By CATHRIN SCHAER
Would you spend your New Year's Eve celebrating the launch of a new fizzy drink? Would you pay $70 for the privilege? Didn't think so. But that's almost exactly what a crowd of Aucklanders did on the last night of 2000. Only they didn't know it until they reached the venue.
The event in question was called Burn and took place at the St James, the old central city cinema now restored and a venue for dance parties.
Burn was one of several dance events held in the area that night. All promised space-age lighting displays, great sound systems, amazing DJs and a party atmosphere.
Although Burn sounds like a fine name for a dance party, it is also the moniker of an energy drink product being launched by the Coca-Cola company.
Burn the drink - which is sweet, fizzy and red - is being promoted to compete with Red Bull, an energy drink that's proven popular with the youth market and night- clubbers, and which has eaten away at sales of traditional soft drinks. To introduce Burn, the parent company says it wanted to take an "anti-marketing" stance.
In Britain, Burn was initially going to be available only in five so-called style bars (their identity was secret) and young trendsetters would "find" the drink for themselves and endow it with cult status.
In Australia, Coca-Cola's South Pacific marketing manager, Kate Wilson, said, "We are also taking an unconventional approach to marketing Burn. We might have some kind of visual branding on video screens in nightclubs or do a Burn CD release. It's a more lateral approach to branding."
In New Zealand a low-key approach was also taken. In fact, it was so low key that not many people realised Burn was more than a dance party. It was also a product launch complete with girls dressed in promotional costumes, and only one brand of energy drink available.
The party apparently went well on the night, but some of the artists and DJs who played at the event found themselves entering 2001 with a bitter after-taste from this new drink product.
A few days before the event, several threatened not to play. Most weren't so much angry about the Coca-Cola product or the liaison itself; more that they felt they'd been deliberately misled about the party and its purpose.
"We felt that the information about Burn wasn't given freely," says Chris Chetland, of electronica record label Kog Transmissions. "When we did find out Burn was a drink, we were disappointed, as we felt that we were being associated with something that misrepresented our identity. If we're doing a party that's not ours, we always ask about sponsors.
"We're pretty draconian about it, too. If it's not the right kind of association, we will walk out."
In this instance, discussions with the production company organising the party ensued and the Kog crew did play - but only after arranging for disclaimers to be run on some print and radio advertisements (noting that Kog did not endorse the party or product).
"We were fully responsible for organising the sponsorship of the event," says Tony Piggott of Madant Productions. "But it all happened very quickly and, therefore, there was some misunderstanding because we were not originally responsible for contracting the artists to play at the St James. But after some discussions I was under the impression everything had been resolved satisfactorily. The party went off well and everyone turned up to play - which they would not have done if they hadn't been happy."
As for accusations that they were pulling a fast one on the estimated 4000 Aucklanders who didn't realise Burn was a drink product, Piggott says, "It wasn't some crass product launch. It was a sponsored dance event like any other. We didn't have posters or speeches or girls handing out drinks."
And from the sponsor's perspective: "Burn was happy to be one of several players involved in putting on the night," says a spokesperson for Coca-Cola. "We saw it as sponsoring an event for a group of people we thought Burn would appeal to."
The Burn dance party could prove to be a bit of a reality check for those working within the local music industry. Such sponsorships, worth hundreds of thousands of dollars a year, are something that more and more musicians and DJs are having to deal with on a professional level.
It's a simple enough equation: in return for a contribution from the corporate, be it product or cash, the musician is seen to be endorsing their product. Sometimes artists approach companies for sponsorship. Other times, sponsors seek out artists, especially if they're high-profile acts with a strong following in the market in which sponsors want to sell their goods.
"It's happening so frequently now that you could spend days compiling a comprehensive list," says John Russell, editor of local music magazine Real Groove. "It ranges from artists or DJs endorsing specific clothing or products to companies providing the bulk of the funding for major events."
Since he starting writing about music in the early 90s Russell has seen the phenomenon grow. "Back in the late 80s there were things like the Rheineck Rock Awards and the breweries would get involved in pub tours. But it's happening much more now."
As traditional "interruption" advertising and marketing techniques are ignored by a media-savvy generation, corporate advertisers need to take another tack.
Musicians are seen as heroes or trendsetters, so the aim is to have a product associated with an act appealing directly to your target demographic. It's a shortcut to trendy; it's desirability by association.
Additionally, pundits believe there are also several, specifically indigenous reasons for the local growth in sponsorship.
Firstly, there's a renaissance within New Zealand music. Fans are buying more records and going to more concerts, which means local companies want a piece of the action.
And second, the dance music sector, which is becoming more visible and mainstream, is perceived as fashionable - so advertisers want in on the crowd.
Also, dance events are usually organised by promoters who differ from your average guitar player in that they are essentially entrepreneurs hoping to make money.
However, this isn't just some modern evil. Music and advertising have been duetting for several decades now.
Ray Columbus, one of New Zealand's first pop stars, says it all started in the 60s when the Coca-Cola Bottling Company was the first to use music to market its product.
In his time, Columbus was the recipient of several free overseas flights and his band, the Invaders, were asked to design their own brands of winklepicker shoe and guitar.
Today, as manager of popular local band, Zed, who've been signed by American label Interscope, Columbus is still negotiating sponsorship deals.
Zed's first and second tours - their Come on Down tour is on now around the country - were sponsored by Coke and by Mobiletronics-Vodafone, a Christchurch cellular phone company.
"What they do is help our bottom line," says Columbus. "When we go on the road we know we have certain costs covered. Which also makes a difference in pricing of the tickets - we like to keep this as accessible as possible because we have a lot of younger fans."
In return, Coke and Mobiletronics receive a mention on the band's posters and may have banners erected at the show venues. The band members also use their products in public.
"But Zed would never be associated with something they didn't like. The guys all drink Coke; Andy practically lives on it. And we'd never be associated with an alcohol product or a power drink. We've turned them down in the past. That's just not us."
Before any sponsorship deal is inked, Columbus and the band members discuss it to ensure it's a "win-win" situation.
"It's getting to the stage where the name, Zed, is becoming a brand in its own right," says Columbus, "so we need to look after that brand."
This commercial thinking isn't restricted to the pop and dance sectors of the local industry. Old school rock'n'rollers are also aware sponsorship is invariably a part of making a living as a musician.
"Shihad are their own trademark, too, and they have to look after that," says Murray Cammick, who runs Wildside records and who's been in the music industry for around 25 years. Wildside's roster includes acts such as Head Like a Hole and Shihad, who have a new song called You Don't Need A Trademark.
"Artists who are serious about their music want to be seen as having integrity. They want to be seen as different from acts like Britney Spears," Cammick explains. "But you've got to be realistic about these things. Because of the size of this market sometimes, even when you're doing a very successful tour, there are so many costs involved that the sponsorship money is about the only thing that's left after you've paid all the bills."
According to Cammick, Columbus, Chetland and other music industry people, decisions about sponsorship always come down to individual musicians' political and philosophical sensibilities.
For some musicians, accepting a T-shirt is tantamount to selling their souls to Satan. For others, providing their own compositions to advertising for megabucks is part of the career path.
Leading the sponsors-are-Satan school overseas are British band Radiohead. After reading No Logo by American author Naomi Klein, in which the author discusses the insidious nature of logos and trademarks such as Nike and Starbucks, the band decided they would do an unbranded tour through Europe.
The 10,000-capacity tent in which they performed contained no posters or logos. During the Canadian tour they discovered beer was being sold in Budweiser-branded foam cups and promptly put a stop to it.
Then again, as local musicians will point out, when you're popular you have the luxury of adopting that position. Radiohead no longer record in their bedroom studio.
"Often musicians in this country create something culturally important and don't get any remuneration for it," says Nicky Jarvis, who promotes New Zealand music for NZ on Air and who deals with struggling musicians.
"Sponsorship can help people to do something they wouldn't otherwise have been able to. It can assist them to make a career out of their music. So I don't see it as selling out. And I don't think sponsorship affects the music.
"The corporate sponsor usually only wants to be associated with the artist and their music. "
Sell-out or not, sponsorship is not about to leave the local music industry alone. Either it will become so subtle as to be all but unrecognisable, or it will be much more obvious as corporates become further involved.
In a quest to find local bands to record their advertising jingle, Coca-Cola found the Ross Brothers of Oamaru. The oldest of this family group, who play guitar pop-rock, is 16 and, after working for Coke, the youthful trio look likely to be signed to a local record company.
This is abhorrent to some, but others say these young musicians would never have had a chance without a sponsor's intervention.
At the opposite end of the spectrum, there are the tactics of energy drink Red Bull as an example of the low-key style of marketing.
For some time Red Bull have provided behind-the-scenes help to key players in the local dance music sector. But, surprisingly, they are almost unwilling to take the credit.
When approached for this story, Red Bull general manager Glynn Rowell said the company preferred not to draw attention to what they did. One imagines that what they'd really like is a quiet mention on the sleeve of the hippest artist's next CD.
That's something a select few will notice - but may recall next time they're ordering a drink.
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