I've thought about this subject for a long time.
I guess it could be said that I was genetically predisposed to be a critic of advertising. Back in The War (y'know, WWII, the BIG one), when women were grudgingly welcomed into the workplace because their menfolk were off making the world safe for democracy, Mom worked in advertising for a small midwestern daily. She mostly dealt with placements, but occasionally, wrote copy as well.
Remember the period: newspapers, magazines and radio were the dominant ad media. All assumed their reader or listener had an attention span longer than the lifespan of a gnat, and at least a modicum of practical intelligence. In other words, things were DIFFERENT then.
Aside from the annoying radio jingles,ads were mostly stories. They told you how the Acme Veeblefetzer worked, how your life would be fulfilled if you bought one. Some of the ad-stories were works of art, and held you enthralled. Others were merely craft, but still conveyed a message with an economical use of words. Aside from Fitzgerald and Ogden Nash, Mom loved nothing so much as a clever slogan or a concise, gripping ad.
As a kid in school, my reports were reviewed by Mom's unflinching eye. I was expected to live up to journalistic standards, convey the five W's, learn not to bury my lede (to use the old-fashioned spelling). It was valuable training. Hardly surprising, then, that one sister became a reporter and editor, the other an English teacher. Me, I majored in journalism...and mechanical engineering? Occasionally, I've been called upon to write a few words. My brother? Well, he has a photographic memory when it comes to song lyrics, if that counts.
Before I hit my teens, I knew the work of David Ogilvy and George Lois, two of the most brilliant copy-writers of all time. I say that with admiration, and not a drop of smarmy condescension. I learned from them that ads could inform, ennoble, and make you laugh your ass off.
Ogilvy was a classicist: he attended Oxford, worked as a chef, ended up selling the cookstoves he used so successfully that he was recruited by an ad agency. He was a master of the catchy headline, his best-known being, "At 60 miles an hour the loudest noise in this new Rolls-Royce comes from the electric clock." He was also a brilliant analyst of business and of human nature; some of his aphorisms
can be read here.
Lois was a smart-ass immigrant kid who seized attention with outrageous headlines coupled with striking images (often by the photographer Carl Fischer). Lois' 1960's covers for Esquire were brilliant, often biting, sometimes just goofy: Ed Sullivan in a Beatle wig? (
seen here. Lois also conceived the memorable "I want my Maypo" campaign, utilizing well-known athletes like Wilt Chamberlain and Mickey Mantle to sell to adults a cereal previously viewed as baby food.
So, you may well ask: what has this got to do with audio gear?
Audiogon is a community where, among other activities, folks sell audio gear through the use of advertisements. And frankly, a lot of those advertisements need help.
Let's think things through before writing an ad. What will a potential buyer want to know about my piece? Why is this model special?...yes, the reader may well know, but it doesn't hurt to elaborate. How has it been used, and maintained? Is it full of cat hair? (Don't laugh, I've seen it, and SMELLED it. Oogh.) Is the price firm? How will I accept payment, and to where will I ship? How quickly can a buyer expect response and shipment?
These are Mom's basic five W's, all over again: who,what,when, where, why. Don't forget that pesky "how", which messes up the structure.
And please: if this is to be a community, we're going to have to be CIVIL. The guy who offers $100 for that Krell may simply not know any better. Take a deep breath, have a cup of coffee. Just don't respond in the vicious way that I've seen all too often. The flip side is true, too: if you're going to make an offer, do your homework first. Look at other ads or the BlueBook, before you send that email. Don't be nasty, condescending, or snide. If you're going to make an offer, BE SERIOUS, and be prepared to BUY the piece at the price you offer, RIGHT NOW. Don't waste another member's time or falsely get his or her hopes up. Come on. Just be real.
Beyond the basics, have a little fun. Tell a story about the gem you're selling. I don't mean regale us with how your beloved Shih-Tzu, Mr. Snuggles, used to howl along with Norah Jones when you played the amplifier you're offering for sale (although that would be a good story). Really, though: try to be interesting. Provide enough detail that someone can BECOME interested; I've seen ads with headings so brief and sketchy that they baffled even an old ad-reader like me.
So: Ralph Gleason? If you're old enough to remember Rolling Stone when it was a tabloid newspaper, sold folded, with a vertical cover-layout like a magazine, then you're old enough to remember Ralph Gleason. Ralph was the Stone's premier music critic, who knew everyone, had heard everyone, but was always positive about it, informative and upbeat.
"Ralph Gleason" is also the name of an amp built by member Dertubemeister, and the subject of a remarkable, rambling, funny ad (
seen here), which prompted my thoughts on the whole subject of ads, what they should be, and what they CAN be. If you think a clever, interesting ad is too much trouble, and won't make any difference, anyway: sorry, you're wrong. This ad was read over 1400 times in ONE DAY, and the amp sold within hours. Get the picture?
A good ad reflects the character of its writer, and judging by this ad, Lance Cochrane (AKA "Dertubemeister") is QUITE a character. Lance tells me he runs post offices ("it's only the government when it suits their needs") and builds amps for fun, out of whatever he finds. Tweak parts? "Nah, it's not the parts, it's the circuit." He never builds the same amp twice; each is a unique creation, which he signs and dates, befitting its status as #1 in an edition of 1. And why the equally-unique ads? "People like stories," says Lance. True enough.
The name "Ralph Gleason" came to mind, Lance said, because,"in audio there are always people who insist on being unhappy with whatever they hear. Then there are the guys who can relax and enjoy it." Lance saw the same attitude of acceptance and enjoyment expressed in Gleason's music reviews, and thus, an amp was christened.
Lance's ad, written in a style he calls "stream of obnoxiousness", is probably as divisive as his approach toward amp-building; one either finds its discursive narrative charming and engrossing (as I did), or WAY too long if one is used to reading only text messages (OMG! RU 4 REAL??). Whichever view you hold, you can't deny that Lance's ad is unique, a reflection of who he is. I look forward to the day when I can meet Der Tubemeister in die Taverne, and share viele Biere, bitte.
A good ad can not only sell, it can make friends and help build a community. Give it a shot. What've you got to lose?
