Posts Tagged ‘michael jackson’

A perfect close to the day, before zooming off to the Cube Store in Brick Lane; Tony Kaye gives a Cube-top show atop a Nissan Cube outside the Tate. Cue startled passers-by, unfazed cabbies, bewildered Big Issue sellers and a few arched eyebrows.

In the Nissan Cube, an interesting conversation ensues about how to walk the line between art and commerce. Bob Dylan knows how to do it, according to Tony, but Lennon stepped too far towards art and politics for comfort.

Also intriguing was the discussion about Marlon Brando’s acting lessons at Michael Jackson’s Neverland ranch. There’s recordings of all that coming soon!

@nissancubeuk

About a month ago, I wrote a blog on brand immortality and the way that people are exploiting dead celebrities to generate vast amounts of money in the wake of Michael Jackson’s death. Now, as the world gears up for This Is It, a film of Jackson rehearsals, CNN have come out with a report detailing what seems like the beginnings of a cult of dead celeb exploitation – there are even “death hags” who tour the sites of their favourite stars’ deathplaces, always on the lookout for morbid curiosities to buy.

Last year’s top-earning dead celebrities, according to Forbes magazine’s forthcoming report, are Elvis Presley, Charles M. Schulz, Heath Ledger, Albert Einstein, Aaron Spelling, Dr. Seuss (Theodor Geisel), John Lennon, Andy Warhol, Marilyn Monroe, Steve McQueen, Paul Newman, James Dean, and Marvin Gaye, who earned a combined $194 million in 2008.

It’s a revealing article, and it makes me think I may not have gone far enough with my predictions of the exploitations of dead stars that are to come.

To read my original blog, click here. To read the CNN report in full, click here.

Celebrity death is best done young, or youngish, whilst all the characteristics that enamour the public to them remain intact. It’s not great for the celebrity in question, perhaps, but certain brand-builders love a good image that’s been soused in aspic and preserved for an eternity of milking.

Take Michael Jackson, whose death has seen the worst elements of him shorn away, with only the adulation left; there’s now a competition to design a fitting memorial for him. And of the entries, there’s not one but three suggestions to build a Jackson-shaped island off Dubai, next to the other man made islands. The proposals would, of course, all have theme-parks on them – a home for Neverland ranch, if the new owner feels the need to sell it.

It’s astonishingly gauche, but somehow hardly surprising. I half expect one of the entries to win and then we’ll be able to see a Jackson-shaped landmass from space. What an alien visitor would make of this is another question.

An alien visitor’s reaction to the relentless plundering of Jackson’s brand in the months since his death would make for interesting reading, too. The family started it, with Jackson’s father launching a record label in the wake of his son’s death. The only way from here is to plunder more, until all the contrary mystery that Jackson maintained is gone.

Not that you have to be dead for your brand to be plundered: licensing firm CKX Inc recently bought an 80% stake in the image rights to the great boxer Muhammed Ali, paying around $50 million to use his name, image and likeness of the boxing champ, as he was at the height of his powers, as they see fit. Ali retains 20% of himself in the deal (more, I suspect, than is actually left of the iconic boxing champion in him) as well as taking the money upfront, a shrewd deal for a man who was so badly damaged by boxing, one which guarantees his survival in the collective consciousness.

The same plunder is happening with all sorts of iconic figures of the 20th century, from Marilyn Monroe to Elvis to Che Guevara. Their images have been in use for years, generating awesome amounts of money for the license holders and for the estates of the dead stars, but it will be interesting to see where new technology takes their images – we’ve already seen Laurence Olivier resurrected for theatre and film, but as the technology advances, so will the scope for looting the brands of dead stars. Whole films carried by computer-generated versions of James Dean? A new romcom starring Elvis and Marilyn with a supporting role for Che? The possibilities are terrifyingly endless.

What fun the brand looters could have with Peter Mandelson, who stood up at the Labour conference the other day and completed his resurrection. As Quentin Letts pointed out in the Mail: “There were self-puncturing jokes, swishes of kitten claw and a series of exaggerated waist swivels, arm gesticulations and eye flashes worthy of a Michael Jackson impersonator.”

It leaves me wondering what we would be left with if Mandelson were to shuffle, untimely, off this mortal coil. Preserve him in aspic now and we would have the new, pantomime Machiavelli, the glamorous manipulator, the ultimate in Lazarene politician-kind.

Simply, he is the current brand apotheosis of this type of politics and the standing ovation he received at the Labour conference is as good as any baptism in waves of spin. Now he is free to fight his way to the leadership of the Labour party. I wonder which way the Sun would turn if he was in charge?

That said, I doubt anyone would consider building an island in his honour, should he pass on suddenly. A scale model of the Millennium Dome in a model village somewhere, perhaps, but that’s about it. Which is more than can be said for Gordon Brown, mind you, who, despite a rousing speech at the conference yesterday, has yet to shake off Steve Bell’s branding of him as a rain-cloud. His only hope for long-term brand management is his wife…

And so Michael Jackson is to be put to rest – or his physical form is at least. There is no doubt that his name, his brand and his image will live on for as long as it makes money. Death is merely a chapter break in the life of Michael Jackson – it’s not a full stop.

Floral tributes for Michael Jackson in LA

The allegations of paedophilia that haunted Jackson’s final years have all but disappeared and now is the time for a show to close that chapter of Jackson’s life – a show to end all shows and to begin new ones. The funeral seems to be gearing up to be a show for people to demonstrate love and adoration for Jackson – but it also seems to be more about the people commemorating Jackson than about Jackson himself. Shaheen Jafargholi, who sang a Jackson song on Britain’s Got Talent, will be there, singing alongside Stevie Wonder, Mariah Carey and more.

Like Princess Diana before, the crowds are gathering to mutually support each other at the Staples Centre and mutually assure that they forget the rough patches in Jackson’s life. But I’m more interested in the people who aren’t going to be there – David Blaine is in this country, Lisa Marie Presley is abroad. How will they be mourning?

The media gearing up for Jackson's funeral

There’s another funeral Jackson’s looks set to resemble – that of Phineas Taylor Barnum. It’s curious, given the freakish nature of much of Jackson’s life in the limelight, that his funeral should resemble that of the man who travelled the world with a freak show. But Barnum was canny enough to know that he was dying and well loved enough to get a copy of his own obituary a day or two before he died. It’s hard to imagine Jackson even countenancing the idea that he might die.

Here’s a report on the funeral of Barnum, written a little after the event over 100 years ago.

“The morning was cold, gray, and dismal. Nature’s heart, with the spring joy put back and deadened, symboled the melancholy that had fallen upon Bridgeport. No town was ever more transformed than was this city by one earthly event. On the public and private buildings were hung the habiliments of woe; flags were at half mast, and, in the store windows were to be seen innumerable portraits and likenesses of the dead citizen, surrounded by dark drapery, or embedded in flowers.

“Nor was this all. The people on the street and in the windows of their houses seemed to be thinking of but one thing–their common loss. The pedestrian walked slower; the voices of talkers, even among the rougher classes, were more subdued, and in their looks was imprinted the unmistakable signal of no common or ordinary bereavement.

“The large church was not only filled, with its lecture-room, a considerable time before the hour set for the services; but thousands of people crowded the sidewalks near-by for hours, knowing they could only see the arrival and departure of the funeral cortege. The private services at the house, “Marina,” near the Seaside Park, which preceded the public services in the church, were simple and were only witnessed and participated in by the relatives and immediate friends.”

More preparations for Jackson's funeral

It will be interesting to see how long the current state of post-Jackson euphoria-in-loss lasts – a lot of smoke went up over the allegations that marred his final years. Will any of it be blown away in the coming months? One thing is certain; if a brand is powerful enough and has enough money behind it, anything unsavoury can be made to disappear, as the fixers at MGM proved in the 1930s.

I’ll close with another quote from the report on Barnum’s death:

“When, in 1889, the veteran brought over his shipload of giants and dwarfs, chariots and waxworks, spangles and circus-riders, to entertain the people of London, one wanted a Carlyle to come forward with a discourse upon ‘the Hero as Showman.’ It was the ne plus ultra of publicity. There was a three-fold show–the things in the stalls and cages, the showman, and the world itself. And of the three perhaps Barnum himself was the most interesting. The chariot races and the monstrosities we can get elsewhere, but the octogenarian showman was unique. His name is a proverb already, and a proverb it will continue.”

Jackson was, without doubt, a huge brand at the heart of a huge, freakish circus and was the most interesting thing in it – as the recent outpourings prove. But will Jackson become a proverb – or just a bogeyman? Only time will tell.

I have asked my old mate Roger Edwards, who used to be marketing director of Wembley Stadium, to provide me with his own reminiscences on the Michael Jackson circus from the time he worked at Wembley. It is still surprising to consider that fifty nights at the O2 would have translated as five nights at Wembley in Roger’s day – something a little more manageable for Jackson, though not necessarily, given how very frail he turned out to be.

Wembley Stadium is now owned and run by the FA so its priority is football. The FA have always been an organisation that has had its issues. A strong vision might get them back up to speed, competing for gigs with the O2.

Michael Jackson at Wembley

Jackson played an unprecedented seven sell out concerts at Wembley Stadium on the BAD tour summer 1988 putting him in the Guinness Book of World Records. Demand was such that there could have been another seven but Brent Council had capped the number of concert licenses for the Stadium at 8 and the Stadium was already committed to the Nelson Mandela 70th Birthday Concert (Mandela was still in prison in 88 and this multi artiste concert simulcast around the world was to foster awareness). Originally pencilled for up to three days, when the concerts went on sale further dates were rapidly added, as it was clear demand would exceed the agreed number of dates, Brent Council were approached to extend the agreed number of concert events but could not be budged. Originally the Wembley dates were intended to be the UK’s only Jackson appearance. With the cap on Wembley and demand still running at a record level further dates were added at Cardiff Arms PK Liverpool Aintree Racecourse, Milton Keynes Bowl and Leeds Roundhay Park.

Jackson was at his absolute performing peak, the shows were fabulous audience reaction what can only be described as ecstatic. The demand and volume giving rise to a number of other interesting aspects. Merchandise ran at an unprecedented level but not without its curiosities. The merchandise company Brockum anticipating pirate sales had engaged an investigation firm to monitor known unofficial producers; the week before the first run of Wembley dates they trailed two forty foot trucks of unofficial merchandise from the North to the M1 Scratchwood services where the police impounded both lorries and their contents. This action however failed to completely stop off site unofficial sales.

The ticket sale profits from a later date were donated to the Princes Trust and Princess Diana attended the concert. This involved an exercise in getting Michael Jackson from the Stadium backstage area to the Banquet Hall where together with others he could be presented to Diana. This was following explanation to his people that she would not come back stage, Michael had to the Banquet Hall, this at a time when the audience were crowding the outer concourse. He made this journey in an unmarked van being dropped off at the kitchen loading bay before progressing past the well used bins, up a back staircase, through the kitchen and into the banquet hall where he joined the presentation line-up. I recall his being placed at the start of the line-up as the first to be presented but there was to be a wait until Princess Diana’s arrival, after metaphorically clicking his heels for a few moments he proceeded down the line introducing himself to others to be presented to Diana before returning to his first position at the start of the line.

There had been some debate prior the concert as to whether “Dirty Diana” should be dropped from the set list in case the audience thought this was some reference to the Princess.

On a personal front my eldest, four and a half at the time, joined Michael on stage at one concert before the 75,000 audience. At each concert a group of small children were collected to crocodile around the stage while Michael sang Working Day and Night.

Having enjoyed a very long career in venue management this sequence of concerts was undoubtedly a high point. It was pre internet ticket sales so sales were principally over the phone so for Wembley required briefing British Telecom who would filter calls so as to reduce the load on the local exchange to prevent it crashing. Tickets were security printed with a multiplicity of control features as was the norm at Wembley to prevent or at least limit forgery. I had never experienced such demand before and certainly nothing anywhere near since; the BAD tour was very much a moment in time.

The Return 1992 – the Dangerous tour

Not the same, by 92 that moment had passed although a longer run of dates were pencilled only three went to contract with only one other UK date at Sheffield Don Valley being included in the tour. Still a spectacular production including courtesy of David Copperfield the master illusionists advice Michael being made to disappear on stage as a closing routine before re-emerging flying round the side of the stage courtesy of a personal “jet pack” before finishing the concert with The Man in the Mirror as in 1988.

There was one unusual experience in the 92 tour; Michael was taken ill late in the day resulting in the necessity to cancel the concert. The decision was made to let the audience into the Stadium before telling them as being the most effective means of delivering the same message to everyone. Fortunately due the extra dates that were not taken up the concert was restaged later.

Roger Edwards Sales and Events Director the Wembley Complex 1987 – 92

If you thought the Enron fiasco was PR hell or that Starbucks charging rescue workers at Ground Zero for coffee was a publicity disaster, spare a thought for Sir Fred ‘the Shred’ Goodwin, whose PR strategy, in the wake of the collapse of RBS and his monster pension, has amounted to little more than ducking below the parapet of his ivory tower and hoping that all the nasty things being said about him in the press will go away.

He has no chance of that happening since the protestors came out and stoned his Edinburgh home. His is the high watermark of PR disasters; he is soaked through with the bad press. It is lapping at his shoulders. What he needs, of course, is a decent rescue package, of the sort that the sly old PR foxes, who I wrote about in The Fame Formula, would have concocted to salve his image. With that in mind, I have five solutions for him.

• The Reggie Perrin plan: Sir Fred could leave his clothes on the beach and disappear, becoming an urban legend akin to Lord Lucan. Unlike Lord Lucan, he would be expected to come back after a reasonable amount of time has passed, and other bankers are outed, so that he can resume his career as a pantomime villain after he’s had a decent rest.
• The Michael Jackson play: Another alternative for Sir Fred is to fly out to the King of Pop’s retreat in the Middle East and get advice from Jackson’s team of image specialists on how to make a comeback with reputation renewed. If he takes this option, expect a 50 date inspirational lecture series at the O2 Arena in 2010/11 under the title ‘Financial Disasters and how to survive them’ it may even sell out if anyone can afford to go. He could make a fortune by selling merchandise – £2.50 for a single rotten tomato perhaps?
• The Leonard Cohen plan: Alternatively, Sir Fred could renounce worldly matters, cast off his possessions and become a Buddhist monk. Ridding his soul of the weight of the seven cars, numerous houses and vast quantities of money to go and wallow in the richness of the universe would certainly help shred his karmic PR debt. One word of warning; Leonard Cohen tried it and didn’t give up the money. Instead, it was stolen by his accountant. To be tried only if Sir Fred’s intention is serious.
• The Charity play: If the ascetic life doesn’t tempt him, Sir Fred could always just set up a charitable trust to dispose of a large part of his income.
• The Tootsie plan: Finally, if all else fails, Sir Fred could find his way to a Swiss clinic, transform himself into a woman and, so disguised, come back and get a job at RBS. Once there, he/she could reinvigorate the failed bank in the same manner as he did between 2001 and 2006 and then, just as he/she is about to be awarded Dame Commander of the Order of the British Empire, he/she should disrobe on the steps of Buckingham Palace, wipe off the makeup and declare that Fred the Shred is BACK (keeping fingers crossed that RBS doesn’t suddenly collapse again in the meantime) and fighting for the reputation of bankers everywhere.

Michael Jackson’s done it again, surprising all the nay sayers who had written him off as a wash-out and a has-been. He’s sold out 50 dates at the O2 arena and will, assuming everything goes according to plan, play to around a million fans over that period.

Clearly all the web chatter on Twitter and other social networking sites has helped; this has been the venue for the hardcore fans of Jacko to turn the tables on the now-isolated traditional media who had written the newly re-crowned King of Pop off in the wake of court cases, alleged child abuse and years of hiding in unspecified venues around the world.

They have clearly forgotten the sheer number of committed Jackson fans out there, who worship regardless of scandal and who are an affluent global community. The media and Jackson’s record company are quite simply out of touch with the importance of such a huge and motivated fan base – in much the same way, Cliff Richard was written off and yet still sold records and concert tickets.

OK, this residency at the O2 won’t convert new fans to the Jackson cause, but it is proof of two things:

1. if anyone underestimates the power of social networking, they are fools – this residency was being tweeted about weeks before any official announcement was made and it was this as much as anything that drove the astonishingly speedy sales of all tickets;
2. that there is hope for the economy – people are prepared to spend on feelgood moments such as reliving their youth by seeing Michael Jackson in concert.

Of course, it helps that Jackson – or more likely his people – have cannily kept that starting price for tickets for the concerts low. £50 to £75 is nothing when Madonna was charging well in excess of £100 for a basic ticket recently. This has brought fans from Germany, Italy and France flocking to the O2 Arena, which is surely now the world’s premiere music venue, having played host to Prince, Led Zeppelin, Madonna and a forthcoming 50 date residency from Michael Jackson

Entertainment is a potent economic driver and, if sales for Jacko’s concerts are anything to go by, it may yet help reduce the drag and friction of the recession. But there is no room at the moment to spend big on advertising in the traditional sense; any entertainment, be it rock concerts, theatre, cinema or books, needs to tap in to the word of mouth bonanza that is the social internet.

There’s a long way to run of course – the dates wind to a close early next year and Jackson is a relatively frail man. The pressure of 50 shows could really take it’s toll. But at the moment, the Jacko phenomenon seems unstoppable. I’d say that this is the first hopeful sign for the economy I’ve seen in a while. Now let’s hope everyone learns the lessons it offers.

Where have all the rebellious heroes of British music gone? If the Brit Awards are anything to go by, there is pretty much no such animal anymore, just a parade of no-marks who are too wary of upsetting Mastercard, the sponsors, and the TV executives to do anything interesting.

The fact that the inoffensive Welsh songstress Duffy, a fine singer if you like your music to hark back to a supposedly innocent era where everyone was happy and no one rocked the boat, has been crowned the overall winner of this year’s Brits merely reinforces the corporate sheen of the modern awards, and where no alcohol is served whilst the TV show is filmed in case of trouble. No trouble is allowed, of course, in case it interferes with the mundane business of rewarding money with more money.

As recently as a decade ago, there was an inevitability about some sort of mischievous prank being pulled at the Brits; the award ceremony could be relied upon to provide at least one instance of much-needed end-of-winter anarchy in the TV schedules, be it Chumbawamba dousing John Prescott in water and changing the lyrics of Tubthumping to support the Liverpool dockers, Jarvis Cocker waving his arse at Michael Jackson or the KLF firing blanks at the crowd from the stage before depositing a dead sheep outside the venue.

Even Mick Fleetwood and Sam Fox’s notoriously bad presentation style at the 1989 Brits seems like a paragon of rock ‘n’ roll anarchy now, in an era when all we get by way of mischief and outrage is the crawling skeleton that is Amy Winehouse abasing herself in the Caribbean.

Of course, it was Fleetwood and Fox’s reign of autocue terror on the show that stopped it from being broadcast live; the first step in a steady progression of limitations that saw the Brits become less a celebration of modern music and more of a corporate jolly at a seaside resort, shackling British rock music to the tedious format that spawned it simply by reacting violently against it: the 1950s variety show.

Watching the Brits now, it’s as if the Beatles never went to Hamburg or discovered acid, as if the Rolling Stones never scared the parents of the Baby Boomer generation. Everyone plays nicely and the nation’s passion for music dribbles away.

The Brits, and pop music in general, need adventure, excitement, mischief, stunts and anarchy. Someone needs to be rewarded for all of the above, not just for toeing the line and practising the art of appeasement with big business and the company bosses. Rock ‘n’ roll demands bad behaviour. It’s great that Iron Maiden were awarded Best Live Act – here was one band in the line up who have always pushed the boundaries of publicity, moved forward and never just caved in to industry pressure, thanks in great part to their excellent manager Rod Smallwood.

The same can’t be said for the other winners. Girls Aloud are, without doubt, a nice bunch of women who perform cheery, upbeat songs, but they have no serious agenda; they are part of a celebrity money machine that is dying on its feet as the world of high finance implodes and people discover that they want more serious, cerebral and inventive things in their lives.

Sales of broadsheets are up, The Economist is experiencing a surge in sales. In the face of coming hardship, people are bound to want their entertainment to mean something again, to have a story behind it that is more than a metaphor for the excesses of the banking world. Amy Winehouse drinking herself into oblivion is not rebellion; what the rock and pop scene needs is a good selection of agent provocateurs amongst their ranks, unsettling the stale corporate shindig that is the Brits with something a little more radical and exciting.

Good music PR cannot just rely on churning out the latest set of sound-a-likes and hoping they’ll do something stupid or crazy (within a certain set of limits) for the press. In a digital download age, where music is becoming as ubiquitous as breakfast cereal, acts that want to break through with credibility intact are going to have to think very hard about what they have to say, what their music has to say and how they want to go about promoting it.