New work. Book reviews. Ideas. Likes and gripes. The following blog is something of a random visual and written notebook brought to you by totalcontent. We’ll be covering a wide range of topics, from projects and prospects, to words and writing, to typography and technology, graphics and popular culture… and much more besides. Hope it tickles your fancy and feel free to have your say.
totalcontentthoroughly enjoyed its first experience working with London design agencyFelt. The task was to launchBee Me, a new frozen yogurt/smoothie franchise, which opened it’s first outlet in Portobello Road a couple of weeks ago.
Creating the tone of voice for a start-up, particularly one that treads ever-so-slightly on the toes of one of the most celebrated brands of recent years was demanding, but we hope that our efforts measured up. It also quickly transpired that every name you could possibly think of for a berry or mango drink was already taken, so we had to rustle up fresh ways of approaching the menu naming. We were quite chuffed with ‘Bumble Berry’ and ‘Get Up and Glow’, as well as the overall strapline we came up with, ‘an appetite for living’.
Apart from that, we worked on a series of articulations, which put across the brand’s healthy credentials and the idea that it’s important to find a bit of time for yourself. The work was picked up byDesign Weekand featured alongside a piece onDesign Studio, who we’re also currently collaborating with.
Picked up this CD by the Black Keys the other week, and the rather self-conscious cover art seemed curiously familiar. That’s probably because the much fêted record sleeve design company Hipgnosis had come up with the idea some 30 years earlier. It was said to have been rejected by regular clients Pink Floyd, but XTC (remember them?) were more than happy with the crumbs from the table for their second album ‘Go’ (released October 1978).
While the Black Keys’ effort has a certain laconic charm – I particularly like the deadpan line on the back cover “These are the names of the songs on this album/These are the guys in the band” – XTC’s takes the idea much further in the copy, the voice becoming increasingly involved, and almost getting into an argument with itself.
“This writing is trying to pull you in, much like an eye-catching picture. It is designed to get you to READ IT. This is called luring the VICTIM, and you are the VICTIM. But if you had a free mind you should STOP READING NOW! Because all we are attempting to do is trying to get you to read on. Yet this is a DOUBLE BIND because if you indeed stop you’ll be doing what we tell you, and if you read on you’ll be doing what we wanted all along.”
Anticipating post-modernism, it debunks the whole notion of the record sleeve as a sales tool, the music industry, and capitalism in a deliciously tongue-in-cheek way. When you consider that the Bee Gees’ ‘Saturday Night Fever’, Springsteen’s ‘Darkness on the Edge of Town’ and the eponymous ‘Dire Straits’ were the big sellers back then, you realise quite how far ahead of its time Hipgnosis’ design idea was. And actually, it happens to fit perfectly with XTC’s witty, English, self-deprecating style. They were a super-talented band who never quite fulfilled their potential, mainly because of front man Andy Partridge’s paralysing stage fright.
Which brings me neatly on to Hard Fi’s ‘Once Upon A Time In The West’, designed by London graphics house Intro, whose output is generally far more original. Another self-referential piece, once again this pokes fun at the consumerist machine, though this time in a more brutally Modernist typographic style. Actually, it bears a striking resemblance to Intro’s own monograph ‘Display Copy Only’, with its pared-down, black on yellow colour scheme.
What does all this tell us? That there’s nothing new under the sun. That plagiarism abounds. That some ideas are worth revisiting (with a twist). That talent borrows, genius steals. Perhaps a bit of each. Certainly appropriation is routine in the design industry, as the amusing Dopplegänger Design blog so eloquently proves. Click through for several revealing hours of spot the difference.
We had an email today fromTim O’Kennedy, the CEO of D&AD no less. He passed on his congratulations and told us that henceforth we were allowed to use these exclusive ‘pencil marks’ on our website and so forth.
So what do they mean exactly? Well, thattotalcontentfared pretty well at this year’sD&AD awards(the ‘design and advertising Oscars’, in tabloid parlance). In fact, in theWriting for Designsection,we were the only people to get two separate entries into the prestigious D&AD annual – including our self-promotional monkey posters, piles of which are still cluttering up the studio. ‘Feed Your Mind – A Great British Miscellany’, the book Jim wrote on the 2009Royal Mailstamp programme, went one better in snaffling a rare nomination (hence the silver pencil... you don't actually get one, but hey). Designed by the estimablehat-trick, this gargantuan project was a real labour of love, so the recognition was deeply appreciated.
Jim duly donned his best bib and tucker and headed off for the glittering awards do at theRoundhouseearlier this month, with high hopes of adding to his D&AD pencil collection. Unfortunately this time he walked away empty handed – although he was positively relieved there were no cameras to film his ‘dignified’ reaction when the category winner was announced.
And what of the eventual winner? Well put it this way, if yet another client asks us for a tone of voice likeInnocent’s, we’ll be less than amused.
In the slippery world of tone of voice – like so many other places – context is all. Set the word ‘hello’ in 72pt Helvetica Extra Bold followed by an exclamation mark, and you’ll create a completely different takeout from the very same greeting peeping out in 9pt Baskerville. Design frames the words, creates the mood around them, and defines the universe they inhabit.
Designer Mark Denton’s ‘C**t’ poster for calligrapher Alison Carmichael (right) is a case in point. The lettering is so daintily beautiful, the baby-pink background so feminine, that the most offensive word in the language instantly loses its shock value. In the simple payoff ‘Words look much nicer when they’re hand lettered’, the audience is let in on the joke, we laugh at our squeamishness.
Similarly, cover versions of songs can completely subvert the meaning of the originals. This is most apparent in ‘easy listening’ versions of edgy rock classics like Mike Flowers’ Pops’ tongue-in-cheek cover of Oasis’ ‘Wonderwall’, and Paul Anka’s take on Nirvana’s ‘Smells Like Teen Spirit’. In a couple of crooned phrases, angst becomes kitsch, attitude becomes platitude.
Extending the pop music analogy sheds plenty of light on the role of tone of voice in commercial writing. Take soul, probably my favourite genre of music. When you actually analyse the lyrics of a Stevie Wonder song (or a Marvin Gaye, Four Tops or Aretha Franklin song, for that matter), they’re not much to get excited about. The words are almost inanely simple, the rhymes laboured, the sentiment clichéd. And yet, the songs still manage to be hugely powerful and moving. If they catch you at the right moment, they can make you cry, take you back to another time, make your spirits soar, or your body want to dance with joy. It’s all in the raw, visceral delivery… the grunts, groans, screams and moans are just as important as the words.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying that the lyrics don’t matter. It’s just that in soul music, the connection happens at a gut level, not an intellectual one. Clever, stylised words would come across as contrived and calculated. Simple words speak of the man on the street opening his heart. There’s a lesson here for design too – bold graphics paired with pithy, direct writing can be really powerful, particularly when tackling serious issues. Eschewing verbal spin and dispensing with visual frills gets you straight to the nub.
But being a writer, of course I’m also a sucker for a bit of wordplay and storytelling. While I certainly admire serious heavyweights like Bob Dylan and John Lennon, who take on big issues with a poet’s eye, I generally prefer the wry detachment of Roxy Music or Franz Ferdinand. They take the position of observers commenting on what’s going on around them, steadfastly cool and detached. Oddly, this is totally the opposite of what I love about soul music, which is all intensity and involvement.
Then there are bands like Squeeze and their New Jersey heirs Fountains of Wayne, who cleverly capture small slices of everyday life in charming three-minute cameos, told from different character perspectives. And the likes of Elvis Costello and Jarvis Cocker, prone to verbal gymnastics perhaps, but still devastating with rhyme and metaphor, summoning injustice, absurdity, pathos, and everything in between.
But for me, the true master of the sung poem is undoubtedly Stephen Patrick Morrissey. His opening lines are lessons in observation, wit and originality – you’re hooked from the very start…
I was minding my business Lifting some lead off The roof of the Holy Name church (‘Vicar in a Tutu’, from The Smiths’ ‘The Queen is Dead’)
Trudging slowly over wet sand Back to the bench where your clothes were stolen This is the coastal town That they forgot to close down (‘Every Day is Like Sunday’, from ‘Viva Hate’)
Of course there are many worthy pretenders. Neil Hannon of the Divine Comedy is another clever songwriter with a gift for setting a scene and skilfully unfolding a story. His latest single ‘At the Indie Disco’, is a winning comic tale of socially awkward, spiky haired adolescents looking for love on a Thursday evening. He even cites the aforementioned Moz.
We’ve got a table in the corner that is always ours Under the poster of Morrissey with a bunch of flowers We drink and talk about stupid stuff Then hit the floor for Tainted Love You know I just can’t get enough...
The way he weaves in song titles and band names into the lyrical structure is seriously impressive.
Give us some Pixies and some Roses and some Valentines Give us some Blur, and some Cure, and some Wannadies
She makes my heart beat the same way As at the start of Blue Monday
...and we can all relate to going home alone on the night bus, waiting for next week’s reprise. Check the graphic/typographic vibe of the vid below... and dig Neil’s dancing!
This is exactly the kind of gently observational, mildly amusing tone of voice I am trying to achieve in my commercial writing. But I’d like to think there’s some soul lurking in there as well. Huuuuuh! Get up offa that thing! Uhh!
I’ve got out of the habit of reading much poetry recently, but I’m having a bit of a Paul Auster phase, so this caught my eye. It was the cover typography as much as the thought that Auster no doubt has his own slant on the genre. Jenny Grigg’s lettering hints at the process of writing, yet avoids the more flowery excesses of some calligraphy. And the way she’s subtly woven the ‘A’ and ‘U’ of Paul and Auster suggest some of the structural gymnastics that the author is known for. The design, printed on nice quality craft paper, is deceptively simple, but still manages to convey an understated elegance and graphic wit. Right, better read some now... you know what they say about books and covers.
I’m featured in ‘The Middle Names Project’, an intriguing blog set up by fellow writer and 26 member James Hogwood. The simple premise is this… to delve into the whys and wherefores of people’s middle names, uncovering interesting stories along the way. When you think about it, they are curious, shadowy creatures, part of our identity, yet generally not on public display. People are usually given them for a reason – in memory of a friend or relative, or carrying on a family tradition. Find out about Elvis Aaron Presley, F Scott Fitzgerald, and me – James Karel Davies – by checking James’ blog here.
Back in 1991, I spent an afternoon with Malcolm McLaren. I was working for a design and advertising magazine, and he’d decided to try his hand at directing commercials. Naturally, we gave him the front page.
It was a curious encounter. I have to admit that I felt slightly uncomfortable, not only because of what he stood for, but because I half thought he might pull some kind of devilish prank on me. He didn’t. In fact, he was terribly charming and grown up. He wore a green tweed suit, checked country shirt and floral tie, a picture of respectability. We met at Hazlitt’s, his hotel in Soho, and took a black cab to the disused Rainbow Theatre in Finsbury Park, where he was shooting his ad which, unlikely as it sounds, was for Cadbury’s Twirl. The last time he’d been there apparently was with Bow Wow Wow.
The spot featured a troupe of dancers taking a break for a Twirl (geddit?). The music, which was particularly important to MMc, was his own reworking of Brubeck’s ‘Take Five’, and the man himself made a cameo appearance sitting at a piano at the end.
Even then, the whole notion of McLaren moving into advertising was a bit puzzling, and looking back on the article, I’m pleased to report that I quizzed him about it at length. His rationale was that he’d always been and arch-marketeer and ads were a natural extension, he also said he found the speed of turning around a commercial exhilarating compared to the slow burn of making music or nurturing a band’s image.
For someone who’d flunked out of countless art colleges, he was remarkably erudite – constantly dropping names and asking if I’d read any of this or that author or philosopher. He seemed restless, inquisitive, easily bored, his conversation jumping around like an itchy bird on a tree.
Occasionally he’d get a glint of amusement in his eye… he was particularly taken with the typographer’s name, Len Cheeseman. “Cheeeseman, Cheese Man… I wonder if his ancestors made cheese or just ate a lot of it,” he pondered. I also distinctly remember him describing the closing shot of a vat of swirling chocolate as resembling “the very bowels of hell”, in that unmistakable whiny voice of his.
Despite my misgivings, he was extremely good company – he gave me an afternoon I’ll never forget. Not to mention the Sex Pistols.
For those of us brought up in 1970s Beirut – and there were one or two – this should bring back some memories. Chiclets were the chewing gum of choice, always right there next to the till in the small cornershop, packed to the gunnels with plump fruit, fresh spices, cigarettes and cold drinks, in an order that made sense only to the wonderfully lugubrious shopkeeper.
This is a pack of Johnnie-come lately cinnamon gum, the original classic was exactly the reverse – yellow with red trimming. The rather gothic Roman type and the Arabic script has been streamlined and modernised. The small cellophane window, which gave you a glimpse of the actual gum inside replaced by a drawing in the same position. But it’s still unmistakeably Chiclets. And to me, anyway, it’s a design classic.
