Branding. Most of us don’t think about branding much. Sure, we find ourselves irrationally loyal to Schmoozer’s Coffee, with its dark, rich aroma, as opposed to Loozer’s Coffee, which smells like rancid dishwater, although in fact they’re both manufactured identically in the same factory in Tierra del Fuego by the same fourteen-year-old girls. But as for ourselves, well, we’re just paying our mortgages and repairing our cars and worrying about the next Bernie Madoff and what in the world is going on with KG’s knee. Who the hell needs a brand?
Well, I do. What do you get when you see Sam Bayer? Or when you listen to him on your CD player, or read his ramblings on the Web or in your email inbox? How do you explain Sam Bayer to that random person from Mars who (heaven forfend) has never had the Sam Bayer experience? How you convey the essence of Sam Bayer in 10 words or less? What, in short, is the Sam Bayer brand?
It’s gotta be memorable – after all, Schmoozer’s Coffee’s slogan is “It’s aromatastic!”, not “Our coffee is more likely to smell better than the competition”. It’s gotta be a good sort of memorable – I mean, Loozer’s certainly made a splash with “Goodbye, stinky coffee!”, but it’s likely that they didn’t intend it to end up as a mocking validectory on “The Simpsons”. And it’s gotta be meaningful – it has to highlight something about me that I want you to remember.
Branding is the reason that the graphics on my Web site are my own. Branding is the reason that I chose a signature font a long time ago and stuck with it. Branding is the reason for “Literate. Resonant. Exuberant.” on the top of my Web page, and why I lead off virtually every booking inquiry that way. Those are the three things I want you to remember me by – they’re the three things that make me memorable, and I’m pretty sure those are three of the most likely impressions that someone who sees Sam Bayer will take away from one of my performances.
I need branding because I’m part of a market. You can go see innumerable talented performers on any given night in the Boston area – sometimes it feels like you can’t swing a dead cat in this town without hitting a guitar player. I need to distinguish myself, and do it efficiently, and do it in an appealing way. Otherwise, you’ll go drink Schmoozer’s Coffee instead. It’s part of being in business; and although I’m not planning on making any money at this, I’m still competing for something that you value: your time and attention.
What brings this to mind today is a long-standing joke about my stage act which bubbled back up to the surface at a recent open mike. As you know, I’m a relatively tall guy – at 6’2″ and change, I don’t need to sit on anyone’s shoulders at the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade. So the local open mike hosts get a kick – sometimes over and over – out of how far they have to adjust the microphone stand to accommodate me. I remember one host who extended the stand up to about 7 feet or so, to which I retaliated by standing on a stool (mess with me at your peril).
In any case, on this particular recent night, I described myself as “the tallest man in folk music”. This, of course, is a possible brand, and I thought, briefly, about how good a brand it is. And the answer is: not a very good one. Phrased the right way, it’s kind of amusing, but it’s not genuinely funny. It’s almost certainly not true; and although truth isn’t a prerequisite for branding, it certainly helps. But the worst part is, it doesn’t say anything about me that I want you to remember; after all, I can’t imagine your recommending that your friend go see Sam Bayer because he towers over other folk musicians.
So I think I’ll stick with the branding I have. The next time you come to see me, remember: Literate. Resonant. Exuberant. And, if you catch me on a good night, I’ll also be tall.