The Copy Scribe's Tale

The Copy Scribe's Tale

I do possess a pen for writing
Which I use also for reference citing
But of course we, on a qwerty keyboard do publish
For modern time requests of our English
To be abreast of the time's direction
And to keep our technology under constant inspection.
Time, of course, waits for no man
And no man will sway its arbitrary plan,
Cant, as they will, in traditional lore tune
Of great expectations and God-sparing fortune.
With this lament begins my Tale today,
Of Prince Ameer from AAA
Whom was a copy scribe like I, and was proud
To proclaim a few compositions aloud
To any he deemed worthy to hear
A given body script or radio ad idea.
He loved his writing so, that did promote a brand
As well as himself to make a name in his land.
But let us not forget the bane of this pride,
That we should seek in our work and divide
What we cherish and what is of promotional function
Lest we crumble at the critique of any conjunction
For it will doom the scribe to unfounded dispair
At the sight of commercial corrections here and there.
But of these things, Prince Ameer was not yet aware
As he wracked his brains and pulled at his hair
For inspiration was sparse at the time
And any idea would seem sublime
To be on-brief and to the inquisitors' liking.
Questioned the Prince, "A concept with mountain biking?
Or what about hamsters that would appear so cute?
Would the inquisitors not think that astute?"
Inquisitors did not look kindly upon such art
Which was conceived during a brainfart
But valued that which celebrated benefits
Be it of clever, referential Monty Python skits


To be continued...

The Best Ad in the World.

On receiving a brief for Handy Andy at college, how can this masterpiece of mine avoid winning a Loerie?

Psalms from the World Cup: Spain vs Germany semi-final

The wrath of the Germans had finally been dashed to pieces, and the South African hosts sounded their vuvuzelas with greath mirth and merriment. The non-believers countenanced not the abysmal German performance. The heathens wept and called out to the Germans in the departing tourbus. "What shall come of ye in the conflict of the 3rd-place?" inquired a non-believer of a German player. He who is named Schweinsteiger replied, "We shalt gather the remains of our dignity. We pray that we produce victory lest we fall to the Uruguayans." And to this the heathens replied, "Godspeed thou, for thou hast struggled to retain possession against the Spaniards. We fear thou shalt suffer similar hardship at the feet of the Forlan the Conquerer". "He is but a great leader and striker," exclaimed Mueller the Young. "Confident word of us dominating the Uruguayans are rightly thus reduced to dung from the bull." And all were in agreement of the truth uttered from the youth.

Spain did triumph over their oppressors, and they saw that it was a great victory. And lo, the German car flags and mirror-socks did doth disappear. "Behold the Spanish victory", cried the happy people of South Africa, for they celebrated that all was well again in their land. But all was not yet well. "Heed the Dutch, for they have vanquished Forlan the Conquerer," proclaimed David Villa to his followers. "Let us harken unto our great striker's words, for they are wise words," said Xavi. And, at the behest of their prolific goalscorer, the Spaniards knew to prepare substantially for the world's greatest battle.

It's copyWRITER! With a "W".

When I did Media studies and English, it annoyed me when people asked me "what's that?" and "what job can you get with that?" Now that I'm studying Copywriting, a far more specialised field synonymous with the job name, I find it much more annoying that people assume what it is.

"Oh, like with law and that" and "Oh ja, intellectual property. Great stuff". No, that's not what I do. That's Copyrighting. R-I-G-H-T-ing. I write copy for adverts. I've learned to answer simply that I write adverts. Of course, the title is way oversimplified as it involves brainstorming advert ideas, working with an art director and formulating campaigns for radio. We also make sure that the marketing element is in place for the advert so that we can actually sell the product for the client/brand. Otherwise, the great ad would be great in the same way Anna Kournikova is a great tennis player.

What is even more confusing is that the rights to the adverts, copy, visuals, concept etc. play a major role in the field. The intellectual property of the copy, and the rights of the advert are all vital to the process of publishing an advert. So yes, copyrighting is involved in copywriting. Kapish? Oh, and FYI: The agency/college gets the rights to the adverts, and not the bright spark who thought of the idea. At least we can put the ads in our portfolio. Sweet.

From my internship at an ad agency (that provided the free time from which this blog was relaunched) I see we're not safe in the industry either. Junior copywriters are assumed to be dictionaries because "words are our thing". Nevertheless, I press on through the questions and assumptions by family, old friends and new people I meet. It seems that the annoying homophone (write) and the equally annoying homonym (copy) will continue to team up and haunt the description of the job and industry. Unless, of course, it is spelled out (literally) to those who ask. What's in a name?: Confusion, assumption and frustration.

Dilbert: Take some time out of your day to worship Scott Adams' genius.

I've just got hold of the first 2 seasons of the Dilbert TV series, and watching it after spending some time interning at an advertising agency, I now appreciate its genius.

In the same way South Park is precise in satiring everyday-life, such are the masterpieces of Scott Adams, the Dilbert creator, in satiring the corporate environment. The short-sighted logic of bosses, the evil indifference of the human resources department and the marketers' faux friendliness are all humourously ridiculed almost to the point of utter poetry. It's sheer brilliance. Every single character is representative of a concept in reality and Dilbert himself is a medium through which these common experiences can be portrayed.

As a teenager, I bought The Dilbert Principle, The Dilbert Future, and Dilbert's Joy of Work. To me, they were sort of reference books because they were non-fiction and only referenced the actual Dilbert strip after explaining each concept. I liked this about them because they weren't just a collection of funnies. They were a collection of true-to-life ideas that were explained through a few strips. They revolutionised the way I think of things; most notably my cynicism and sense of humour. After that I delved into The Way of the Weasel, which also gave me insight into the ridicule of the corporate environment. I applied this in my final years at high school which was very rewarding as high school is run exactly as a business (at least the one I was at), except for downsizing I think. Then again, I've heard of pupils being "suggested" to other schools and of course, students changing schools. As a result, I didn't find it difficult to convert the corporate satire into academic institution satire. What an eye-opener.

Working in the agency I'm at, I can see how the satire works in essence. The way marketers are portrayed in Dilbert are so precise to the way they generally behave that I think the hyperbole can be applied to practically any marketer. The way I've seen marketers behave in both the real world and at advertising college had me canning myself with laughter at the way they behave in the TV series.

Get something Dilbert now, be it merchandise or a watch if you can't get a book. Even try and bend your tie upwards to work or something, because homage must be paid to an oeuvre this phenomenal.

My Guitar Setup

Should we still respect Zinedine Zidane?

Not often do we come across a player who transforms an entire footballing nation from apprentices of Europe into the monarchs of a generation. Zinedine Zidane was certainly such a player.

The French hosts of World Cup '98 were a seemingly mediocre team leading up to the finals. Even their home advantage of the finals didn't give the world much expectation of what was to come. Zidane pummelled in two headed goals against the Brazilian kings of football in the final to be crowned World Champions. They subsequently became champions of Europe at Euro 2000 as well, lead by the respected Zidane. For the time being, Zidane had erased the glory and hype around the Brazilian footballing way of life, and transferred all focus on the French flair. They were unstoppable. Players like Lillian Thuram, Thierry Henry and Nicolas Anelka were suddenly at the helm of football, rapidly being transferred to the club giants of European football. Zidane was the hero of French, and in many senses, world football.

Things fell apart at World Cup '02. France left the group stages without scoring a single goal. They were shamed. But, they returned will full force at World Cup 2006, reaching the final beating the Brazilians on the way again. The French looked strong in the final until the incident. When Zidane headbutted Materazzi and was sent off in the World Cup final, he had lost all respect. This was the hero's grand exit from the game he had changed. Zidane watched his flourishing work crumble as Italy beat France on penalties in the 2006 World Cup Final.

The events leading up to the World Cup in South Africa in 2010 shamed France even more, as France knocked out Ireland with an obvious hand ball goal to take them to South Africa instead of the Irish. The French team were booed more often by the French than any other "supporters". Their performance was abysmal, not looking like a team at all. This was life after Zidane. Should we excuse Zizou? Should we still respect a great player despite a horrible retaliation on the world's greatest footballing stage? I, for one, respect Zidane as a footballer despite the incident, as musos respect Kurt Cobain despite his suicide.

Spike Lee Movies are Great

I've come to the realisation that I actually enjoy Spike Lee movies. This goes without saying usually, but while I'm watching them, I'm so engulfed in the experiences of the characters throughout the movie that I kind of "forget" the entertainment factor of the escapism. Movies like "Do the Right Thing" and "Mo' Better Blues" are two of the few of them I've seen recently.

I love the fact that in "Do the Right Thing", everything takes place in the course of one day. It's fantastic. The moment near the beginning of the movie when the elderly man tells Spike Lee character to "always do the right thing" was so powerful to me. It nails dramatic irony so well, especially when Spike Lee's character tends to ignore him a bit.

And in "Mo' Better Blues", I enjoyed how the Jazz feel works with the Spike Lee style of making movies. Jazz progressions are very free-form, fragmented slices of experiences that eventually hang together at the end of each phrase, or scene. It's very textured, and Jazz is a great allegory for Spike Lee films in general.

In "School Daze", I got caught up in the hyperbole of the typical American school hierarchy system. I enjoyed how the climax builds to near-complete destruction at the end and then is halted completely as they exclaim repeatedly "wake up". The message that one should constantly remove oneself from the situation and question it rationally is a very important message in life. The value of composure in situations can change them completely.

But seriously, the characters, the message, the poetry, the allegories, the satire... they all come together so well when Spike Lee controls what happens through the looking-glass of a camera lense. Spike lee movies are great. Go and watch one soon.

The Musical Other

http://www.alteye.co.za/articles/the-musical-other

Posted 2007-10-16 @ 13:37:32 In articles > features

Ameer expresses his views on coloured rock band members and their role in a predominantly white scene.

Before venturing into the inside of the venue way after midnight, I meet a white guitarist that I’ve seen somewhere before. He wasn’t anything out of the ordinary as far as local guitar players go because otherwise I would have remembered his name. “Hey, mate,” he says while heading on out. And I ask him of the whereabouts of his destination. “I think I’m about to head off home now. There’s not much going on down here” he says. I wish him well for his trip home and thereafter, I give a signed greeting to a bassist I know. This particular man of colour usually tends to my musical needs; him being a customer assistant at the local guitar store. I ask if his band is playing tonight over the loud din from inside. His response is that I had just missed them, but he made mention of another band playing inside. A live gig wasn’t my purpose that night but I decided to give them a listen while I wait for my friends to arrive. Afterall, the friends I was waiting for were all Muslim coloureds like me and this wasn’t the conventional scene where coloured Muslim boys hang around. But I considered myself an exception, for I had played at this venue a year ago with my metal band and I felt I had been accepted as an honorary metalhead. I had headbanged with metalheads whose skins were the palest of pale, of whose hair were the straightest, longest and blackest I had ever seen along with a beer-odour that was the most intense I had ever experienced. Also, I was well versed in rock discourse and this was apparent to the frequenters of this venue, given my faded Led Zeppelin T-shirt. I had been through the saltmines of the metal scene and felt quite at home with whatever was to happen that did not concur with the “skin-culture” imposed on me at birth. I made my way through the crowd to watch the band that destroyed the lovely evening silence.

They were a mediocre rock band at best – simple guitar lead melodies played over standard power chords. The singer/guitarist sang in strained high-pitched vocals as if he was still struggling with the vocal handicaps laid upon pubescent males. The pseudo American accents and mannerisms on stage could but stifle a yawn from the most musically tolerant of gig-goers. I seemed to be the only one with this point of view as I witnessed the crowd singing along until I asked the coloured brother in the sound booth about the band’s particulars. “Some crap band from Cape Town,” said the sound man. I stood and analysed the gig further to pass the time. Eventually, I felt something strange about the ambience of the place. On paper, it was the same type of gig as every other at this venue, but I then realized the oddity of this event.

There was not one white person in the room. The band, each individual in the audience and the aforementioned soundman were people of colour. What really puzzled me was the fact that I was in a room with all my own people, yet I felt out of place. I was used to standing around white people at a gig while taking comfort in the fact that I was a non-white with some sort of credibility. There is no question that in Cape Town, rock and metal are genres with a predominantly white audience and played by white people mostly. This is also a stereotypical association as well as a fact. The stereotypes of this would be that coloureds have a genetic predisposition to not ‘understand’ rock, metal, punk and similar white genres, and at the same time are only physically able to enjoy ‘their’ genres such as hip hop, rap and R ’n B. This stereotype works in the same way towards white people liking rock and being unable to understand these coloured genres. And hence, the barrier exists between the brownies with their Hip Hop and R ‘n B culture, and the whiteys with their rock and heavy metal. But why does this stereotype exist here in South Africa? The media definitely has something to do with these stereotypes being somewhat consistent with the global stereotype of rock being a white genre.

The media makes us associate good things with certain types of music via signs such as money, sex appeal and desirable automobile aesthetics with Hip Hop and R ‘n B whereas rebellion, aggression, epic guitar solos and big hair are associated with rock and metal. The main question here is why people of a certain skin colour seem to be compelled to listen to their stereotypical musical taste? It is as if people started to form unspoken cults where certain race groups abstain from a type of music because it is regarded as sacrilege to indulge in the ‘other’ genre from the ‘other’ racial group. This leads us to question the role of early musical influences in people’s lives and whether whatever is exposed to them while growing up is the cause of this dichotomization. Are people classically conditioned into liking certain types of music through a type of propaganda through the media from an early age?

I used to be a coloured music purist myself in my early high school days and anything slightly leaning towards rock was something to avoid. I would scorn at the traitors who indulged in the ‘other’ genre and whiteys who listened to ‘my’ music were infidels. I took music very seriously and this sense of rebellion aroused my senses. However, in somewhat of a revolution, I decided that Queen wasn’t that bad and slowly began to delve into the rock realm. I worshipped the song Bohemian Rhapsody for it was certainly musical genius and eventually found out that Led Zeppelin’s Stairway to Heaven rivaled it as the greatest rock song ever written. By the end of high school, I was completely into classic rock and by taking the Led Zeppelin route, I was exposed to heavier eighties metal. I gigged with hard rock and metal bands throughout university celebrating my official taste in music. All of a sudden, I feel as though I am an outcast. I am the ‘other’ in the type of music I indulge in and have now become used to it. I scorn at some for not being independent enough to decide what type of music suits them. I feel they should not be compelled to like any genre. I now am aroused in the rebellion against conforming to a particular genre. The response I got as a coloured musician in these types of bands was fairly good but I still felt as though I was the ‘other’. For example the other members in my band would not be stopped at the door having to prove they were with the band. I also felt somewhat special being able to truly exhibit my metal status as I eloquently churned out rock and metal riffs to a white audience while surrounded by whiteys onstage. As a crowd member, I once moshed so hard as to have achieved an offer to a free shot from a fellow mosher. I declined due to my religion and he in turn declined my suggestion of Coke as a consolation due to principle. This was another indication of the insolubility of my beliefs and culture with the metal scene.

The ‘other’ has excelled in terms of global music. Jimi Hendrix outplayed legends Eric Clapton and Pete Townshend during in the last four years of the sixties and is now regarded as the greatest and most influential guitarist ever. Eminem, a white blonde blue-eyed man, is now regarded as one of the greatest rappers alive. And there are many ‘others’ in our world such as Tom Araya, the voice and bassist of thrash band Slayer, and Kirk Hammet, the lead guitarist of Metallica. The response to these band members is similar to what I had experienced as being an ‘other’ on stage. It is a response that is not determined by the colour of your skin but rather the quality of your performance. If you please the crowd in any genre, you are doing your job.

On this reflection, I stand in awe of my situation in the crowd amongst my people of colour and watching a coloured band please a crowd. I ask myself if the ‘other’ still exists in this situation as I start bobbing my head to their songs. I think about the relevance of where they stand in terms of the rest of the Cape Town rock music scene and whether they could be regarded as a statement towards the scene. Afterall, even though their level of credibility and amount of musical exposure and experience is questionable, they are doing their job and expressing their views through the music they love. The ‘other’ in this sense is irrelevant because this is the common goal of all musicians.

Metal Hamsters run wild

http://www.alteye.co.za/articles/metal-hamsters-run-wild

Posted 2009-08-10 @ 01:03:04 In articles > reviews Metal show at ROAR featuring 6 heavy bands

As we pushed on through the cold wind and looking forward to a sonic rush of metallic proportions on the night of August 1st, ROAR in Observatory welcomed in speed-hungry metalheads upstairs for the Metal Hamsters show. With women in free and a score of opportunities for free alcohol, this event was not poorly attended. Six heavy bands were warming up for a night of moshpit mayhem and drunken headbanging. The musicians anticipated creating a winter-warming metal inferno above Gandalf’s in the presence of live broadcasters of the night, Rock Out Radio.

First up were Fear Strike, who certainly got the embers flaming brightly. Their thick rhythms and solid, melodic vocals raised the temperatures in the upstairs venue. Starting off with stately riffs and ending off with booming, 7-string chunk, they set the stage for the five upcoming acts.

Cold Hand Chemistry began concocting ethereal moods and powerful melodies to compliment their heavy demeanour. They nurtured the fiery start to the evening by stirring up the first moshpit by the end of their set. At this point, the flames were licking violently as the sound engineers repositioned the front-of-stage monitors and satisfied fans helped their fallen moshers off the floor.

Pariah Born delivered with their consistent, groovy professionalism. Their rhythmic swaggering and classy riffs kept the heads bobbing in the audience. They had armed the stage with their twin guitar stacks and musical euphoria. Their flailing dreadlocks danced in sync as the rhythms trudged on through the electric air.

And so the heatwave brought the destruction of ideals, embodied in a musical, heavy metal army. Dismantling the Architects dominated the searing arena with speed-metal riffs juxtaposed with sophisticated keyboard-driven themes. Their sing/growl motifs were rendered such that there was beauty in their chaotic stage anarchy. The audience consisted mostly of a riotous mosh throughout the set.

Taking a risk with a new singer, The Plague continued the speed-metal cause. With rhythm playing as fast and intricate as anyone’s lead playing, the band’s guitarists wowed the audiences with their aggressive yet whimsical style as they pulled off classical arpeggios as if by telepathy. The substitute frontman came as a surprise, but all in the band agreed afterwards that it was one of the best risks they could have taken in their dire situation.

Deharmonic ended off the blazing evening with a hard attack on their poor guitar strings and drum skins. The vocals were equally powerful, conjuring up evil hatred towards all but metal. Their obscure yet intricate playing style drove home the fact that the Cape Town metal scene is one that is becoming increasingly competitive. The blissfully entertaining bands and range of heavy styles of the evening ensures that the followers and fans of this cause are in for a hyperbolic spectrum of quality acts.