity in West Hartford that makes me want to put my frantic job search on hold (for at least a week), sit back and smell the fresh-cut grass from Rockledge.

Familiarity breeds confidence. Chambana Van looks at the ground when she’s walking, fearing the wrath that potholes and banana peels could bring upon her reputation. West Hartford Van tells oncoming traffic, “You’d better pray your brakes work, ’cause there’s no way I’m waiting another cycle of this light to make this left” with a stoic glare from the driver’s seat.

Chambana Van scavenges the couch cushions for spare change, and hides her face in shame as she counts out 89 cents in grimy coins and hastily grabs the Snickers’ bar from the Super Pantry cashier. West Hartford Van? She unabashedly returns a sub-par latte to Elmer, the halfwitted high-school barista, and asks him whether or not the near-dozen decorative pins he’s wearing on his apron (for irony’s sake, of course) are impeding his stirring ability.

I’m certain a week of playing the sneaker to an unsuspecting colony of insects will eventually dull. Fact is, I don’t mind living bare-bones. There’s excitement in vulnerability; stimulation in having to fight to survive. For now, however, I’m going to relish the short amount of time when I’ve got all my faculties at my disposal. The world is my macchiatto, baby. And I’ll take it skim with two shots, hold the whip.

I'll Cry If I Want To

I apologize for the screwed-up colors. Not so, the shoddy design.

You all missed a good time.

Happily Ever Adver

I won’t apologize for not having written anything in a month, or anything of intellectual value in nearly two. Though I certainly thank the SNB regulars (dude, you guys need to get a life!) who’ve made my stats hover around the “10″ mark during my hiatus.

I’ve spent the past few weeks wallowing in my failures, neglecting everyday tasks like washing dishes, returning phone calls, and keeping up any sort of physical appearances. As I’d suspected, the NSAC comedown proved too hard to handle. I still vividly remember sitting back in my fold-up chair at the Westin Detroit conference room, squeezing the hands of my teammates to the left and right of me, and pleading to the almighty panel of judges (note: a banker, a marketing exec, a Century Council rep) that a sure-thing campaign back at school could hold the same kind of value on the big stage. We placed fifth. I’m still dumbfounded. Or maybe, just dumb.

Back in Chambana, the air reeks of the end of the school year. Frantic kids with brimming backpacks that could rival Quasimodo have slowly given way to Birkenstocks, bags on the lawn, and Dave Matthews blasting off every balcony, providing me background music for my walk home from Greg Hall. I’m trying my best to find content in the 75-and-sunny weather — content in the work I’ve done, the bonds I’ve formed, the place I’m in. I’m working to reconcile the relationships I’ve tarnished, and plotting out how I’m going to grow a number of friendships I’ve made, perhaps, four years too late.

As any other to-be grad, I’m struggling to make sense of it all four years later. Struggling to find a chance to reflect, while still making time to revel in the final hours.

So, I’ve taken the most submissive approach to psychological agida. Fuhgeddaboutit! I’ve re-channeled my emotions into a few side projects, one of which (a collaboration with a few smart-ass advies) has gained me some deal of notoriety within the Department. (Thanks for the mention, Madelin!)

Then, there’s the consummation of my U of I Creative career, in living RGB color! Per the norm, it’s not to my satisfaction quite yet, but give my portfolio site a quickie. And then tell me it’s awful, so I can run and make it better!

In searching for a profound and clever way to wrap up this, my first blog post in a month, I’ve come up empty. So, I’ll leave you with  the most earnest and flattering paragraph ever written about me. Yes, it’s publicly viewable on LinkedIn. Yes, it’s framed and hanging on my fridge.

“Self-proclaimed creep, and lover of spam. She’s always looking for a (“quickie”), but watch out, this feisty copywriter-wannabe will impale you with her insightful, yet thorough diction. Ask her a question, and she will back it up with a life story that will leave you wondering if she’s a pathological liar or a deeply disturbed damsel in distress. She shies away from the spotlight in such a way that one may not realize how much behind-the-scene work she puts in to her projects and commitments. Just look for the passive-aggressive sometimes-intoxicated e-mails waiting in your inbox, and you’ll find the one, the only, Vanessa Demske.”

Amen, Sista

http://jhar37.blogspot.com/2009/05/this-one-is-long-time-coming.html

Raindrops on Roses

Major League Baseball today announced the launch of a new, fully integrated multi-media marketing campaign titled “This is Beyond Baseball,” which will utilize the full breadth of MLB media assets to celebrate baseball’s unique place in the cultural fabric of society and in the lives of fans.  The campaign will showcase the game’s many great players and the excitement on the field, but will also communicate the scope of baseball’s impact on people, communities and culture.

(MLB.com)

MLB’s ditched “I Live For This” and teamed with McCann-Erickson to create a brand-new human interest IMC. Watched Tim Lincecum play catch with his dad during this afternoon’s Rays/Red Sox game and cried a little. And word has it, there are nineteen more :30 spots where this one came from!

Always Open Your Junk Mail

It just may pay for your next drink.