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“Bob Wilson is doing an album,” said the creative director. “It’s a
series of live concerts he’s recorded. He wants us to design the cover
and do the liner notes.” Rockin’ Bobby Wilson was a local rock celebrity. I’d never met him, but his star had been rising and I knew this was a big opportunity for us. I was all ears. “He liked the treatment we did on the album for that aboriginal country singer where we had the extreme close up of him and the little starburst on the frame of his aviator sunglasses. He specifically wants you involved because you’re the only musician in the agency.” He said “musician” as if it were a cross between axe-murderer and pedophile. “I guess musicians who can read and write must be scarce,” I offered. “Never mind the wise-ass remarks, okay? I have a meeting with Bobby and his performance group scheduled for tomorrow, right after lunch. Give it some thought between now and then. Right after lunch is ad agency talk for two-thirty PM. I phoned a booking agent friend, figuring I’d be able to get some insights and ideas from him. He listened while I told him about our upcoming assignment. “Have you seen Bob lately?” he asked when I paused for breath. “No, why?” “He’s put on a little weight. Actually he’s put on a ton of weight. He’s huge. He still packs them in but I wouldn’t think a picture of him would fit on the album cover.” “So we’ll use something else. A crowd shot. A scenic.” “Could be a problem,” said my agent friend. “Bob’s ego is almost as big as he is. He’ll want a photo. I can almost guarantee it.” “Shit,” I said. Continued On Next Page (album, Page 2) ... AUTHOR: Dave Foreman  TAGS: Life Family government Movie Food Art advertising air ad-man BOOKMARK: Digg it | Add to Del.ICIO | Add to FARK ACTIONS: Comment Save Print Register free acount  |
