charlesubaghs

Lots of sensible social media advice for bands, brands and individuals from my buddy Charles.

charlesubaghs:

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Every post should be a self contained story

The place almost all social activity happens is in a users newsfeed. By default this means anything you publish on social media doesn’t just compete against other media outlets and brands, it has to compete against a friend’s new baby photos, an engagement announcement, endless candy crush invites and so on. Your post or tweet is competing with someone’s entire life and that means you need to tell a strong story to compete for someone’s attention.

drownedinsoundcloud
First thing I’ve written in a while and predictably it’s about my favourite band at my favourite festival.

drownedinsoundcloud:

They… were… ParaMORE! And they were undeniably amazing at Reading festival.

As a super-professional and yet still endearing arena band, as a giving-it-everything festival headline band, as a new-sort-of-pop band, as heroes of young girls (and young boys) (and older folks too), as a GreenDay for 2014, as Nirvana to Katy Perry’s Hanson…. this is as good as it gets.
Read the full review.
drownedinsoundcloud
Donating all proceedings from tonight’s concert to a bank vault in Switzerland, Sunday’s headliners are the Antitax Moneytrees. Cocking cock Alex Turner cockily cocks his way onto the stage looking about as sorry as Lance Armstrong pleasuring himself into the sleeve of a yellow jersey. What does Turner feel as he stares out from under his retro quiff at the people he is loath to support? At the society to which he contributes as little as possible? Is it contempt? Pity? Alienation? Remorse? He sings some of his old songs that were actually about things and some of his new songs that are about nothing at all. Slurring about his love of Sheffield while poncing about dressed as Nowhere Boy: The Vegas Years, Turner appears to have as little genuine affinity with contemporary Yorkshire as the Neptune branch of the Hard Rock Cafe. Oh, and he refuses to smile the whole time, as observed by a bloke at the urinals later: “he can fuck off if he can’t even be bothered to look like he’s enjoying it.” Like my neighbouring urinator, I too have decided to tax Turner 50% of my attention by leaving halfway through. I’ll give the final word to another grumpy member of the crowd who summarised the Moneytrees’ set more eloquently than I ever could with a penetrating heckle unleashed after just a handful of dull rock numbers: “fuck off back to the fucking Brit Awards you fucking fuck!”