All Politicians Are Marketers

All politicians lie. Some lie more than others, but none of them tell the truth all the time.

Neither do marketers.

The difference is, the rhetoric of politicians is designed to motivate the people who already agree with them, while the rhetoric of marketers is designed to create awareness of a product in the minds of people who may not be consciously aware that the product even exists.

Thus, the content of the words is largely useless, but the way those words are delivered says a lot about what the speaker thinks of us, and what we think of ourselves. So if we can momentarily agree to ignore the content of political speeches (and marketing campaigns) themselves, what we're left with is our emotional response to the rhetoric.

Are we inspired and energized by the words we hear, or do they talk down to us and insult our sensibilities? Do we want to be uplifted, or would we prefer to be reassured that someone else knows best?

Politicians and marketers are each betting that their words can make you do something you wouldn't do otherwise -- cast a vote, buy a product, take an action. You almost never need to do what they're asking you to do, but their words make you think that you should. The trick is to figure out whether you want to do what they're asking of you, or whether you feel you ought to.

The most successful marketers are the ones who can sell us back to ourselves.

Image by r. e. wolf.

What Good Is Criticism?

I have a larger point to make, but first, a specific window into the situation:

This is the closing weekend for In Service, a powerful multimedia production that presents the stories of actual Pittsburgh soldiers who've returned from service in Iraq. The show is purposely absent of any slanted political context because it's meant to provide a rare glimpse of the soldiers themselves, not the ideologies behind the war they've fought (and continue to fight).

Ted Hoover, the stage critic for Pittsburgh's City Paper, issued a lukewarm review of the piece. Instead of basing his judgment on what the piece was, he bemoaned what it wasn't -- specifically taking the creators to task for NOT speaking out against the war itself.

To raise that complaint misses the point of the piece entirely, but it also betrays a complicated paradox in the world of art criticism (and critical thinking in general):

What IS the Role of the Critic?

Before you think this question doesn't apply to you, consider this: when was the last time you recommended an album/ movie / TV show / book to someone else?

Did you recommend it because you thought it was legitimately good and worth their time, or because the creation in question was closely aligned with what YOU, personally, enjoy?

Now consider the last time you told someone a book / movie / TV show / song was horrible.

WHY was it horrible?

Was it because the execution was terrible? Because the artist was a fraud? Because the communication was unclear, or the artistic choices were false?

Or, did you simply not like it? (Or, worse, did you not understand it, and therefore you presumed no one else would either?)

The Thin Line Between Criticism and Control

Critics are cynical enough to realize they can't support something their readers won't like. Stray too far from your audience's tastes and they'll forsake you. Thus, to remain relevant, a critic must review all art AS THOUGH HE ALREADY KNOWS WHAT HIS AUDIENCE WILL ACCEPT.

For example, in the case of Pittsburgh theatre, the target audience tends to be adults over the age of 50. Therefore, any play that doesn't speak directly to that demographic is likely to be panned, or commended with caution.

As you can imagine, this creates a stifling atmosphere for artists attempting to create new work, because they have two uphill battles to fight: the one to get an audience to take them seriously, and the one to convince the powers-that-be (who shape the choices of the populace) to convince the masses to take them seriously.

Personal Anecdote Time

Before I ventured into social media, I spent 2+ years as a music critic for the nearly-major music website Splendid (now defunct), out of Chicago. In that time, I reviewed hundreds of CDs, averaging a minimum of 3 per week.

Considering this was an unpaid, "free time" gig, it was in my best interests to plow through the CDs as quickly as possible. Most reviews were written after one or two listens, with only the ones that caught my attention garnering additional quality time.

I know from artist feedback that my reviews validated the burgeoning musical careers of several underground indie artists, who drew strength from my support of their work. I also know (from scathingly-worded emails) that my negative reviews cut the musicians deeply. If I helped keep some artists active, I don't think it's unreasonable to presume I may have also driven others out of their musical dreams altogether.

Looking back, it's ironic that a review written in haste might have caused a potentially talented musician -- who happened to not yet be "up to par" with others of his / her ilk -- to throw in the towel prematurely.

And yet, that's the power (fair or not) that every critic has with each word he commits to paper and page.

So, the Real Question Is...

... should a critic support the work of an artist who has the potential to become great, even if that work isn't yet fully commendable, because the risk of smiting that dream too early might mean the absence of new work that could someday change the world?

Or, should a critic be exceedingly harsh and unrelenting, fostering an environment where only the strongest survive?

Is a critic's primary function to be a guide for the audience or the artist?

How each critic answers those questions determines the role he seeks to fill: cheerleader or executioner?

Then again, EVERYONE'S a critic -- so what do YOU think?

The Problem With Hating Bacn

As you've probably heard, a new meme was coined at PodCamp Pittsburgh 2: "bacn", aka, the email you WANT but don't have time for (newsletters, Twitter follower alerts, etc.).

In alarmingly fast fashion, the word has spread from, literally, the mouths of 4 or 5 people sitting near the check-in desk at PCPGH2 to being quoted internationally. It's popped up on Russian and Japanese blogs. It has its own site and its own merchandise.

And, of course, it has detractors. The loudest thus far has been Web Worker Daily, which states, unequivocally:

Color me curmudgeonly, but I’d like to see this one stopped in its tracks right now.

Apart from the irony involved in a site that purports to be a site of the people (notice it's not called "Web Experts Daily" or "Web Employers Daily") telling those same people what words it is and isn't allowed to use, there are two larger issues at play here:

1. What's wrong with more language?

Love it or hate it, "bacn" is a way to differentiate important-but-untimely email from "real" email or spam. It's a descriptive word. It's a classification. It's useful.

Given the fact that so much miscommunication in this world comes from common misunderstandings -- and that folks in Arab nations have dozens of words for the parts of a camel -- I think it's safe to say that we could all benefit from more (and clearer) language.

Which brings us to the more politically charged issue:

2. Who's allowed to create language?

In the WWD blog post, Mike Gunderloy says:

Apparently this is the term the cool kids are using now for stuff that falls in between e-mail and spam...

Notice the snarky use of "cool kids." Implied in that offhanded comment is a deeper observation:

If Scoble, Rubel or MacLeod has coined that phrase, we'd all have accepted it, no questions asked. Naysayers and detractors would still wring their hands, but it would be too late: words from the voice of god(s) automatically enter the lexicon.

Words coined by a few Canadians and Pittsburghers during downtime at a free social media conference? Apparently, not so much.

So, what now, web users? Who will YOU allow to control your vocabularies?

Fear of Language

When I was in high school, my English teacher asked each of us to close our eyes. Then he said the word "boat." He asked each of us to open our eyes and describe what we saw in our minds. Invariably, everyone saw something different from everyone else.

I might see a schooner. You might see a sailboat. The guy in the next room might see a rowboat. We're all right, within our own context, but none of us is seeing the same thing.

That's because everyone comprehends every word -- and therefore, life -- differently.

The "V" Word

Three honor students at a New York City suburban high school were suspended for using the word "vagina" during a public reading of The Vagina Monologues at an event sponsored by the school's literary magazine.

School officials say this isn't a case of censorship. But, as it says in the article, "Principal Richard Leprine said Tuesday that the girls were punished not because of what they said but because they disobeyed orders not to say it."

So, basically, the girls were free to say anything... except the words they were told not to say. And telling people not to say something isn't censorship, it's...

... um...

Mean What You Say

Let's forget for a moment that these girls may have been looking to provoke controversy by uttering a "taboo" word in public. In fact, they probably were -- and for good reason.

Why are words taboo in the first place?

It's impossible to have open, intelligent discussions if certain words are off the table. That extends to certain concepts, certain beliefs, certain ideals. In essence, if we can't talk about something, then we have a problem.

On one hand, a "taboo" word / concept / belief draws more power than it rightfully should. Think about your own childhood: whenever someone told you that you COULDN'T do something, what did you then want to do MORE THAN ANYTHING ELSE IN THE WORLD?

(Side note: apply that same concept to most of us trying to spin gold from fiber optic cable here in the new media space and you'll see that some of us were born to be disruptors.)

On the other hand, a "taboo" word / concept / belief means we're limiting our possibilities. We're essentially saying, "These options are off-limits. All sensible discourse must be routed around them." And so countless opportunities that could be explored, whether fruitful or not, are never investigated because to do so would be "wrong" -- according to someone else.

Are we not more highly evolved than we were hundreds or thousands of years ago, when concepts like "unspeakable words" would seem to have been far more laughably quaint?

Instead, if we're drawing parallels, the same city that just outlawed the "N" word is now also censoring the "V" word. That's a grouping of concepts that doesn't seem equally inflammatory to me. In fact, it seems quite reductive.

Why should any word, concept or belief system be closed to discussion?