The bris would begin shortly. The chant of the Mohel, his clinking metal instruments, the shriek of an infant. We didn’t have to be in the room, but proximity was a sign of respect. I stayed close. Others stood outside in the hallway; they’d listen, not watch. Cookies and pastries and chocolates — “nosh,” as Grandma calls them — filled the air with sweetness. Comfort food; we’d need it.

Read it here.

I’m not old enough to remember this city, but from what I’ve learned, Times Square in the 1970s and 80s was banal, beaten to the brim, filled with junkies, sex shops and crime.

The artists and intellectuals — avoiding the pitfalls of eroding midtown — took their hobbies elsewhere. A second cohort of the Beat Generation emerged as young, ruminating artists left to find a place in the city to call home.

They chose to move downtown and New York’s formative renaissance began.

Downtown presented an empty canvas: undeveloped economies, bustling streets with virgin sidewalks, alleys waiting for graffiti and clubs soon-to-be filled with punk-rock and hip-hop. The arts flourished because there were no rules.

The downtown terrain was sprawling enough to suit an incoming of new settlers while empty enough to personalize. Some of our greatest art — still recognized today — was produced in downtown New York during its creative boom.

The evolution of New York’s subculture is a natural process, and downtown isn’t what it used to be. The city has been gentrified, cleaned up and settled by families. It lacks the rugged, do-it-yourself culture it was built on. Yesterday’s graffiti artist has been replaced by today’s stroller pusher. The artists left for newer, emerging habitats.

Where is the counterweight to today’s mass, consumer culture?

Is the internet the new downtown?

The concept is popular because its applicability throughout the business food chain is all-encompassing:

Will the starters — the entrepreneurs — be successful with a glorious win or a rough, constructive failure under their belt? Do you hire a previous employee of a failed empire, or do you recruit one that rode the wave to an IPO? Do you invest in the team that has failed marketing a few previous, but promising ideas or that has already built and sold a product?

The answers to these questions might seem obvious, even trite. Of course, you would bet on the previous success! But recent research could sway you to answer differently.

Bob Sutton, in an article in the Harvard Business Review, summarized one particularly compelling study

Shmuel Ellis and his colleagues have really dug into this issue [of learning from failure] with, first, a field experiment with two companies of soldiers in the Israel Defense Forces, who were tested for their performance on navigation exercises. The critical difference between the two groups was that — following standard practice in the Israeli military — the first company had a series of after event reviews during four days of navigation exercises that focused only on the mistakes that soldiers made, and how to correct them. The second company, in its after event discussions, focused on what could be learned from both their successes and failures.

Then, two months later, these same two companies went through two days of navigation exercises. The results showed that, although substantial learning occurred in both groups:

Soldiers who discussed both successes and failures learned at higher rates than soldiers who discussed just failures.

Soldiers in the group that discussed both successes and failures appeared to learn faster because they developed “richer mental models” of their experiences than soldiers who only discussed failures.

One of the more interesting arguments in this realm would be to determine if the startup and founder ecosystem is engineered like evolution: Does Darwinism apply to early-stage companies and their founders? Does success actually breed more success?

I would define the success of a startup, first and foremost, as the construction of a sustainable, profitable business, followed by M&A transactions and liquidity events. Based on the typical longevity of these events, they must favor success by default. But, what about on a shorter¹ time-span? Do only the strong survive, or is the two-time failed entrepreneur more likely to have a third success over the two-time successful entrepreneur? I don’t have the data or the experience to answer this question, but it’s healthy to wonder how and why a previous experience, if any at all, matters.

My opinion is that we shouldn’t see failure as an excuse for not succeeding. That’s where I see the “failure is good!” research conditioning irrational behavior, which can be detrimental to entrepreneurs. Failure has certainly done more good than bad. Consider the Edsel, Newton or the Bob, all seemingly failures with positive, long-lasting outcomes. But, what about the failure of Lehman Brothers, Bear Stearns and AIG? Have these atrocious events provided financial reform or simply conditioned the banks into believing it’s okay to fail at the financial expense of others?

Failure shouldn’t be celebrated or feared. If necessary, it should be reflected on, but never encouraged. Ultimately, the reward of failure is some experience. The reward of success is some experience and, that one thing that really matters, a successful outcome.

Failure is overrated. Failing is a hell of a lot easier than succeeding. The only thing you need to do to fail is nothing. I’m not arguing that anyone supporting failure as a learning mechanism has done nothing, but part of me believes failure is widely encouraged because the majority of the people preaching are trying to feel better for failing themselves.

The “failure is good!” mantra falls into the same trap that many other claims in entrepreneurship-world fall into: they are supported by a culture of echos rather than hard facts and data.

1. I realize this isn’t a perfect analogy to evolution because studying evolution requires analyzing a long time-spans.

Creativity falls into a category of traits often claimed but rarely defined. My observations tell me this happens for three reasons:

One, the word has sex appeal. Similar to “entrepreneur,” it’s become marketable and desirable for someone to claim he is a “creative,” even if he’s not. The second, most authentically, is communicated by someone who creates things while lacking the acuteness to articulate what he is creating. The third is communicated by someone who claims a creative philosophy, but is ignorant to communicating his reasoning.

The distinctions play a role in the unique war occurring between the opposing poles of popular culture: art and marketing. I categorize art as original work derived from the hands and minds of the second and third distinctions. Historically, art has generated new cultural movements. The subsequent mass marketing is a collection of messages recycled from the original art, often developed by individuals in the first distinction.

Both art and marketing can, and do, stand on their own, but are more effective when combined. For instance, for a painting to reach mass appeal and commercial success, it needs to be created by the artist, while most effectively marketed by a second party, such as a museum. Likewise, a marketing campaign will prove influential when its guts have been created by the unique work of an artist.

Today’s original art is reflective of today’s mass marketing and media, rather than the other way around. Consider the following two examples:

The Banksy-influenced street artist Mr. Brainwash currently has an exhibit displaying colorful pop portraits in a spacious New York warehouse reminiscent in style of Andy Warhol, including quirky prints of Obama, Kate Moss, Keith Haring, a taxi cab in a toy box and broken record outlines of pop figures Slash, Jay-Z, David Bowie and Sid Vicious. Mr. Brainwash leveraged existing, pre-marketed trends, repackaged them and resold his art to an existing culture and new audience.

Or, take the Significant Objects project, where writers develop original stories around insignificant objects, crowning them significant, subsequently selling the items on eBay for more then they are “worth.” The objects, often just everyday items, increase in value because of the original narrative wrapped around them. Similar to the Mr. Brainwash exhibit, an existing culture has been repackaged, redesigned and recycled for a likely new audience.

Art has become so recycled and repetitive that one meme’s high quickly fades until the next hit. Today’s artist isn’t an individual; he’s been reduced to another, for lack of a better word, remixer.

Present culture is faced with a cyclical dilemma: Artists aren’t starting trends, they are repackaging them. Mass marketing, to its benefit, has become so relevant that it’s viewed as inspiration by today’s creatives. With any period of inflection–a loophole exists. There is a rare opportunity to lead a wave of artists that create the culture, rather than simply reflect it.

Who will be part of it?

When my foot hits the solid pavement outside of the front doorway, I spend a few seconds absorbing the surroundings: the New York people, the New York air, the New York noise, the New York smell¹ –the entire New York pill swallowed at once is an inspiring drug.

The average person’s morning priority is to begin moving their legs into a walking pattern towards their destination. But for me, walking becomes secondary to my music fixation. With my legs locked into the ground, stiff and rigid, I pull out out my iPod and browse to the day’s first song. I usually pick something loud and soulful–the only way to compliment a New York morning. It’s the grease to my wheels.

Music: begin.

The bass kicks. The treble screams. The lyrics bring the sonics together. Like a sedative, my legs loosen, the buildings around me melt and the surrounding passersbys become lost, ghostly silhouettes. I begin walking, moving closer to my destination, which is different every day. I like this city. But, I love this city–on music.

I move quickly. No one is timing me, but I still attempt to arrive early, just to feel ahead of schedule.

Where am I going? The destination is completely meaningless. Sometimes I have no destination in mind; other times, I do. But, it’s always one foot in front of the other, knowing I want to be one step ahead, two steps from there and ten steps from there. Ad infinitum.

The beauty of the situation is trapped inside own narrative, expressed here, that means nothing to anyone but me.

1. I was going to add the New York dirt, but there is none. This city, especially on the west side, is immaculate.

While the argument against academic applicability may be valid, it brings up a bigger, more important question regarding the conception that an ordinary, steady “real world” actually exists. I hear comparisons to “real world” behavior everyday, probably because I work in technology, but I’m certain there is no rational basis for the claim.

Here are three reasons why:

1. Popular culture tells us we’ll meet a companion, get married, have kids and live happily ever after. Then, you read about two separately married college professors discussing stick shifts and leftover chicken over email, proving their adultery to the public’s disgust.

2. Corporate America lectures that we’ll have steady jobs, friendly coworkers and a healthy work environment. Then, you hear about the drugs, alcoholism and general debauchery that takes place the minute a suited worker breaks free from the office only to smile and “act professionally” the next morning in the coffee room.

3. Parents giddily send their adolescent children off to a university after graduating from high school. Then, you learn a large aspect of the college experience is about being cool, impressing peers and generally ignoring your long-term future. That’s why ages 15 – 24 are only 14% of the US population, but account for 29% of the costs of motor vehicle accidents.

I could go on. It only takes a few minutes of browsing the web on any given day to pull more examples.

Sure. What you don’t understand you can make mean anything. But, I don’t think my examples are just specific cases; they are the real world. They aren’t anomalies either. They speak louder for reality than we may think, or, that any of us are brave enough to admit.

What is this so called utopian “real world” referred to so often? What if we all tore off the masks and dropped the acts? Would the world collapse, or has it already?

And, uh, the doctor says, “Well, why don’t you turn him in?”

The guy says, “I would, but I need the eggs.”

Well, I guess that’s pretty much now how I feel about relationships; y’know, they’re totally irrational, and crazy, and absurd, and… but, uh, I guess we keep goin’ through it because, uh, most of us… need the eggs.

- Woody Allen, Annie Hall, 1977

The technology culture in the Bay Area is saturated. The justification for working on a startup requires little explanation because the person you are talking to is probably working on one as well. In New York, it parallels the density of the financial industry. Many of the professionals living in the city work on Wall Street. And if they don’t, they probably want to, even if they won’t admit it. In Los Angeles, I’d assume it’s similar with the entertainment industry.

Cultures cause a tunnel vision, and the result, if you stand back, can be laughably absurd. For example, the nuances of the technology culture in the Bay Area drag along the pettiness of social media counting. If you’ve been to a technology conference, I guarantee you’ve overheard a conversation as ridiculous as this:

Geek #1 in a “If you were coding Ruby, you’d be home by now” shirt:

“Dude, my follower count dropped from 147 to 143 yesterday after I sent out that NSFW link without warning.”

Geek #2 in a “I’m huge on Twitter” shirt:

“Ah, that stinks. At least you’re still not trying to break 100. I’ll just follow a few hundred people until they follow me back, then drop them all!”

I’d interject, in reference to what Howard wrote, that you have to be willing to be unfollowed or unread if you want to be followed or read at all. It’s similar to investing; you need to be willing to lose money to make money. Any progression has its waves in and out, up and down, happy and sad.

But seriously, now taking another step back. The conversation I referenced, which happens more often than you might think, is about losing Twitter followers. These are people you probably don’t really know. What does it mean?

The irony is that I’m taking the time to write about it and fight about it. It’s as ridiculous as the guy with a brother that’s a chicken: maybe I’m the crazy one. For jobs or hobbies, including mine, the bullshit just might be part of the opportunity cost. My criticism is stale, but to me, it feels warranted.

Conversations like the one I described aren’t about the love of technology, fascination with social media, or about the group-think the two cause together; they are about being in love with the tragedy of it all.

And, if you can’t laugh at it, everyone else will for you. Or, at least I will.

The reason is because music thrives from a bold case of the “first syndrome,” where we remember our first album experience(s) vividly, no matter how awkward, forced or setup the occasion may have felt. The first of anything is memorable not because it’s our first, but because it affects how we experience all future derivatives of the same experience.

The “first syndrome” creates a lasting comparison that ceases to let go, acting like an inescapable cognitive dissonance between us and reality. I still find myself comparing fresh, musical listens to my first nervous conflict with the Gods of Rock.

(Signal dream sequence)

I stumbled into the closet, discovering a vintage pile of records that smelled of perfumed incense and stale, foreign plants. I was young, and noticing the fluorescent colors, I leaned down to pull out the large discs with the welcoming, enticing cover art. I chose the banana, jean zipper, glass triangle, juggling mime, stoned school boys, pissing friends and the man dressed in pink.

I came for the art, but stayed for the loud, gripping sounds. I carefully placed the large black discs on the record player and waited for the scratch and crackle as the needle adjusted to the groove. The music finally kicked in, and I jumped. For such an old piece of machinery, the symphony it produced was robust.

Ah, but when the music finally blared, it was worth the chore of getting the record synced with that ancient looking device. The banana told me it was Sunday Morning, the jean zipper screamed about Brown Sugar, the glass triangle caused Brain Damage, the juggling mime asked When’s The Music Over, the stoned school boys taught me about America, the pissing friends revealed what was Behind Blue Eyes and the guy dressed in pink showed me how to make Spanish Castle Magic.

(End dream sequence)

And just like that, I was sold. Chained, handcuffed and slaved to music for life. The Gods of Rock were my first. Every artistic medium from that day forward would be compared to the imperfections of my first experience with The Music. My favorite hang out growing up became the record store,³ and I preferred the used ones. The selection was more eclectic, and to my taste, so were the people.

When we discover new music, it invokes an emotional response sharper than a switch blade. It’s a sonic sensation of words and harmony that I’d argue is more powerful than other forms of art for the sheer reason that it disposes the chore of visualization on the listener. Music is the rawest form of media, and the counter-culture movement only accentuated that feeling of lust.

I don’t believe in much, but I do live by the Gods of Rock. Choose your icons wisely, because they might just change your life.⁴

And to that, we salute you.

1. I once got in a heated debate because I proclaimed that Limbaugh was a brilliant strategist. My opponent didn’t realize I made the claim in a negative light, and that their response proved my question rhetorical. This article is a good example.
2. See: alcoholic
3. What’s the modern day used record store? Do the collaborative filters on the internet accomplish this already, or is recreating that experience an opportunity in disguise?
4. I referenced this scene in the title of the post.

There is a story the classic screenwriter Nora Ephron tells from her journalism days in high school, also discussed in the book Made To Stick, that positively proves the result of leaving ambiguous, interpretive holes in our work’s narrative. The story revolves around Ephron’s first news writing assignment, where the eager students, including Ephron, approached with the instinct to report strictly who, what, where, when, why–and then to connect.

The class assignment included a series of situational facts about a high school, describing how the entire faculty would be out of their classrooms for an educational conference the following Thursday. The aspiring journalists were supposed to transpose the facts, then write the respective report. The students wrote their leads, many describing a similar situation regarding the conference, each written to portray where the teachers were going, when they would be gone, who would be speaking, etc.

After the teacher collected the assignments, which were all stylistically alike, he paused, stared and gently proclaimed:

“The lead to the story is ‘There will be no school next Thursday.’ “

Ephron’s story, with the zinger of wisdom being the teacher’s response regarding what the lead should have been, portrays the “less is more” principal.

Effectively using “less” should not have a direct intention to mislead, nor should any information actively be removed. But, by stating an initial fact that leaves holes to be filled, it forces an audience to question not only what will be stated next, but also to ponder the intent of the writer. When an artist, a writer in this case, becomes more interesting than the work itself, it creates a sense of mystery, even urgency, surrounding the product.

And that, in a sense, becomes an addictive narrative.

In Chuck Klosterman’s rock-infused narrative Killing Yourself To Live: 85% of a True Story, he boldly claims that:

Zeppelin is far and away the most popular rock band of all time, and they’re popular in a way that the Beatles and Stones cannot possibly compete with; this is because every straight man born after the year 1958 has at least one transitory period of his life when he believes Led Zeppelin is the only good band that ever existed. And there is no other rock group that generates that experience.

A Led Zeppelin Moment creates exactly that type of transitory experience in the short-form. I went through numerous stubborn musical moments in my adolescence where if it wasn’t Led Zeppelin, I wouldn’t listen. Led Zeppelin Moments are a true ultimatum of musical derangement.

In the Cameron Crowe written film Fast Times at Ridgemont High, there is a scene where the self-proclaimed chick magnet Mike Damone delivers his classic Five-Point Plan in picking up women to the younger Mark Ratner. Damone explains how “men have died trying to obtain this valuable information.” My favorite point, of course, includes:

Rule five…[which] is the most important, Rat. When it comes down to making out, whenever possible, put on side one of Led Zeppelin IV.

Led Zeppelin Moments have always existed, but I believe I’m the first to put it into theory. If you’ve never experienced a Led Zeppelin Moment, I suggest you try this proven case study for yourself:

1. Download the song Bring It On Home here, which is from Zeppelin’s live compilation How The West Was Won.¹

2. Sync the song with your iPod, or whatever device you use when you are traveling. The key here is to play the song in the midst of transitionary movement.

3. If you are in the car, queue the song normally when you start the engine. Drive slowly and casually, keeping the windows up for the first minute and a half of the song as the harmonica blares and Robert Plant whines the powerful introduction.

4. When 1:38 hits on the song, instantly lower all of the windows and abruptly go over the speed limit. Don’t worry about anyone else on the road. This is about you. You’ll create a beautiful narrative fallacy of rock disillusionment, and I guarantee you’ll get chills.

Additional resources:

1. Attempt the above steps 1 through 4 while taking off in a plane. Time the moment the plane gets off of the ground with the 1:38 point in the song.

2. If you are giving a speech, talking on a panel or teaching a classroom of students, play The Ocean as people walk in. If you do this, people will be attentively curious to what you plan to say.

3. Make out with your significant other to side one of Led Zeppelin IV, as directed by Mike Damone. Side two probably works just as well, although I’ve never tried it.

1. Or, just watch the video here and imagine.