How Long Is Your Internet Celebrity Shelf Life?

Remember last year's video for Weezer's "Pork and Beans"? It was filled with all the YouTube stars of the moment.

How many of them are still recognizable today?

Internet fame is fleeting. People become disproportionately famous for (usually) doing something novel or unusual, once. And then they attempt to turn that one-time novelty into a brand. And then they try to get paid for it.

Some Schticks Last Longer than Others

Gary Vee has been successful both promotionally and financially with his Wine Library TV webcast, a gig that's grown beyond the confines of the internet and gotten him invited on The Conan O'Brien Show. Gary's content is primarily information-based, which means it's built to last over time instead of flaming out when he can't think of a better punchline.

In order for Gary to start losing traction, he'd need to be outperformed by a competitor who offers:

* more compelling information
* higher-quality content
* better ease of access, or
* a more widely-embraceable personality

And even if that were to happen, Gary still has one more ace in the hole: he was first. Some fans won't ever migrate away from the pioneer, even if the competition is stronger, because legacy occasionally trumps legitimacy.

How to Avoid Rickrolling Yourself

If you're planning on becoming "internet famous," make sure you're extraordinarily:

* informative (particularly within a scalable niche)
* entertaining (at least to a dedicated audience)
* engaging (because nothing replaces authenticity)
* original (and unlikely to be duplicated)
* available (everywhere), or
* first

Unless you're one of those things, odds are, you'll never become the kind of celebrity whose exploits titillate the rabid throngs. Instead, you might be relegated to the island of one-hit web wonders, where the real estate is cheap and the skyscrapers stretch forever upward...

Fantasy Football: Making People Obsessive About Your Brand

I'm in two Fantasy Football leagues this year, and if things go as they should this evening, I'll be 1-0 in both leagues. I won one of these leagues -- managed by Jim at Sportsorcacy -- last year, and came in second in the other, so I may know a thing or two about fantasy football, or I may just be quite lucky.

But one thing fantasy football forces me to be is obsessive.

In order to compete in a league with cash on the line, I need to know more than my opponents. This means that I, like people in every city in the US, will be paying razor-sharp attention to every play, every injury report and every news item, seven days a week for the next 16, in the hopes that some overlooked bit of information will give me an edge in my fantasy football leagues.

And this means your waiter at Chili's tonight probably knows more about the injury status of all 16 starting tight ends in the AFC than he does about his own nephew. You think the NFL isn't thrilled about that?

So... how obsessed is America with YOUR brand?

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?