Pow! Right Between The Eyes! Andy Nulman's Blog About Surprise

What I Learned This Week: Lessons From Three Hours of Standing in the Rain

Last Saturday, I stood in the rain for three hours watching a Green Day concert.

Here's what's wrong with that sentence--people who know me, even remotely, know that I:

• Don't stand for three minutes for anything, let alone three hours
• Hate the rain, and do my best to avoid it at all costs.

Yet there I was, with about 10,000 other faithful, watching what was one of the top five live rock music shows I've ever seen (and this coming from a guy who's been attending concerts, and lots of 'em, for over 35 years).

Mixed in with my enjoyment of this musical experience was this nagging professional conundrum:

How in the world can I get people to stand in the rain for comedy?

Since my return to Just For Laughs, one of the major challenges I put upon myself was to "hippify" the world of live comedic performance, a field that while entertaining and ultimately satifying, hasn't changed much over the 11 years I left it for the experience at Airborne Mobile (frankly, it hasn't changed much since I started at Just For Laughs in 1985...but that's adding salt to the wound).

Trust me, I've been thinking about this a lot.  Too much, perhaps.  But here are my major conclusions:

--Music works in the soul, the gut.

--Comedy works in the head. It's a cerebral process that requires attention and a basic understanding of language, history, pop culture and/or current events to connect the references and "get" the jokes. Even the most basic knock-knock joke, x-rated dick joke or slapstick pratfall is an intellectual experience.

--Music is an emotional ride that conjures up memories of love affairs, personal milestones and special events.  Songs often define one's life-changing moments.

--Comedy, even at its most esoteric, is rational. Unlike songs, no wife has ever turned to her husband to say: "Oh honey, he's telling our joke!"

--Music is easy to digest.  You don't even have to pay attention.  That's why tens of thousands of fans at Montreal's annual Jazzfest can get off on a Brian Setzer concert, hundreds of feet away, with their backs to the stage, while talking to their friends.

--Comedy requires focus.  Miss a set-up and the punchline makes no sense.  It's more intimate and requires a closer relationship between performer and audience.

Great.  So now I understand it.  Now what the hell can I do (other than maybe offer Green Day's incomparable frontman Billie Joe Armstrong to host a JFL Gala) to create the same type of gut-level, rock 'n' roll bond so that if it rains during our outdoor event next summer, I can still count on a happy, content, and dare I say, delighted crowd?  How do I lessen the need for the head and increase the straight-to-the-heart?

It's indeed a work in progress, but perhaps the best clue can be found in the two words Al Kratina of the Montreal Gazette used to ultimately describe the Green Day show in his review the next day:

 

HAPPINESS and EXCITEMENT

 

And now...the mission to create both.

Bring your umbrella.

What I Learned This Week: The End of Stuff As We Know It

I am writing this post in the library office of my new home.

Surrounding me are over 2,000 vinyl LPs, about 1,000 CDs, two dozen painstakingly-arranged photo albums, and about 2,000 books of all ages, shapes, sizes and values.

While comforting and secure, I realize that this room is more than my new place to contemplate and compose:

It's a pantheon, a museum, of so many things the Internet has rendered obsolete.

Consider the irony.  Accompanying me on my writing adventure tonight is new music from Marc Cohn and Brian Wilson (dig the Gershwin take big time) on a Napster subscription delivered through my Sonos multi-room sound system. There goes the need for those CDs and albums (not to mention the DVDs, 45s and cassettes and even 78s I didn't even want to mention).

Plugged in next to me are both my iPad and my Kindle.  While my iPad screen gets greasy and needs a buffing more now and then, it's a lot easy to clean than 22 shelves of dusty hardcovers.  And while the debate between the two e-reading experiences rages on, all I can think of is the soreness of my muscles from schlepping, opening, dusting and placing dozens of boxes of heavy pulp fiction...and non-fiction...and graphic novels.

A glance up above to the ring of photo albums reminds me that I have to upload some pix I took at the Paul McCartney concert last week to Flickr...and to digitize the 1000-plus photos I have in plastic cases stored in my co-op's locker downstairs.

So what's the lesson this week? 

The Internet has eliminated the need for "stuff." 

The late George Carlin created a classic routine in which he described a home merely as "a place for my stuff," and the feeling I get after moving from a house to an apartment this week is that I didn't downsize far enough.  Forget operating systems and email clients: "the cloud" now contains the type of things people of my generation once held near and dear.  I know my kids will find moving way less of a chore than my wife and I ever did; toss the essentials in an overnight bag and new life here I come!

I'm being facetious, but not my much.  Just walking around my new place, I'm pondering what the next category of "stuff" the Internet will eliminate.

--Hmmm...the art on my walls can be replicated, purchased a lot cheaper and changed more often via a video screen.

--What about clothes?  I have drawers and hangers full.  Perhaps technology will provide us with cotton or paper spinner/printers that would turn out single-use garments that can be recycled after use.  Goodbye closet space, washing machines and detergent, which will become as obsolete as, uh, washboards (look at up, as anyone who ever used 'em are long dead).

--Or how about all the booze in my liquor cabinet?  Who needs heavy, breakable bottles of fine wine or Johnnie Walker Blue (indulge me, my friends!) when I can get the same effect from a tiny pill?  Are today's chemistry labs tomorrow's vineyards or distlleries?

Okay, so maybe I'm tired. 

Maybe the move has rendered me a touch melancholy. 

But if you think my ideas for the future sounds a little nutty, they're no nuttier than what has happened to my beloved--and now obviously extraneous--music, book and photo collections.

Somewhere up above, George Carlin is chuckling.

What I Learned This Week: 10 Minutes of Holy Fuck!

Unlike real life where I'm accused of employing, shall we say, a somewhat "salty" vocabulary, I rarely--if ever--swear in this blog...which makes this week's headline so striking.

Here's the story behind it:

I'm currently working on a September presentation to the entire Just For Laughs/Juste pour rire employee group, one which will outline the creative and spirit direction I want the company to take, and unveil some of the tactics I want to use to get there.

Helping me in putting this all together is a creative whirlwind named Pierre Pilon.  A couple of weeks ago, at our first meeting on the subject, he asked me for "the briefing," namely, what I want to this presentation to be.

And that's where the idea of 10 Minutes of Holy Fuck! was born...'cuz that's what the presentation would have to deliver if I wanted it to work. 

I've said this before, and rung the bell of obvious each time, but the Internet has changed everything.  It has contracted attention spans to an almost ridiculously-microscopic measure, and has sung the swan song for the concept of subtlety.  For example, the old "speaker's adage" used to be:

• Tell 'em what you're gonna tell 'em
• Tell 'em
• Tell 'em what you told 'em

These days, the audience fidgets through the preamble, tweets during the middle and are out the door before the recap.  

So the way I see it, I've got 10 minutes to singe my employees' eyelashes and emblazon my ideas on their collective craniums before they tune out.

No time for bullshitty, long-winded mission statements.

No set-ups, just punch lines.

No salad, just the main course. 

And this ain't just my humble opinion.  Two days after my meeting with Pierre, I was in another one about a pilot for a half-hour comedic show we're producing for a major television network.

Only thing is that they don't want a 30-minute pilot for the 30-minute show.

They've ordered a 10-minute sample. 

Yup, once again, this is a job for 10 Minutes of Holy Fuck!

The entire concept, the yea/nay decision, the direction change for our TV department, the life-or-death of the show, is dependent on a mere 600 seconds...which tosses crucial televisual elements like multiple camera angles, rapid performer cuts, vibrant set design, punchy/familiar-esque theme music, sharp writing and stellar performances into a nuclear reactor with no option for failure.  Make all these things move in unison and you've got boundless energy; if things bump into each other well...BOOM!  Bombs away!

A few years ago, my hero and marketing guru Seth Godin said that most business books don't need to be books at all; a well-structured blog post can communicate the basic idea more efficiently and effectively.  Same may go for speeches; when I was at TED last year, even the 22-minute ones--a 60% reduction of the usual 60-minute fare--seemed to drag.

10 Minutes of Holy Fuck!  That seems to be the key to getting ideas across, to making the sale. (P.S.  No relation to the band of the same name, whom I suggest you check out and stay with for a little longer than 10 minutes...but I digress.)

I'm all for it, and am currently carrying the torch in preaching its effectiveness as a tool of persuasion.

My only fear? 

Someday soon, it won't just be the means to an end...but the end itself.  

Until then...I've got a TV show to sell.  And a company to inspire.

Holy Fuck, indeed!

What I Learned This Week: The Rehearsal is Part of the Show

There are good meetings and there are bad meetings.

But then there's the hour-long session I had on Friday with Marc Beaudry, a gentle giant of a man who was the tech and operational head of our street event this summer at Just For Laughs. 

This was one of the most intense, interesting, eye-opening and enlightening discussions I've had in a long time.  I talked a bit, I listened a lot and in doing so, I learned a ton. (One of the things I should learn is that you can't measure informational input by weight, but I digress...)

Within his astute 60-minute overview of the stumbles and opportunities of the Festival at large, Marc recounted this story almost matter-of-factly:

During rehearsals (which were, obviously, outdoors to replicate show conditions), he noticed quite a sizable crowd gathering every day. They watched intently, and hung around until the end.  "If we were better prepared," he said, "we could've sold them thousands of dollars worth of beer, food and merchandise."

And then he dropped this pearl:

"These days, the rehearsal is part of the show."

And better still, one of the most profitable parts of it.

I speak from experience, unfortunately more on the "buy" than the "sell" side.  A  few months ago, my wife and I paid an ungodly sum to watch Peter Gabriel run an orchestra and a very elaborate digital stage presentation through the paces four hours before showtime.  And this Thursday, I'm part of a team that's helping raise funds for the David Suzuki Foundation by selling VIP Packages to Sir Paul McCartney's concert.  The package includes tickets in the first eight rows, a pre-show reception and--the kicker--access to Sir Paul's soundcheck.

Price of EACH ticket?  $2,000.

We had 100 such tickets to sell.  Note I use the past tense; we sold out in a couple of days.

I also witness this year after year directing the Gala shows at Just For Laughs.  My friend Len Blum loves coming to rehearsal even better than coming to the show itself; you get to see the trials and tribulations of putting together that night's performance, and in the case of a William Shatner rehearsal that Len sat through a few years ago, you worry and wonder if the show itself is even going to happen at all.

Why the fascination?  The answer, methinks, is two-fold.

1. These days, everything in showbiz is so well-packaged and massaged, that perhaps the "real show" is the true-life, warts-and-all experience of the packaging and massaging itself.
   
2. Once out there, every TV show, every live show, every film is just about instantly available everywhere, immediately and in hi-def.  The actual rehearsal is the last bastion of holdback.  Never mind the after-party; welcome to the Pre-Party !
   

While so apropos in the business of show, this "behind the scenes" magic works in business everywhere...probably even yours.  What may be mundane to you is often fascinating to your customers, your suppliers, or even the public at large. 

Case in point: the Web 1.5 phenomenon of Blend-Tec's "Will It Blend?" series.  Before exploding into an Internet sensation of over 117 million views, what was it?--a homevideod lab experiment that tested the power of the blender on non-traditional items.  The company's "rehearsal" literally became the show.

So, to put some action items on Marc's insight, next year's Just For Laughs will open up the curtain, allow customers a different vantage point, and financially exploit "the storms before the calm." 

But if today's rehearsal is tomorrow's show...what is tomorrow's rehearsal?

Uh Marc...gotta spare hour or two?

In he meantime, here's Sir Paul's soundcheck from the 2008 show he performed in front of 200,000 people in Quebec City.

For free.

For now.

I'm Begging You--Please Help Me Ambush My Partner Gilbert on Twitter!

 

I haven't begged you for anything since the release of my Pow! book a year ago, but this is so dopey it's important:

I type this and plan this ambush as my great and good partner Gilbert Rozon boards a plane for a lengthy working sojourn in Edinburgh, Scotland. (That's him above if this thing works.) 

Here's the story--given the re-alignment of the Just For Laughs Festival, Gilbert and I have been in deep and spirited conversation all week. 

And, given its importance in our future, said conversation always ends up focusing on our digital strategy...to which his parting comment is always:

"Well what do you know?  I have more Twitter subscribers than you."

Yes, he calls them "subscribers."

Now, given his finely-honed sense of humor after three decades in the business, I thought he was kidding with that statement the first seven times he said it.  

But after the umpteenth verbatim repetition of it, I know he's wasn't.  He's dead serious.  He thinks that by gathering a whopping total of 2,800-some-odd Twitter followers, he's the digital love child of Aston (@aplusk) Kutcher and Diablo Cody (given that he knew who either one was...but I digress).

Truth be told, the reaping and sowing of Twitter followers has not been one of my obsessions.

Until now.

So, I'm not proud. 

I'm getting down on my knees and begging you to help me show him up. 

I'm begging you to please follow me on Twitter, and tell everyone you can to do the same.

I need you to help me return sanity to the conversation, and eliminate Gilbert's ridiculous blanket statements.

I promise I'll be worth your attention and time.  I'll Tweet more often, be witty, follow more of you, respond quicker, give you insider dirt...name your price!

As Bugs Bunny so profoundly said: "Of course you realize, this means war."

And war it must be.  Just look at Gilbert on his Twitter pic--wearing an army helmet, for Crissakes!  

Help me bring him down to size!

What's this shallow victory worth?  

One thousand charitable bucks.

Yup, I'll donate a buck to a worthwhile charity for every follower I have more than Gilbert, up to 1,000 of 'em, and post the receipt in this here blog.

I thank you.  Reason thanks you.  A charity thanks you.  

And so will Festival-goers throughout the ages.

See you, and about a thousand more, at www.twitter.com/andynulman

What I Learned This Week: Can You Spare A Little Change?

With my bible in hand (Chip and Dan Heath's majestic Switch) and swagger in place, the mandate coming into my second debut at Just For Laughs is "Change Everything":

• The theater stage set
  
• The way we do our Galas
  
• The TV shows we produce
• The places we present our shows
• Our marketing from top to bottom
  
• The Festival dates themselves
  
• Maybe even our URL (Do we ditch hahaha.com for JustForLaughs.com?)
  
• Keep adding here...
  

Way easier said than done, I'm beginning to discover.  

The path to change is indeed a gorgeous one; freshly paved with shimmering blacktop and a clear view to a glowing Utopian destination.

But start to walk said path and barbed-wire-wrapped roadblocks rip through the pavement like spring-loaded razor blades.

Yeah, everybody loves change... 

Until you actually change something.

That screech you hear is dozens of brakes all being slammed at the same time.

Here's what I'm starting to realize--change is an irrational state of mind.  We're wired for routine and regularity and rationality.  Getting to that copacetic state takes a bit of time, and once nestled within it, the idea of change from it is exciting...but just that.  An idea.

Another gnawing realization? 

People don't want to effectuate change...

They want others to react differently to the status quo. 

In other words, I ain't gonna change--you are.

Sorry folks, change is a dance that Fred's gotta lead, not Ginger.  (If this uber-old school reference is way above your head, click here.)  Once your public or your customers make the first move, it's too late.  There's some other partner already waiting for them on the dance floor.  Enjoy your newfound status as the lonely wallflower.  Buy yourself a drink.  You're gonna need it.

Last realization (and a key one with light at the end of the tunnel): the only time change is easy is when it's forced, like when someone dies, or quits, or moves away, or a factory closes, or something burns to the ground.  These emergency situations, while dire, force the hand of change and, sad-but-true, actually bring out the best is us.

So I guess the best way to change things up is to create a scorched-earth situation...without actually dropping the bomb.

I'm strapping on the helmet and tightening the jockstrap.  Stay tuned for details.

--------------

On another note, an email conversation with Cameron Archer led me to re-discover the Mike MacDonald/Just For Laughs video below on his blog URBMN. What makes this archeological find so special is that it's the first piece of live comedy I ever directed in my life. 

I was in my 20s at the time, and was quite familiar with Mike's "Rock 'n' Roll Fantasy" number, with which he closed his comedy concerts for years. While Mike always used the glasses, tennis racket and jacket props in clubs, it was my idea to choreograph it and blow it up to stage-level with hanging windows, rock posters, lightbulb microphone, basic pyrotechnic blasts and--la piece de resistance, merci!--the chest of drawers that spun to reveal a Marshall amp.

I'll never forget the buzz I felt when the curtain rose as Mike cooed "Then I'd sneak upstairs to my room..." and the audience took in stand-up comedy with a rock-and-roll/theatrical infusion.

Primitive, but hey, we all gotta start somewhere.  Got lots more video and behind-the-scenes stories where this came from, and if the reaction to this one is favorable and plentiful enough, maybe I'll unveil others from my private JFL DVD collection, which includes some never-before-seen stuff from folks like Tina Fey, Kelly Ripa and the infamous Tom Arnold-led "Abu Graib, The Musical" song and dance number.

But for now, from our Showtime and CBC shows of 1987, here's Mike MacDonald: