A Miracle at San Diego Opera

I’ve been a bit tough on San Diego Opera in the past. Especially here, here and here.

But the other day I got a brochure that contained a miracle. San Diego Opera actually published photos of audience members enjoying one another’s company at the show!

SD PEEPS 1I was shocked. It is astonishingly rare to find arts organizations depicting customers having a good time with one another at the venue. Research consistently demonstrates that people choose arts events for social reasons, but arts organizations remain stubbornly resistant to the idea of focusing on their customers’ motivating impulses. Arts organizations use marketing materials to promote what they think their customers should want, not what the customers actually do want, so it was a thrill to see San Diego Opera giving priority to their customers’ social experiences for a change.

Arts leaders want to see themselves reflected in their marketing materials, not their customers, so I know this was probably a tough sell. But I think San Diego Opera deserves to be recognized for stepping outside the self-centered, tradition-bound, nonprofit bubble and doing some customer-centered marketing for a change.

If customer-centered marketing is common practice in professional marketing, it should be common practice in the arts as well.

Great work, SDO. I hope it’s the beginning of a very productive new direction.



The Impotence of Being Important

Arts leaders who believe that art is important spend a lot of time telling the world how important their art is. These executive decision makers tend to believe that telling people how important something is is a useful way to get them to participate.

Tragically, it is not.

Your importance, dear arts leader, is a motivating factor only to those who possess a desire to participate in what you think is important. Traditional audiences may share your belief in the importance of your art form, and may thus be compelled to participate, but future audiences, the ones you need for survival, are an entirely different animal.

New audiences are well aware that your organization could disappear overnight and their lives would remain unchanged. You may have strong convictions about the value of your organization, but your belief, and the self-important communication it engenders, doesn’t influence behavior.

New audiences are motivated by what’s important to them.

If you want to influence behavior, you have to find places where what you think is important and what new audiences think is important overlap. For example, if you’re a performing arts organization and your research reveals that younger audiences are looking for ways to enjoy social experiences that include quality entertainment, the most important thing you can do is market social experiences that include quality entertainment – and that means making the content of your marketing about their social experiences.

Sounds simple, but wait ’til you see the look on your artistic director’s face when half the photos in next season’s brochure are of young, culturally diverse people enjoying one another’s company in the lobby bar. If the arts suddenly decided to make marketing content about the customers (a practice that professional marketers take for granted) heads would explode throughout the industry.

Arts leaders want to see what they think is important in the brochure: art, artists, themselves, venues, donors, Asian children at education events, etc. Customers simply don’t rank high enough to make the cut. (No, those photos of audiences clapping at your stage don’t count.)

Customers want to see themselves in your marketing materials – especially new customers who don’t yet understand, and can’t quite envision, how your products will make them happy.

If new audiences can’t see themselves in your marketing materials, they’ll know just how important they are to you – and that will help them decide how important you are to them.




Who’s Your Senior-most Outside Sales Executive?

Doug Borwick has a great post over at Engaging Matters where he makes an interesting connection between engagement and sales. Check it out.

I know the question in my title will be confusing for most arts professionals. Outside sales executives are virtually non-existent in our industry. In most cases, the answer – if there is one – will look something like this:

  • Our senior-most outside sales person is our telemarketing manager
  • Our senior-most outside sales person is our subcontracted telemarketing agent
  • Our senior-most outside sales person is our group sales manager
  • Our marketing director just had the word ‘sales’ added to her title
  • Our marketing VP is in charge of sales

Outside sales is a process of connecting personally with people in the community. It’s about identifying community members who have an interest – or potential interest – in our products and developing relationships that will facilitate their access. The essential ingredients of outside sales are:

  • Spending plenty of time out in the community
  • Making personal connections with potential buyers and partners
  • Building productive, long-lasting relationships
  • Ensuring that those relationships result in mutually beneficial business transactions

Telemarketing obviously doesn’t fit the description, nor does group sales, which, while it’s often meant to be outside sales, is usually a bottom-rung customer service function.

Some organizations assign sales duties to senior staff members, but those duties are almost always about managing the organization’s passive sales, which means satisfying available demand with appropriate systems and services. Making sure the organization can service existing demand is important, but it is definitely not outside sales and the staffers who oversee the processes spend little to no time in the marketplace initiating new sales relationships, much less connecting buyers to the organizations’ products.

Sales for most arts organizations means spraying impersonal marketing messages at the community in hopes of “getting the word out” to people who care about the product, and then ‘selling’ them tickets when they respond. Our entire organizational/industrial culture is built around this model, which is why outside sales is such a foreign concept.

I don’t know about you, but I find it ironic, and maybe just a little bit tragic, that an industry that complains so bitterly about its inability to sell tickets doesn’t actually sell tickets.


Philadelphia Orchestra Fails the Gal-in-a Starbucks Test

We read last week that the venerable Philadelphia Orchestra is losing audiences.

Attendance in 2014/15 was down by 7,000 paid listeners from the previous season and off goal by 36,000. When board chair Richard B. Worley announced the bad news he said, “I don’t know if it’s because the audience isn’t here, or the audience is here and we don’t know how to reach them.”

As regular readers of this blog know, when I read about arts organizations that don’t know how to reach audiences – or don’t know if their audiences even exist – I visit their marketing materials to look for signs of trouble.

Take a look at this brochure and count how many photos there are of young, culturally diverse people enjoying one another’s company at a concert. Then count how many photos there are of Yannick Nézet-Séguin.


Or you can judge how well the orchestra does on the “Gal-in-a-Starbucks” test:

Imagine yourself sitting in a busy Starbucks where the woman sitting next to you is a smart, 28-year-old tech executive who, as it turns out, played viola in her college orchestra. You get to chatting and you decide to persuade her to come to your concerts, so you lean in and say:

“A very good friend of The Philadelphia Orchestra, the much-sought after Italian conductor Gianandrea Noseda returns to lead two programs of musical travelogues. This first program kicks off the wintry season traversing the icy landscapes of Finland, Poland, and Russia. Tchaikovsky’s First Symphony (“Winter Daydreams”) paints a vivid picture of the snowy Russian countryside. “There is a particular quality of the sound of this orchestra, which is connected with the old Russian way of making sound,” says Noseda, and it will be on full display with this shimmering delight by Tchaikovsky. The “spectacular” Leonidas Kavakos, “a marvel of exactitude” (The Philadelphia Inquirer), returns with the exquisite and demanding Sibelius Violin Concerto. Kavakos, who was still in his teens when he came to international attention winning the Sibelius Competition in 1985 performs Sibelius’s depiction of chilling Scandinavian fjords. Lord Byron and Victor Hugo both told the tale of Ivan Mazeppa, a Slav who seduced the wrong Polish princess and was tied to a wild horse as punishment. Liszt’s fast-paced symphonic poem sets the folk story to lively music in our opening work, which, like the stallion in Byron’s poem, is “loosed … with a sudden lash.””

Yikes. Travelogues? Icy landscapes of Finland and Poland? Snowy Russian countryside? The old Russian way of making sound? A marvel of exactitude? Chilling Scandinavian fjords? Lord Byron and Victor Hugo?

What hot-blooded young music lover wouldn’t rush to buy tickets to all that?

Chances are the 36,000 people who stayed away last season have a lot in common with this horrified young coffee drinker. They’re looking for stimulating social experiences with rich emotional content while the Philadelphia Orchestra is selling convoluted history lessons with frigid geography, Italian exactitude and obscure Byronic horses.

Is it fair to suggest that this dorky chunk of pompous blather is the cause of the orchestra’s audience problems? Maybe not. But if the language is representative of the self-centered, self-important and self-flattering – not to mention condescending and insufferably didactic – communications content that marketers in Philadelphia (and elsewhere) use to sell classical music to the world outside the bubble, it’s worth pointing out.

The article says that Michael Kaiser has been brought in to help. Perhaps he should start by asking the communications department to spend a month or two at their local Starbucks learning how to talk to real Philadelphians.

Here’s a tip for classical music administrators who still think that narcissistic bombast is good marketing strategy: The language you’d use to persuade a young woman in a coffee shop to enjoy a night out with friends at a concert is the language that belongs in the brochure.

Is Churn Driving You Crazy?

Been a bit busy with projects in Palm Springs, but thought this re-post would also add to the conversation Doug Borwick and TRG Arts are having about the relationship between engagement and marketing.


I was chatting about audience development recently with a fellow who manages a prominent performing arts institution and the discussion turned quickly toward the subject of churn. He was having problems with uncommitted single ticket buyers who returned infrequently or never at all and it was driving him crazy.

The more he talked about his churn problem, the more disdainfully he spoke about his unreliable, marginal, inconstant customers and the more obvious it became that he resented them deeply for the damage they were doing.

Later in the same conversation we talked about new audiences and he began to speak eloquently and surprisingly optimistically about untapped markets of loyal ticket buyers that he was certain lay just beyond his grasp. He was convinced that there were new audiences out there that weren’t being properly courted and that, if they could be found, would be the answer to his audience development problems. I could tell by the way he spoke that he was tremendously fond of these people, imaginary though they were.

What fascinates me about this, and other conversations I’ve had just like it, is the disparity in affection we maintain for the audiences we have and the audiences we wish we had. I admire the optimism that allows some to envision an enthusiastic, loyal, well-behaved audience that has yet to be properly persuaded, but I worry that belief in such an ideal may be preventing us from facing an unwelcome truth, which is that the new audiences we’re looking for are going to be found among, or near, our least favorite customers.

You know those folks who bought half-price tickets through that online discounter? Or the people who got vouchers through their HR office? Or the kids who used Grandma’s subscription seats that one time when she was in Florida? Or the couple who came with that other couple who bought some extra singles at the last minute? Or the folks who were at the hotel down the street and popped in for lack of anything better to do? Or the business guy who came because his client was an arts fan? Or that gaggle of young people who decided to try something different but left at intermission? Or the out-of-place-looking young couple in the cheap gown and hand-me-down jacket? Or the folks who came once because a starchitect designed the new venue? Or the people who were more interested in drinks and dinner than they were in the show? Or the people who came to the one event that featured people like them but then never came back? Or the folks who came on the bus with the person who placed the order with the intern who returns the messages on the group sales line? You know; those people?


We can dream all we want about external, ideal, as-yet-undiscovered audiences that are comprised of younger, more culturally diverse people who behave just like the audiences we have now, but those audiences are a delusion. The audiences that do exist are the ones that are coming now – and others very much like them who are not as well motivated but who are nonetheless more likely than the rest of the world to give us a try. These are our marginal and adjacent audiences – our new audiences – and they’re our future.

A few months after our conversation, my churn-weary friend’s organization sent me a subscription brochure that was every bit as old-fashioned, cliché-ridden and insider-oriented as the stuff that arts organizations started sending out when Danny Newman wrote Subscribe Now! thirty five years ago. He wanted the churn to stop, but he couldn’t bring himself to face, let alone speak to, the dreaded churners on whom his survival depended.

“Displacement” is a word that Freudian psychologists use to describe what happens when people substitute an imaginary ideal for an unacceptable reality. It’s a defense mechanism that helps otherwise healthy people cope with difficult situations. Unfortunately for some, displacement can become a debilitating disorder that prevents them from recognizing and dealing with the world as it is.

Crazy, huh?

Churn, Learn, Love and Earn

This repost fits perfectly with a series of posts that Doug Borwick and Amelia Northrup-Simpson are featuring this week on the relationship between engagement and marketing.


In my first post in this series we talked about the last seat sold, the empty seat next to it, and what the person who showed up and the one who didn’t quite make it have in common. We in the arts talk a lot about new audiences, but we seldom take time to focus on exactly who these people are, how much they care about us, or why any of them might want to buy what we’re trying to sell.

And at the same time we complain bitterly about churn – the tendency among contemporary audiences to sample our wares without becoming regular or dependable customers. Having built our institutions on audiences of loyal, stable, committed patrons, we tend to view churn as a problem that needs to be overcome and we’re reluctant to accept the fact that churn and new audiences are essentially the same thing.

Audience TiersI used this diagram in my book to describe the place where churn and new audiences meet. The inner circle is the arts organization, of course, and everyone professionally associated with it. The first ring is the core support system of members, donors, subscribers and loyal patrons. The second ring is the somewhat less avid, but nonetheless vital population of regular patrons. And the third is the fickle, least avid, least committed audience of frustrating churners. So far, it’s a picture of the audience segments I described in my last post.

But the ring I’m most interested in is the outermost ring – the thin, light gray ring just beyond the third that identifies the relationship between old and new audiences. The folks who occupy this adjacent space are more likely than others to give us a try, but for some reason they haven’t yet stepped across the boundary to become part of the active third ring. Nothing, as far as I’m concerned, is more important than understanding how to motivate these people to cross that line.

I chose to illustrate new audiences this way for four reasons:

1. It is imperative that we begin thinking about audiences in terms of relative avidity – the further you move from the center, the less avid the customer’s interest in the product. New audiences who inhabit the fourth ring are even less avid than our third ring churners, but compared to the rest of humanity, they’re the only people out there who are likely to participate. This places them in a very specific position relative to our existing communities of customers.

2. The closeness of new audiences tells us exactly where to look for them. A lot of arts professionals dream of ideal but as yet untapped new audiences that look and act just like our super-avid base – but who exist in some mysterious realm that we haven’t yet figured out how to contact. Realistic marketers, meanwhile, know that new audiences lie just beyond the ragged, chaotic fringes of our universe of tepid dabblers.

3. Everything we need to know about motivating the fourth ring, we can learn from the third ring. Those who occupy the churn zone have the most in common with those who lie just beyond its boundaries so the more we know about churners and the more actively we use that knowledge to persuade new audiences, the more newcomers we’re likely to pull into the fold.

4. Our job as arts professionals is to persuade everyone within our four-ring universe to move toward the center. If we direct our persuasive energies to the outermost ring, it will naturally influence the inner three rings and draw everyone within our sphere of influence closer. But if we apply our persuasive energies only to the first two rings, which is what most of us do now, the third and fourth rings will remain uncommitted and elusive.

The lesson in all of this is that we have to love the churn. We have to create as much of it as we can, we have to learn everything it can teach us, we have to use what we learn to forge stronger bonds with uncommitted churners, and we have to apply what we learn to unpersuaded outsiders so we can lure more of them into the zone.

Or to put it in community engagement terms, we have to know and love the folks in – and just beyond – the churn zone as well as we know and love the folks in the super-avid base. Then we have to relate to them in a manner that is as personal, relevant and meaningful as the way we’ve been relating to avid arts lovers for the last fifty years.

I know it’s counterintuitive. No serious arts professional wants to believe that our future is dependent on investing in people who don’t currently care all that much about what we do, but it is. Our job now is to convince them we’re worth caring about – and then give them a damned good reason to continue caring once they’ve passed thorough our doors.

Churn, learn, love and earn.

New Audiences Are Like Fairies

When arts professionals use the phrase “new audiences” I like to ask them who they’re referring to, and the response usually goes like this: “You know, younger and more culturally diverse.” It’s an easy picture to conjure up – like a photo in a UCLA recruitment brochure – but press a little harder and you’ll find that most arts pros don’t have a clue who they’re talking about.

I once asked the executive leader of a top American opera company who these younger, more culturally diverse people were and he said, “I don’t know who they are, I just know they’re out there and we’re not doing enough to reach them.” He spoke hopefully, but wistfully, as if he were talking about leprechauns or fairies.

cott-fairy1The problem with talking about ‘new audiences’ in a marketing context is that new audiences don’t exist. Audiences are comprised of individual human beings who don’t become audiences until their butts are in the seats and the lights start to dim. If we want to form new audiences, we have to focus on real, live, individual human beings, and we can’t focus on real, live, individual human beings if we’re dreaming about populations of mythical sprites who exist only in fairy tales.

If you use the phrase ‘new audiences’ to describe the people you’d like to see filling the empty seats in your venue, and you can’t identify exactly who those people are and how they relate to your organization, you are virtually guaranteeing that those seats will remain un-filled. It is impossible to market to people you don’t know.

But if you’re actively engaged in the process of identifying new customers, learning about their needs and desires, and convincing them that your events will satisfy their yearnings, your audiences will begin to grow again.

Here’s some practical advice for arts professionals who want to sell more tickets. Stop talking about audiences and start talking about individual members of your community who can be known, understood and persuaded to buy tickets. The more specific you are in identifying them, and the more thorough you are in learning about their lives, the easier it will be to turn them into customers.

Audiences don’t buy tickets; individual decision makers buy tickets.

There’s a special magic that happens when a room full of individuals becomes an audience. But that magic will never happen if we haven’t bothered to figure out which individuals we intend to have filling the room.