So powerful. So emotional. So important. My wife, along with BBH NY, produced the above spot for Google. I couldn’t be more proud. It’s not every day that you can take comfort in your hard work actually helping someone.

For more info, please take a look at:

http://itgetsbetter.org

I moved to New York a few months ago. Before I got here, I had worked from a home office for almost eight years. Everyone asks if it’s been a big adjustment. Honestly, other than getting used to being surrounded by Yankees fans, it really hasn’t.

On the subway the other day, I did, however, realize that I have fallen into a fairly defined routine.

I take the subway from my apartment in Brooklyn to my office in Manhattan every day. As soon as I’m out the door in the morning, I have my headphones on. I listen to podcasts almost exclusively on the walk to the train. For a while now something from 5×5 Studios has been filling my ears. I don’t usually have any coffee until I get to the office, so slowly waking up with podcasts seems to work. I tell myself that listening to tech podcasts—as opposed to music—gets me in a frame of mind for work, but I have no data to back this up.

As soon as I get on the train, the podcasts stop. I usually spend the train ride reading on a Kindle, though sometimes I’ll catch up on whatever is in my Instapaper queue. I’ve always read a lot, and one of my favorite parts of commuting on the subway is having a set amount of time twice a day to clear my head and mentally check out. The train ride is 40 minutes or so, and it flies by when I’m reading.

Once I get to my stop, the headphones are back on, and it’s a few more minutes of podcasts before I get to the office.

When it’s time to head home, I reverse the process—except this time it’s all music. The thought of listening to podcasts on my walk home seems foreign to me. The music I choose depends on my mood. Lately it’s been a lot of Japandroids, Pavement, and LCD Soundsystem. Getting back to where I left off on the Kindle is a comforting way to wrap up the day.

I’ve never thought of myself as someone who has a specific routine. Yet, suddenly I do, and I really sort of like it.

I spent the past few days wandering around Southern California. I snapped a bunch of photos with Hipstamatic.

You can check out the rest of the set here.

You’ve probably seen the recent Old Spice commercials (“I’m on a horse”). They’ve had the internet talking for a while. Brilliantly written, shot, and executed. Winner of the top prize at Cannes. A client’s dream–an ad that has everyone talking.

So what happens next? Create more spots that will keep people talking? Sure. Build on the momentum you’ve created? Of course. How about talking back?

Huh? I thought advertising was more of a one-way street. Finely craft your message over and over again, put it out there, and hope that is resonates.

Once you’ve done the hard part–building a brand that’s identifiable and connects with people–the tools are there to do more. Who’s going to use them?

Earlier today Old Spice took to Twitter and Facebook and started fielding questions that would be answered–very quickly–by Isaiah Mustafa (the guy on the horse). The results that started pouring in were addicting.

Biz Stone, one of the founders of Twitter, mentioned that they were “cracking up watching the hilarious responses” come in, and shortly after, Old Spice guy had this response for Biz:

Just the responses and the use of the social media platforms is impressive on its own, but when you start thinking of what has to go into this, you realize it’s unlike anything you’ve really seen before. It’s not a live blog, or a celebrity chat.  It’s not a bunch of @replies. These are videos that are written, edited, shot, and uploaded. There are writers crafting the copy that Old Spice guy is speaking in almost real time. In a world where most commercials you see are edited, and revised, and approved by clients, and revised again over and over, these were completed in a matter of hours. And it all fits with the tone of the original ad. To say that this was a genius piece of casting would be an absurd understatement.

I mentioned on Twitter earlier that these video responses feel like a dramatic shift in “advertising.” Putting the word in quotes was intentional because I’m not really sure what this is. These responses aren’t ads. I suppose there’s a proper term like “brand extension” or the like for something like this, but this feels new.

Everyone’s trying to use all the same tools: YouTube, Facebook, Twitter. They’ve been right there for the taking, and the results I’ve seen so far have been hit or miss. Strategies are being built, plans are being revised, and tweets are being ghostwritten. Somewhere, someone had the confidence in a group of very talented people to bypass all of this and just react.

The Internet was buzzing about someone that was selling soap today, and that’s impressive.

I was taking a train from New York to back to Boston recently, and—as I usually do when I am coming home from a trip—I started flicking through the photos that I had taken on my iPhone.  I’ve never stopped to give it a lot of thought, but this had become common procedure for me.  Suddenly I realized that with all of the SLRs and Point & Shoots and Flips that I tend to carry around, the images on my iPhone actually tell the truest story of what I’ve been doing.  Thumbing through my iPhone cameraroll is an accurate re-telling of what’s been happening in my life on a day-to-day basis.

I’ve always liked the camera in the iPhone, and have been relatively happy with the results that you can get from it, but I hadn’t stopped to think much about the role it was playing.  I enjoy taking photos, and I have a lot of fun doing so.  Still, with an SLR, and even a Point & Shoot, I spend more time thinking about the shot—how it’s framed, are the settings correct, etc.  With the iPhone camera you take the shot.  Maybe it comes out, maybe it doesn’t.  There’s a charm to that.

It also leads to a lot of shots that you may not stop to take with another camera: a sign at the airport, the cup of coffee you just ordered, a funny bumper sticker.  I used to keep boxes of old ticket stubs from concerts and movies, but now I take a photo of the movie poster as I’m walking into the theater, or the marquee outside of a show.  It makes a nice timeline.  I also takes tons of photos of food.  I probably have a photo of every meal I’ve eaten in a decent restaurant in the past year (much to my wife’s delight).

And it’s not just photos, it’s screenshots too.  A funny text or Twitter.  Something cool I see online.  A map of a trip.  It all gets dumped into the photoroll without much thought, but afterwards they become pieces of a puzzle that are easy to put back together.

You don’t have to read a lot about photography to see the oft-repeated phrase “The best camera is the one that’s with you.” While this has always been true, when I stop to think about it with regards to the iPhone, it’s incredible.  In the roughly two years that I’ve had this phone, I don’t think it’s ever been more than 30 seconds away from me. Seriously.  It’s usually in my pocket.  Sometimes it may be upstairs when I’m downstairs, but that’s about it.  I don’t go out of the house without it.  I don’t leave it home when I go somewhere.  It’s literally with me everywhere, and as result, I have photos of things that I may have never captured with a regular camera.

I’ve never kept a journal.  I have a website/blog/Tumblr dealy.  I have a Flickr photostream.  I have this column.  These are all outlets for sharing specific information that I choose.  I put at least a small amount of thought into everything I post on these sites.  I take a certain amount of pride in it all.

And yet I can sit, as I often do, and look at all the photos on my phone and feel like I’m watching the story of my own life.  As mundane as it sometimes is, I never get tired of it.

Earlier this month the famed Boston radio station WBCN went off the air.  WBCN was one of those things that was just always there, and I never stopped to think too much about it.  Over the last few days that they were broadcasting, people started to pay more attention in a “I can’t believe this is really happening way.”

I think the first time I really became aware of WBCN was when I was in high school, and living in Connecticut.  I had started to become intrigued by this band from Burlington, VT that I was hearing a lot about—Phish.  Back then, in order to get news updates and tour dates, you had to call into an telephone hotline, which was basically just an answering machine where they would read off the latest info.  I found out that Phish would soon be playing a radio show for the “Rock Of Boston, WBCN.”  I talked my parents into driving me and a friend up for the night and we saw the show.  I remember thinking that if Phish was playing a show for them, they must be pretty cool.  WBCN was now on my radar.

Within a few years I was living in Boston and going to school.  WBCN became an immediate pre-set on my car radio.  You just knew they were a big deal.  You’d pass Fenway Park and see the old, black building out on the far side with the huge, white WBCN logo scrawled across the front.  It was part of the fabric of the area.

When I was in college, I started taking a bunch of classes on writing, and American literature; The Beats and the Vietnam War—your basic liberal arts education.  One of my favorite professors was a life-long Boston resident.  She’d tell us tales of what Boston was like in the heady times of the late Sixties and Seventies.  She talked about how WBCN was always on—an ever-present soundtrack to that bygone era that was so easy for me to romanticize.  And I could still go home, tune the radio to 104.1 and, in a way, tie into that history.

Towards the end of college I started interning for the local radio rep at the Boston Virgin Records office (a position that, incidentally, lead to the job I have today, in a roundabout way).  I have tons of great memories of this time, but I’ll never forget the feeling of excitement when my old boss Howard would stick his head out the door of his office and announce something like “‘BCN added Lenny!”  The whole office would cheer.  It was a big deal.  A big fish in a pretty big pond.

Years later, back in the music business after a few detours, I stood in the BCN studio near Fenway and had one of my all-time musical idols hand me a glass of champagne that had just been poured from a bottle presented to him as a gift from Oedipus, a local legend in his own right.  In hindsight, it made some sort of cosmic sense that that was where we were.  I still have the cork from that bottle.

Over the past few years WBCN changed a lot.  Like a lot of stations, they constantly tweaked the format of music they played.  They seemed to lose a bit of identity, and along the way my listening faded.  Still, I work in the music industry, and even with all the ups and downs, ‘BCN was still ‘BCN.  Having a single added there was still a big deal.

So a few weeks ago, on the night that they were to sign off for good, I knew I had to listen for one last time.  I sat at my computer and listened to them play one last set of great music, and share stories.  Something else cool happened as well.  I started looking on Facebook (a site that I’ve had more negative feelings towards than positive of late), and it seemed like everyone I knew that had any connection whatsoever to Boston was talking about ‘BCN going off of the air.  It was a nice moment, and it reminded me that I’m happy to have a central place to share those thoughts.  The internet may have diluted the community effect that radio has these days, but it also brought a diverse group of people together to share their thoughts on it.

I sat there with my headphones on, listening to them play Pink Floyd’s “Shine On You Crazy Diamond” one last time.  As the song ended, they played a montage of highlights from the long and wild life of the station.  As it ended, the call letters of the new station were spoken, and then it cut to static.  I listened to that static for a long time without even realizing it.  WBCN going off the air was never a “my life will never be the same” moment.  It wasn’t something I thought about on a regular basis.  But sitting there, listening to that static, gave a me a chance to reflect on that thread that has been woven through all my years living in Boston.  It’s strange to think that it’s gone.

Take a listen for yourself:

There’s no shortage of ways to find new music.  There’s the old traditional standbys of TV and radio and banners ads on the internet.  Then there’s services like Pandora and the like—things that diagnose the elements of various music that you select, and give you recommendations based on similar sound patterns, etc.  While something like this is fun, new music by algorithm has never sat quite right with me.  I hate math.

I’m more inclined to give something a good listen based on the recommendation of someone I trust or respect.

One of my favorite albums I’ve bought recently is When I Pretend To Fall by The Long Winters.  I don’t really like to play music critic, so I won’t.  I’ll just say it’s good, smart, melodic Indie pop.  Every time I listen to the album I think two things: 1) how damn good it is straight through, and 2) I remember how I found it.

I’m a fan of The Decemberists, and I’ve followed lead singer Colin Meloy on Twitter for a while.  One of the things I like most about Twitter is that you can easily find new and interesting people, especially when paying attention to other people you “follow.”  One night Colin Meloy made a reference to John Roderick.  I clicked through saw he was the guy from The Long Winters.  Now look, The Long Winters were part of that big group of Indie bands that somewhere in the back of my head I had heard good things about, but had never listened to (if I should have recognized Roderick’s name immediately, or have a copy of his albums somewhere on my hard drive already, I didn’t).

So I make my way to The Long Winter’s site and start poking around.  Soon I discovered that they have a whole zip file of songs that you could download for free.  An instant sampler pack.  Not a “fill out this big form and when you’re done you’ll get one track” type of deal.  No, this was one click, and you had a folder of MP3s on your desktop—easy.  It was late at night, and I started listening to them.  I really liked what I heard.  I must have listened to those MP3s three or four times in a row sitting there messing around.  I was a fan.  The mp3 worked.  Next thing I knew, I was on iTunes at 2am buying When I Pretend To Fall.

What’s the big deal about that?  Nothing really. It’s just how it’s supposed to work, or how—I imagine—that you hope it does. John Roderick is on Twitter.  Seems like a funny dude.  He’s the type of musician I enjoy the most in a format like that.  Just there to shoot the shit and interact with people, not to necessarily pimp his own stuff.  I’ll tell you what though, there’s a pretty direct line from me seeing him on Twitter→going to his website→sampling the free mp3s→buying his album.  Sure I’m one guy, one album purchase, etc. etc. but something about the process sits well with me.  It may have started with CNN’s favorite buzzword social media tool of the moment, but the end result was me making a purchase that felt authentic, and memorable.  On some level, it makes me like the album even more.  There’s a story there.

Postscript

Lately I’ve had this phrase running through my mind: “the internet is small place.”  I couldn’t help but laugh when a few weeks after going through this process and listening to the album a bunch, I’m reading a long and excellent essay by Merlin Mann (who fits neatly into my other main area of interest—the Apple/web/tech nerdery world) when three-quarters of the way through the piece I click on one of his links, and see who he’s interviewing.  Small place indeed.

Love it or hate it, everyone seems to have an opinion about Twitter right now.  One of the results of this Twitter boom is seeing well known people jump on board, and watching how they use it.  For some it’s a one way window into the little details of their lives, and for others it’s a way to actually connect with people on their own terms.

Coming from the music industry, I’ve been especially fascinated with a lot of the musicians, and how they are using it to change the way that they interact with fans.  If you can’t go two feet without hearing about Twitter these days, then you can’t go ten feet without hearing about the changes that the music business—really the entire entertainment industry—is painfully going through.  There’s an enormous paradigm shift happening in the music industry.  Some artists are jumping on this opportunity to bypass a lot of BS and connect directly with their audience.  They’re takin’ it to the streets—metaphorically speaking—in 140 characters or less.

Enter Bob Lefsetz, the curmudgeonly old-school critic of all things music.  Say what you want about him, but people at all levels of the music industry are aware of what he has to say.  And for as much as Lefsetz makes me cringe sometimes, he’s also dead fucking spot on pretty often.

Not many weeks go by where Lefsetz won’t post an email from a big name musician or producer or label head.  He recently shared an email from Amanda Palmer that I haven’t been able to get out of my head.  Palmer has been going through a very public feud with her record label, going so far as to ask them to drop her.  She’s also very active on Twitter.  These things as, as you may have guessed, are related.

Palmer tells stories of fans lining up to meet her and buy her album.  They follow her on Twitter and ask her questions.  And she answers them.  She shares little bits of random info and photos and thoughts. A lot of fans would love to receive this stuff from their favorite artists, but this unrestricted avenue through which info could flow didn’t exist in quite the same way until recently.  Sure it could be posted on a website, but how many major artists are actually editing their own site?  Now anyone that can text message can send a TwitPic photo ten seconds after it happens.

As Palmer explained to Lefsetz, when she was in Australia recently, she did an impromptu gathering with fans in a park, announced only via Twitter.  150 kids showed up to have their records signed.

“LIFE IS BECOMING AWESOME.”

“no manager knew! i didn’t even warn or tell her! no agents! no security! no venue! we were in a fucking public park!
life is becoming awesome.”

I haven’t been able to get that line out of my head.  I work for a record company, and I’ll tell you, the chances of getting something like that to happen from my end are pretty slim.  It’s not to say that people wouldn’t like the idea, or that we couldn’t try to make it happen.  It’s just that there are too many people involved.  Too many people to say no. If we set up a promotion or event with an artist, it’s essentially on our terms.  If Amanda Palmer wants to choose a time and a place to meet people, and only tell them via Twitter, those are her terms.  And that’s pretty awesome.

And it’s not just Amanda Palmer.  Look at Lily Allen, and her scavenger hunts for tickets before every show—all via Twitter (or excuse me, “Twitta”).  I get a good laugh when I think of pitching an idea like that.

Or Dave Matthews, with his oddball humor—a perfect fit for this type of communication.  A lot of the responses he gives to people feel like a more authentic connection than physically standing in front of him for five seconds and getting a record signed.

So what does this all mean?  Does it mean that all you need to be a successful musician is a solid list of Twitter followers, an iPhone and a good sense of humor?  No, of course not.

There’s a reason that people are passionate about Amanda Palmer, and her music comes first.  She’s built the foundation.  Could she be successful from here on out with no label?  By just touring and putting out releases on her own that her fans buy to support her?  Yeah, I think she probably could.  Could she start over today with none of that history and achieve the same results with only those tools?  I tend to doubt it, but I’m not so sure.  Someone’s going to do it.

So as frustrating as it can be to see a respected member of the old-guard media make a fool out of themselves when talking about something “new” like Twitter, it makes it that much more exciting to see more and more well known artists grab hold and use this new technology to connect with their audience in a way that didn’t exist a few years ago.  In that sense,  I completely agree with Amanda Palmer, life is becoming awesome.