First, a disclaimer:
For some non-British readers — or readers who prefer Mozart or Wagner — you might be wondering: who the hell is James Blunt1? If so, here’s a little biography; if you know this already, just skip along to the next paragraph:
James Blunt, aged 50, is an English singer-songwriter. The son of an army colonel, like many children of soldiers he spent a childhood bouncing around the world before heading to boarding school at Harrow, one of Britain’s most prestigious private schools. He attended university before going on to Sandhurst, Britain’s most prestigious officer training school. He then served in the British Army in Kosovo before, after leaving the military, he started a career as a singer-songwriter. In 2004, aged 30, he scored a mega-global-hit with his song, You’re Beautiful.
You’re Beautiful sold shedloads but created a huge and lasting backlash. The song was, in Blunt’s own words, “force-fed down people’s throats and became annoying. And then people start to associate the artist with the same word.”2
Moreover, Blunt was posh. Rock stars should be mad, bad and dangerous to know. Apparently Noel Gallagher sold his £5.5 million Ibiza house when James Blunt moved onto the island, as he “couldn’t stand the thought of Blunt writing crap tunes up the road.”3
Blunt was understandably miffed by this ongoing dislike of him and his music. So he took to Twitter/X where, pretty soon, he was on fire.
You got quick comebacks:
…A mastery of self-deprecation:
…And the ability to come out with something original when, during the pandemic, 1,001 brands were coming out with all that ‘right now, more than ever, we care for you’ rubbish.
His hard work paid off. Admittedly, Twitter is not the Twitter it used to be — cheers Elon, great job there mate — but Blunt now has 2.2m followers; in 2020 he even published a book How to Be a Complete and Utter Blunt: Diary of a Reluctant Social Media Sensation. And his career’s doing alright: earlier this month he headlined at the Royal Albert Hall. Not bad going that.
But here’s the thing.
There seems to be a mismatch here. You have the heartfelt product (the songs) and the witty promotion (the tweets). And the two don’t seem to gel. Surely his humour gets in the way of the sincerity of his lyrics?
But it’s not the case. Because Blunt realises a core truth — and one that marketers should be far more aware of. It’s that he can stray from his brand in his campaigns. He doesn’t have to adhere to his reputation but he can mock, send-up and ridicule himself. It gives him complexity, and that’s only a good thing.
Let’s take an example of when a brand does this well.
British Airways is Britain’s national carrier: an institution, so much so you go to their Media Centre and see their royal coat of arms. To Fly. To Serve. How grand!
But their advertising campaigns? Back in the late 1980s, they got PJ O’Rourke, the American humorist, to advertise BA in their Johnny Foreigner campaign. Here’s what you got:
You get digs about what British people drink, the British weather, British sunbathing, British sport, British food, British war re-enactments, and even the British and sex (‘we all know what you’d prefer [a cup of tea]’).
Is it ‘on-brand’? No, and rightly so. Because a) advertising ‘We fly! We serve!’ is dull and b) pompous and c) it certainly isn’t memorable. In this campaign BA knew that they can kick against their perceived stuffiness — and many other brands should take note, too. They’re amusing us — nothing wrong with that.
The great strategist Paul Feldwick (above) has said of advertising, ‘We’re not creating a work of high art — we’re putting on a show.’4 Perhaps it’s fitting that it takes an entertainer, James Blunt, to teach us this very simple — but oft-forgotten — lesson.
Many thanks for reading,
Paddy
pg@studiogilmore.com
+44 7866 538 233
LinkedIn: here
Did I ever think I’d write a newsletter entitled In Praise of James Blunt? Frankly, no. But that’s life, isn’t it? Full of surprises.
Feldwick, Paul: Why Does the Pedlar Sing?, Matador, Kibworth Beauchamp, 2021, p.201.