Paradise Found: Exploring the Ethos of an Angel Investor

As the news cycle spins with tales of start-ups and their founders’ good fortune, most of us find ourselves stunned by the speed with which these companies accelerate from zero to sixty-million-dollar valuations.

However, what frequently goes unmentioned in these stories of bedeviling success is the role that angels play — angel investors, that is — in enabling many young companies to grow from idea, to capitalized venture, to viable — and sellable — commercial enterprise.

The Angel Capital Association estimates that there have been roughly 225,000 angel investments made in the US during the past two years, and that the number of angel investors has to potential to grow to four million in the coming years.

Sounds like reason to rejoice, doesn’t it? Well, if you count yourself an entrepreneur, a potential investor, or just someone interested in finance and industry, you probably agree.

We certainly do, which is why creative.reconstruction sat down with Linda Holliday, a serial entrepreneur and member of the New York Angels — the nation’s most active group of its kind — to learn more about the spirit of angel investing.

CREATIVE.RECONSTRUCTION: For starters, how would you define “angel” investing? What are its distinguishing features, and how might it differ from venture-capital investing?

LINDA HOLLIDAY: Angels are amateurs and VCs are professionals — meaning that they have raised funds from outside partners and are running an organization that vets and manages investments. Angels are often individuals; VCs are essentially committees.

In my experience, it’s also the case that angels are more emotional, and get connected to ideas and entrepreneurs. VCs at least try to make more financially driven decisions. As an angel, you’re usually with your companies for several years, helping to navigate follow-on rounds [of funding] and business hurdles. And sometimes, as an angel, you just fall for an entrepreneur and become a coach and mentor as well as an investor. It can be very satisfying to help them through some of the inevitable challenges and to watch them succeed.

In truth, both groups of investors can be very trend driven — always looking for the next Pinterest or Uber, etc. That makes it much easier to get an iterative idea funded than an original one.

At what stage of a company’s life cycle is it most advisable to approach an angel investor? Can it ever be too soon or too late for an angel?

Unfortunately, as the options for early financing increase with platforms such as Kickstarter, and the competition for seed money gets more and more intense, most angels now want quite a bit of “de-risking” before investing. So that often means that the product has been built and or tested with some users. It’s usually only too late to approach an angel if you’ve already pushed the valuation for the company beyond seed level ($3M–$8M pre-money), but even that is flexible and changing. You should definitely have a good team together, and enough assets in place so that you can convince strangers that you can pull something off. When I teach my class on entrepreneurship, the first day I come in I ask the students to give me $1,000. That kind of underscores the importance of persuasion.

Is angel investment more advantageous than borrowing as a means for companies to finance growth? Why or why not?

It’s extremely difficult to obtain debt financing for seed companies, but if you can get it, it would prevent significant dilution. I learned business the old-fashioned way: that selling equity was very expensive; that you should do everything you can to hold equity. Alternatively, given the high failure rate for startups, many entrepreneurs might be nervous to finance significantly with debt.

Many entrepreneurs are relatively inexperienced, and if they have the commitment of some experienced angels it can make a big difference as to whether they succeed or fail. In an ideal world with lots of choices, angels would be selected for that experience.

What have you found to be some of the more common misconceptions held — or mistakes made — among entrepreneurs who seek angel-investor support?

Most entrepreneurs are shocked to find out just how much equity they have to sacrifice to raise angel funds. If you look at the investment class and do the math: If one-third to one-half of funded companies fail, and one-half of the remainder are essentially flat, it means that last portion has to generate a huge multiple for an investor to break even. It’s not uncommon for an angel to seek a multiple of 10x or greater on their investment — of course that doesn’t mean they get it.

It really is a buyer’s market for investors. Entrepreneurs will only have one shot at an investor. You really have to have everything buttoned up — everything. And unfortunately, that often means having a serial entrepreneur with a successful exit on the core team; it’s the greatest predictor of success.

For me, I look for domain expertise, or at least that a lot of research has been done. We’re in a moment now where having no experience is somehow seen as a disruptive advantage. Wake me when it’s over!

What tools or metrics have you found to be the most reliable means of evaluating a company’s investment-worthiness? What would you consider to be the three most critical characteristics of an investment-worthy venture?

It’s hard to trust metrics too much, since really all you’re buying is a story that happens in the future. That being said, some metrics, like referrals or time spent with the product, can have strong predictive value.

When I evaluate an entrepreneur, I ask myself the question, Would I hire this person to run, say, a $10M department? For five years? Unsupervised? That’s the level of confidence you need to have in somebody. For me, that clears things up pretty fast.

Three important invest-ability characteristics would be: An idea that’s riding one more important tech trend; an entrepreneur that is plausible with a well-considered game plan; and a concept based in a sector that I would consider myself qualified to evaluate.

Are there any particular business sectors, scenarios or needs for which you feel angel investment is best-suited? Why or why not?

There are many ways to be an angel investor: The tech sector is obviously very hot; so is e-commerce. Being an angel in those areas could lead to a vibrant professional life. You may also want to stay close to the industries you understand most, or that most interest you. Many angel investments will require follow-on rounds. It’s a good idea to think about what the life-cycle for the company is and whether not you have the patience, or as we say, the “powder,” for it.  Many angels are looking for investments that will exit relatively quickly. (A $2M valuation now for a $20M exit in two years is one desirable formula.) Other angels are looking for a “Hollywood hit,” and want to make many bets. If the sector you’re looking at doesn’t have a history of raising follow-on rounds of investments, it’s probably too risky as an angel unless you think that company can get to break-even on seed money.

Do you feel that there’s value in angel investors having a clear and guiding investment philosophy? Or is it best to evaluate each opportunity on its own merits?

It all depends on one’s motives: If you don’t start from a financial point of view, you’ll probably end up losing money. But even if you do start with a purely financially driven evaluation process, there are plenty of interesting companies to choose from in every sector. All young companies are risky and it’s always advisable to diversify your portfolio.  If you want to make money it’s probably a good idea to think about investing in 10 to 20 companies at a minimum.  It’s easy to fall in love with ideas, but it is really execution that makes the difference between success and failure.  Past execution is a good predictor of future execution. That’s why angels are always looking for entrepreneurs who’ve had a successful exit. Angel groups are super-important, too. Doing enough due diligence as an individual is pretty onerous. The group can perform that role en masse, or as an individual investor you can follow behind groups of more seasoned angels who have done most of that activity.

In what ways — be it through marketing, efficient, debt profile or product/service focus — can an entrepreneur make her company or concept more appealing to an angel investor?

Angels always want a clean balance sheet. We want to know that the money’s going towards future value creation not paying down past value creation. Maybe that’s not logical, but it’s true.

Entrepreneurs really need to be out there, stirring the water, making a splash, trying to crescendo a bunch of attention at the closing of a round. Of course, this is very hard to do — especially without the benefit of expensive communications professionals. Thus, most entrepreneurs are on the hunt for product demonstrations and promotional ideas that create a lot of buzz for very little money.

Watch what other entrepreneurs do. Goldie Blox [the company that makes engineering-themed toys for girls] was particularly brilliant this year: They capitalized on negative stereotypes about girls as engineers and provoked a lot attention with their aggressive use of copyright-protected music in promotional videos. The controversy actually landed them a sponsored spot in the Super Bowl. That’s a 10!

In your years as an angel investor, which would you count as your most memorable and your most forgettable experiences — and why? 

Most memorable? Giving a young CEO high-end advice on how to handle a predatory partner. It was a life or death moment for the company in a conflict over rights and rates. The entrepreneur just took the advice, executed perfectly and saved the day. He’s a natural. You make lots of little saves and lots of introductions and all of them are satisfying and memorable. In that way it’s kind of like being a parent, I guess.

Most forgettable? The “repetitive-stress injuries” one suffers with inexperienced executives who don’t take coaching very well; they almost always fail. It’s a really tough balancing act. Stubbornness isn’t confidence, but they can look very similar.

Are they any parting words of advice or wisdom that you would offer to current or prospective entrepreneurs? What about prospective angel investors?

To the entrepreneurs: I would say that every day is a struggle to separate the important from the urgent. It’s incredibly hard to keep doing the most important work when one is faced with such a seemingly endless amount of work.

To the angels: I would say read my friend David Rose’s new book “Angel Investing: The Gust Guide to Making Money and Having Fun Investing in Start-ups.”  If I’d read it five years ago, I might not have had more fun, but I definitely would have made more money.

For more information on becoming or finding an angel investor, visit the Angel Capital Association or the New York Angels. 

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A edited version of this article was originally published on Learnvest.com and Forbes.com in November 2015.

A Museum Grows in Brooklyn

Laurie Cumbo, the Founder and Executive Director of Brooklyn’s Museum of Contemporary African Diasporan Arts (MoCADA) speaks to creative.reconstruction about the virtues of uncertainty, the risks of idealism, and why there are likely few atheists in the ranks of entrepreneurs.

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CREATIVE.RECONSTRUCTION: Let’s assume that the readership is unfamiliar with MoCADA and its mission. Can you briefly describe it for us?

LAURIE CUMBO: MoCADA is an acronym for the Museum of Contemporary African Diasporan Arts. Simply stated, its mission is to archive, celebrate and popularize the work of contemporary black artists the world over.

How did you come up with the name “MoCADA”?

You know, I don’t exactly remember that process. I know that I was inspired when I went abroad as an NYU student and visited a museum in Spain called something like MoCBA — something to the effect of the Museum of Contemporary Barcelonan Art. And I thought that approaching the branding in that manner would be a good idea.

Can you talk a bit about what happened on the first day MoCADA opened?

We actually had two openings: After we finished securing and customizing the original space, we had a meeting with community artists to gauge their thoughts and level of interest. And we only had about 2-3 months worth of operational funds. In fact, when we moved to this new space, I only enough in the way of resources to stay afloat for about 2-3 months. Interestingly enough, one of the things I regret is that we don’t host those types of meetings more often.

How much did you have in the way of start-up capital?

I got my initial money from the sale of a painting that my aunt had stored in her attic for many years. The artist was named Bob Thompson; he was from Louisville, KY and died rather tragically at age 28, in Rome. Over time the value of his work began to appreciate. Interestingly enough, my aunt’s husband was a doctor that had treated Bob when he was a struggling unknown, and had accepted the painting as payment for services rendered. Now, I majored in Art History [at Spelman College in Atlanta, GA] and had some connection to the art world. They wanted me to see if I could sell the painting for them, and they offered me a $2500 commission in the event of a sale. I sold it and got the commission and used that money to start the museum. I rented the space, essentially an apartment in a Bedford-Stuyvesant [Brooklyn] brownstone, called a meeting of the fine artists in the community, told them what I intended to do and enlisted their help. We held a sale of donated works — each piece, whether by a famous or unknown artist, was sold for $300 — and managed to raise another $20,000.

We tried hosting a party soon thereafter at a venue in Fort Greene [Brooklyn], but it didn’t go particularly well….

Why do you think that was the case?

At the time I didn’t know enough about event planning and execution. But I learned from that one experience that I didn’t like the feeling of not meeting my own expectations. So from that point on I adopted a phrase that I may have heard on a TV program or a rock-music video: “Anything that’s worth doing is worth overdoing.” That’s been one of my guiding principles ever since.

Part of the reason I started the museum was because my goal was to actually attend Stern [NYU’s School of Business]. But when I didn’t get in, I decided to launch the museum. I’ve had a lot of instances in my life that played out similarly. In my junior year [at Spelman College in Atlanta, GA] I applied to a program at the Atlanta Historical Society that was geared towards people with an ambition to work in museums and learn the ways in which museums were organized, structured and managed. While I didn’t get in there, I did get into a program at Syracuse University that enabled me to study abroad in Florence, Italy. And so while there was some disappointment at not getting my first choice, there was the benefit of getting to live in Europe for a year.

I think that for entrepreneurs, because of the type of field it is, after achieving a level of maturity you recognize that if you’re truly an entrepreneur there really is no good or bad news. Every situation is a new opportunity for something else, and in essence you’re living only for opportunities. So if you don’t get into one thing, it means that you have to do something else — and where is that something else going to take you? I mean on some level it’s devastating, but on another level you gradually begin moving on to the next thing.

Founding and sustaining a museum of this size and scale is a tremendous amount of work, particularly with regards to securing funding. You have to complete forms, submit mission statements, write grant proposals, meet and greet committee members, do follow-ups, etc. And after all that, there’s still the possibility that you’ll be turned down.

The museum is a registered non-profit, do you think it could survive as a for-profit enterprise?

No — not at all. For-profit typically means that you’re not receiving money from the government, or corporations, or individuals that are enticed to donate by promise of access to the arts. To survive purely on what museum visitors give? Not possible. Museums provide an offering or service to the public at a price that’s far below what it actually costs the museum to provide.

Let’s go back to the actual founding of the museum: Had you already conceptualized the museum — what you’d require to launch it; what you would call it; what it would look like — before you approached your Aunt for the seed money?

I think I probably gave her the impression that I had a better idea of what it was going to be than I actually did [laughs]. I had such a grandiose vision! What that vision was initially, and what the museum is now, still don’t align. And it took a lot to get used to the fact that it wasn’t and isn’t what I originally envisioned. I mean, it was originally housed above a day-care center — that was hardly a part of the fantasy.

How did you resolve those tensions? There are some that might say, Well, if it can’t be what I envision it being, then I won’t do it at all.

I find that people who wait for the ideal situation will always wait. You really just have to go with what you have at the moment, because something else happens once you go ahead and start it. I started MoCADA in a four-story walk-up eight blocks away from the nearest train station. I could have waited until an ideal situation emerged, but if I’d done that, I wouldn’t really have had anything in place — no money, no backers, no artists, no publicity, no recognition — to properly take advantage of that opportunity. As soon as we opened up, we got a lot of publicity. Had we held out for that perfect moment, few would have known that we had the idea, or to send funding our way, or that we were looking for a marquee location. Take the leap and put it out there into the universe that “this is who I am, and this is what I’m doing.” Opportunity will come your way when you essentially wear a banner that says “this is who I am and this is what I do.” I felt and still feel that there’s tremendous benefit to just starting it and seeing what happens.

You’ve made a few statements during this interview that suggest that you have a fairly strong sense of spirituality. Has that always been the case? Do you feel that spirituality and entrepreneurship need to co-exist?

Where I’m concerned, I’d say that whether you are or aren’t spiritual, as an entrepreneur — and I hope this doesn’t offend anyone — you almost have to be closer to “God.” You’re responsible for the people that work for you, you’re responsible for securing funding and you’re responsible for the risks that you take. I guess it’s comparable to being a gambler, and what gambler doesn’t on some level make an appeal to a higher power before rolling the dice? That’s essentially the condition of the entrepreneur. Frankly speaking, nothing that’s happened with the museum should have happened. I’ve always been behind the eight ball where MoCADA is concerned: I didn’t prepare enough for it; I didn’t invest enough time. There’s never enough staff here, never enough people helping out, never enough money. But somehow, it always seems to happen. Even if you were an atheist and became an entrepreneur, in time, I think, you’d probably become a believer [laughs].

Talk about what initially inspired the idea to create a museum devoted to contemporary African art.

I guess because, as superficial as this may sound, I really wanted to go to Stern. I was coming out of the visual arts administration program at [NYU’s Steinhardt School] and they had us take classes at Stern, which I really liked. But I recognized that I didn’t have any professional experience at the time, and that’s critical to getting into business school. I think one of the admissions essays asked why I wanted to go to business school, so it occurred to me to say that I wanted to start a museum and believed that I needed business-management training to do it. But after I didn’t get in, I still had the essay, so I figured, Why not try to put this essay statement in motion and see what happens?

Often when people ask about inspiration, I think they’re expecting something really deep — some childhood experience or magical moment. And sometimes that is the case. But it’s also the case that sometimes things happen in the moment, and once you take the initial steps, things take on a deeper seriousness. Once I saw what was happening after MoCADA launched, I really couldn’t be semi-interested anymore.

But you clearly believed that there was a need that a museum with this mission could serve, yes?

Yes. In addition to writing the essay, I also wrote my thesis on the concept — which was, in many ways, like a business plan. But what I initially said the museum would do and be in that thesis is not really anything like what it became.

One of the major rationales was that this borough of Brooklyn, with all its diversity, hipness and multiculturalism, didn’t have a single museum devoted to the work of black artists. It was very frustrating, very unfair and, I think, very wrong. I thought that if there’s a certain number of black people living somewhere and paying taxes, them some portion of those tax dollars should be invested in the celebration of their history and culture. And that’s been one of my prime motivations in leading this institution. Even moreso than the importance of the art, and the importance of the culture, it’s me reclaiming a larger share of the money that should be coming back into the community.

How was the idea to launch a museum devoted to diasporan arts initially received by the state funding institutions, by the public at large, and by other museums for that matter?

Everyone thought it was a good idea; what they were going to do to help realize that idea was something else. The governments — federal, state, local — feel that, you know, it’s not a brothel, so they don’t really have a problem with it. But for institutions like this to develop, they have to be perceived as more than just a good idea on a government level, because it involves a very high level of political involvement to make these projects happen. And that’s the case in pretty much any instance across this country where you find a black museum. In fact, the research I did prior to opening MoCADA revealed that black museums in the US tended to exist in cities were there was a black mayor. Now, Brooklyn doesn’t have a black mayor, but the black religious leaders in this city and their congregations, tend to exert some political influence. To what extent that influence improves predominately black communities, however, is another question.

You mentioned that you were aware of the risks associated with launching an entrepreneurial venture. Where did you draw the confidence to believe that you could endure those risks?  Was it the formal educational training you received?

I don’t think you ever really know whether you can endure them. I guess it’s sort of like 50 Cent [the hip-hop artist]: take risks or die trying [laughs]. Or like being in a trapeze act: there’s the little safety net underneath you and you just hope that if you fall it doesn’t happen when you’ve swung out beyond the edge of the net. You can’t really do anything else. In fact, in choosing to move the museum to this space [The James E. Davis Building in Fort Greene, Brooklyn], I was on that trapeze with no net. But I was 31. In that 40, 50 and 60-yr-old age bracket, taking those kinds of risks is much harder. Maybe at 70 and 80 you figure you’re almost outta here, so you take those kinds of risks again. I just figured that I was going to jump, and if I didn’t make it, I could still start over and do something else. And I was confident enough in my own skill set that I knew I’d be OK.

You mentioned that under-patronage was among the challenges in sustaining a fledgling museum. What are some of the other challenges that come to mind?

I would say that one of the big challenges is that I need more money and more resources to reach out into those communities that need these kinds of institutions. Being in Fort Greene, I have a ready audience, thankfully. But in order to reach those communities for whom visiting a museum isn’t a standard cultural pastime, it requires more money and more resources. And further on that front, I’ve learned that to really penetrate new territory, it’s important to not come off as some kind of missionary, someone there to show the natives a better way; that’s going to be rejected.

We’re doing very well for a new and young organization. But I feel that the existence of a museum like this was so long overdue — the ethnic communities in this city are so starved for cultural institutions dedicated to their experience — that it should be growing faster.

Have you contemplated an expansion strategy for MoCADA? Outposts in other boroughs or perhaps even other cities in the US?

In my wildest imaginings — yes, but maybe not in my lifetime. I think I want to focus my energies on becoming a big institution here in Brooklyn before expanding to other places. And one of the biggest frustrations with a venture like this one — a cultural institution that’s dependent on community support and patronage — is knowing that explosive growth really isn’t likely to happen, regardless of what I do.

Are there any established governmental institutions that someone with a similar idea could appeal to for early-stage funding? A state Office of Cultural Affairs, for instance?

I don’t think so. It’s funny that you ask that. I teach a class on the founding and management of cultural institutions and that’s one of the first things I tell the students: this isn’t like business school; there aren’t going to be any recruiters coming here looking to cherry pick promising candidates. The job market in this space is almost like appointments to the federal bench or the US Supreme Court. If you’re fortunate enough to get a job in a museum, you hold it — for 10, 20, 30 years.

When I graduated, I somehow knew that the local elected officials were supposed to earmark money for these kinds of initiatives, so I went around to them, showed them my business plan, and asked them for money. Also, most funding agencies won’t support a non-profit that hasn’t been in existence for at least three years. So you really have to scramble during the early going. I hosted a gala fundraiser, charged $75 a ticket and tapped into my network of college friends, family friends, community leaders, etc. I also got local artists to donate pieces that we auctioned off.

Do you believe that the fine-arts sector is a growth sector?

Yes, definitely — probably moreso in the US than in other developed countries. And that’s because in European countries, the fine arts tradition tends to be well-established and centuries old. Here in the US, there tends to be a greater focus on contemporary art, something newly created and newly designed — both in the literal and comparative sense. There tends to be a tremendous amount of cultural turnover in the US fine-arts sector. Erecting museums in cities helps to create cultural spending dollars and stimulate the cultural-tourism industry. But all that being said, the arts world tends to be ignored by the business world. Many — most — business schools have programs devoted to the music industry and sports industry, but few, if any, have classes or programs devoted to arts administration. But those institutions need skilled managers, too.

You’ve alluded to some of the ambitions that you have for MoCADA, and your concerns that you may not be around to see those ambitions realized. What, specifically, are those ambitions?

I would want MoCADA to become a multi-purpose institution, one that supports and celebrates music, dance, film, theatre, digital arts, etc., towards the goal of creating an all-inclusive, almost multi-sensory experience — one that showcases international, national and local artists simultaneously, so that the unity of the diaspora can be witnessed firsthand.

I’d also like to establish and grow a permanent collection.

I’ve also envisioned an incubator of sorts for cultural initiatives that’s anchored by a library, and that would ultimately become the world’s largest collection of information and resources devoted to the art of the diaspora.

I really hope that I can pull something like that off. And that’s one of the key challenges of an entrepreneur: getting others to see, appreciate and buy-in to your vision. In the cultural space, without that profit incentive, it’s even more difficult. But in the end, you just have to be patient.

[Postscript: In 2013, Ms. Cumbo resigned her position at MoCADA to successfully run for a seat on the New York City Council, where she now represents Brooklyn’s 35th Council District.]

For more information on the Museum of Contemporary African Diasporan Arts visit: mocada.org

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This article was originally published in the spring 2007 edition of “The Opportunity” — the newspaper of the NYU Stern School of Business.

 

 

Readying the Renaissance: The Birth of the Urbanworld Film Festival

Stacy Spikes, founder of the Urbanworld Film Festival, and Chairman Emeritus of Urbanworld Film Group — a multi-faceted cinematic enterprise spanning the festival, a film production company, an international distribution company, and a non-for-profit, film-preservation foundation — speaks to creative.destruction about the entrepreneurial value of faith, bravery, and surprisingly enough, failure.

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CREATIVE.RECONSTRUCTION: Let’s begin by assuming that the readership is unfamiliar with Urbanworld. Can you briefly describe what it is and what it is that you do?

STACY SPIKES: Urbanworld is the largest minority film festival in the US. It’s both a non-for-profit and a for-profit enterprise: the non-for-profit is focused on increasing [film-making] opportunities for people of color, focused on the [filmed] works of people of color, and focused on helping people of color remain a part of, and increase our involvement in the contemporary cultural landscape; the for-profit is a distribution company that’s driven by the same mission, but more as a business — one trying to find commercial avenues to achieve our goals. The driving idea was: Instead of waiting for others to do it, why not just do it yourself.

Do you recall what the initial investment was? What, by way of capital, did you initially raise?

Zero. Basically, for the first five years there was no outside investment; anything that happened came out of my pocket. The Sony [sponsorship] deal, netted us $2.5M dollars. Soon after that, Black Enterprise came in with another $2.5M dollars. But the company was born right before 9/11 and we couldn’t continue to raise the capital we needed. Immediately after 9/11, you had to be a cash-flow positive company. People weren’t putting money into start-ups anymore. The Internet bubble had burst, and the Wall Street bubble burst at the same time. So we kind of put that on ice, we released four films, and then when the landscape righted itself, we got back to the festival.

Do you feel comfortable discussing revenue numbers?

The festival itself ranges roughly from $300K­–$1.2M; that’s about the range.

And what are some of the factors that determine those returns?

…Multiple events. If we do quarterly events, we can get into the higher range. So we can do the film festival, the college tour, a film series and lecture series, a traveling version of the festival; it creates many more opportunities to create income. And largely the money is made from underwriters and sponsors — that’s the number one revenue source. Ticket sales, merchandising, etc., they’re a distant second.

When did you decide, or realize, that it would be valuable to Urbanworld to diversify and form the Group?

We saw that there were no urban distributors. The festival was a means of saying to the market “Hey, aren’t these movies great?! You guys should put them out!” But they didn’t get put out. So we decided that we should do it, instead of waiting for Hollywood to catch on and do it.

Why do you think the industry seems to be so resistant to releasing urban-themed films?

One part is the myth that there is no foreign market [for those films]. If you think of [potential returns] as a whole pie, and you take half the pie away, I’m half as interested. It’s also important to realize that publicly traded companies have a job to drive stock price. Hollywood appreciates money just like everybody else, but it’s often more dimensional than that; it’s also about the time and effort invested. When you’re an independent, private company, you really get all of your bread and butter out of the US and you’re not as concerned with foreign sales. You can live and die in America. If you’re a publicly traded company that focuses on your stock price, you’re almost driven by hype more than anything else. So what are you gonna do? You’re going to release the “Matrix” trilogy, the “Harry Potter” movies, “The Lord of the Rings” trilogy, because they raise studio awareness and generate international sales. You don’t care as much about nurturing marginal or unheard stories — grassroots initiatives. With the “tentpole” events, you can literally make money before film is even screened. You can decide to make a billion-dollar trilogy and pre-sell it before it’s even done. Niche-focused ethnic films don’t interest anybody, or rather, they don’t interest everybody. Big movies with ensemble casts, however, can and do attract everybody. Building an entire community project — malls, schools, etc. — is less risky and proportionally less expensive than providing loans to build individual houses.

But that being said, there still seem to be many niche-focused independent films being made that have little or no legitimate chance of becoming blockbuster ventures. Where’s the disconnect there?

That’s the benefit of knowing — or being — mom’s dad’s uncle’s friend. It’s the trickle-down effect. Most communities don’t have that kind of money or that kind of risk tolerance. It’s not that others aren’t innovative and don’t finance movies via credit cards, etc., but….

You mentioned that, in part, the film festival was inspired by the fact that previously there was nothing like it. Would you say that there was also a pro-social inspiration as well? Were you mindful of the possibility that building the festival might inspire others to make films?

I think the [filmmaking and film-going inspiration] was already there, and the business model came second. When you’re at the festival and you see thousands of patrons come out to see these — and their — movies, those same people will by tickets at the movie theaters or buy the DVD. It’s important to grow where you’re planted. Become a hit in your own neighborhood, and then go on the road.

How was the idea initially perceived by the forces you approached, and by the industry at large?

The festival was helped a lot by timing. The idea was floated at precisely the right time; it was almost easy.

Your “insider” status helped, presumably. 

[Nods] Here I was the Vice President of Marketing at Miramax, doing business with all the brands and resources that I called upon to become part of the initiative. I can’t minimize that at all; it gave the festival an automatic leg up. Whereas many people started their festivals out of passion, but they weren’t in the business, per se.

Remember, there were other “black” film festivals out there before ours, so the concept wasn’t new. But never before in the history of the industry were black films being made in that volume, so you had that effect. Then here’s Vibe [magazine], here’s BET, here’s the hip-hop movement that itself is moving into film, and all of those things come together at the same moment in time — and there’s Urbanworld. We were just standing there.

What are the capital outlays required to mount the festival?

We never give those numbers out, but roughly several-hundred-thousand dollars a festival. Not quite a million dollars, but in the high hundred thousands. …

Can we backtrack a bit? Can you talk a little about your career trajectory?

I was supposed to go to Grambling University, like both of my parents. And I said to my mother and father “I want to take off the summer, travel, and move out to LA and just try it.” My father said “How much money do you have in your pocket?” I said “300 bucks.” He said “Well good; that’s all you’re getting, ‘cause I’m not financing it.” “You want to go to college — fine. But if you’re going to do this — you’re on your own.”

So I went out to LA [from Houston], with some friends. I get out there and — this is the shorter version, because I kind of floated around for a while — Berry Gordy had just sold Motown to Universal, and so Motown got moved to Los Angeles. They were in the process of staffing up, and they needed everything. I got a job in the art department, as a gopher. A position opened for something called a “product manager.” So I walked into the president’s office and told him that I wanted to try out the job. He said “well, I’ll give you a shot, but we’re going to fill your current position in the interim. So if you fail, you’re out.” “I’m gonna give you a group and let you start on them, and we’ll see what happens.” The group was Boyz II Men….

I then proceeded to do soundtracks for “Do The Right Thing,” and for “Jungle Fever.” Eddie Murphy joined the label after we did “Boomerang.” And then we ended up breaking Elvis Presley’s record by lasting 52 weeks at Number 1 with the [Boyz II Men] song “End of the Road.” So soon enough I had Stevie Wonder, Boyz II Men, Spike Lee, Eddie Murphy. Queen Latifah joined the label. I helped her win a Grammy for “Queen.” And I was all of 21 years old! Needless to say, I never made it to Grambling.

I then went to Sony and did “Bad Boys” with Will Smith and Martin Lawrence, and a bunch of other films like [Robert Altman’s] “Pret-a-Porter.”  Miramax then called me up and said that they wanted me to be their Vice President of Marketing. I said “…of music?” They said “…of everything.” They give me a script and they tell me that they want an answer in 24 hours. That script was “Scream.” I did “Scream”; I did “The Crow”; I did “Trainspotting,” and “Don’t Be A Menace in South Central While Drinking Your Juice in the ‘Hood.”

At around that time, October Films was getting off the ground, and I jumped over there to become Head of Publicity. Miramax’s marketing department had a very high turnover rate. In marketing, you can’t really win: if the movie’s a success, it’s because production made a good movie. But if the movie’s a failure, it’s your fault. Unfair, considering how essential marketing is to entertainment, but there it is.

Talk a bit about the obstacles you encountered in mounting the festival and growing the Urbanworld enterprise.

The biggest challenge is the courtship of sponsors every year. Some sponsors return, but by and large we have to sell our usefulness to a new sponsor pool each year. Also, our ups and downs and effected by the kinds of films being made, so when a “Collateral” comes out — great! But there really wasn’t much in the way of urban content produced this year. We tried to get “Miami Vice,” but the film wasn’t finished in time.

Why do you think sponsor relationships are so difficult to sustain?

The sponsors are driven by pressures to maximize quarterly returns. They’re often publicly traded companies and they have limited budgets for these kinds of initiatives. Frankly, giving money to an organization that helps rebuild inner city schools, or alleviates some grave disease, is going register a bit more than supporting an organization that seeks to promote film-making. The chosen initiatives change all the time.

How long did it take you to assemble the early festival-production team?

Not long. It was just a few phone calls and the gathering of interns. I put the money down for the theater — $300, interestingly enough. Urbanworld 1 screened 30 films. But this is the best story: On opening night we’re supposed to debut Bill Duke’s film “Hoodlum.” At the last minute, Bill [Duke] can’t come, Andy Garcia’s [who stars in the film] wife got sick, Laurence Fishburne is otherwise engaged, it’s raining. So I’m in the back of the cab en route to the theater, thinking to myself “this is a disaster.” Here I am $20K in the hole, all told, and I’m on the verge of losing it all.

So the screening is scheduled at the [now defunct] Gotham Theatre, and I tell the cabbie “drive around the block.” My plan was to sneak in through the back. I didn’t even want to walk through the front door. As we drive by, I see a few people standing outside the theater waiting to go in — in a torrential downpour, remember. We turn the corner and there’s a line snaking all the way down the block!

Closing night was “Soul Food” [Kenneth “Babyface” and Tracey Edmonds’s first feature film],  and they brought it to the theater on the plane! We hadn’t seen it; it didn’t even have final credits on it! The cast turned out — Vivica Fox, Mekhi Phifer, Babyface Edmonds; it was at the [now defunct] single-screen Radio City Theater — and it was madness! Sold-out show, packed to the rafters.

The New York Times ran a major article on the festival calling it “‘an idea whose time had come.’” We’ve essentially been chasing the magic of that first year ever since. The same forces that gave me that job at Motown, the same forces that took me to Columbia, the same forces that would let a twenty-something-year-old black exec exist at Miramax — and they had just released “Pulp Fiction,” which at the time was the hottest film on the planet — came together to validate the festival. None of that was me. I was — and am —just a tool for the universe to do its bidding.

Would you have described yourself as a spiritual person prior to that?

Absolutely. Faith is more important in business than anything. Faith and prayer — traditional and/or nontraditional prayer. You have to believe the impossible. There’s that saying “God can do the impossible, but that’s all he’s willing to do because the rest is up to you.” So anything on Earth that is humanly possible, it’s almost as of you have to run and leap and know the branch is going to be there. And in reality, you never fail, it just may take a little longer than you think. And that’s really the truth. Even with Urbanworld Films — we got a major distribution company to back us with no experience and track record. How did that happen? It’s impossible. But the meeting we had with the Sony exec’s was really telling. They were all sitting there, stone faced, and it really wasn’t going anywhere. So I said: “Let me show you the future.” I pulled out a DVD of 20-minute film, shot on a Sony DV cam for $500. “Kids are gonna make their own films, they’ll edit them on their home computers and they’ll build websites to promote them.” The movie comes on, the execs lean in, begin talking among each other, and they say “We want to do business with you.”

Conrad Hilton’s book “Be My Guest,” is an excellent primer on the connection between business and spirituality; it makes you think about things in an entire different light. Did Alexander Graham Bell create the phone or did the phone create Alexander Graham Bell? You need these people to be in a given place at a given moment for these things to happen. [Henry] Ford created four companies that failed before he found success with the Model-T. It’s almost as if these spirits need to be crushed into dust and reinvent themselves in order to succeed. Very, very, very few people succeed on their first try; it’s the missteps that help you find direction.

What’s the ideal exit strategy for you and Urbanworld?

I don’t know that there is one at the moment. We have discussed the possibility of selling it to a very strong player that may want to acquire it and provide it with greater year-round infrastructure. We look at the revenues that a Sundance or a Tribeca produce, and it underscores the importance of influencing the content output in Hollywood, because that affects the fortunes of the festival community.

If I had a dream goal for Urbanworld, it would be for it to resemble what they’ve done with the Joffrey Ballet: an environment wherein films are screened, where the craft of filmmaking is taught, and future of urban film is, at least on a creative level, secured.

We field tons of suggestions, proposals and inducements to show more films, go on the road, branch out into new media. But It’s important that we don’t overextend ourselves and sacrifice our core. Our mission is a bit different from that of the conventional film festival. There are certain kinds of films we pride ourselves on screening, distributing and supporting. That’s our crowning jewel; that’s the heart of Urbanworld.

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This article was originally published in a fall 2008 edition of “The Opportunity” — the newspaper of the NYU Stern School of Business.

A Guerrilla Marketing Primer for Teen & Young Adult Entrepreneurs

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When thinking of ways to market a new business concept — particularly one being run by an individual or a team with comparatively low levels of experience, capital and market recognition — it’s important to make a thorough assessment of the enterprise from two vantage points: internal and external.

The internal assessment should focus on two things: the core strengths and weakness of the enterprise, and the essential “identity” of the company.

Strengths and weaknesses refer, respectively, to advantages and disadvantages that your enterprise may possess.

• Among your strengths may be the specialized education of the founder(s), understanding of a new and complicated software application, familiarity with a particular demographic or psychographic, or relationships you might have with powerful people. In short, these are special skills or privileges that will differentiate your company and your offering(s) from others in the market.
• Conversely, weaknesses may be your lack of professional experience, low levels of start-up capital, a shallow pool of contacts and references, or obligations that limit the amount of time you can devote to the enterprise. In short, these are developmental areas that, in time, you’ll probably need to address, and in the moment, for which you will almost certainly need to account or compensate.

The essential company “identity” turns on leveraging those strengths and identifying your target market and core consumer. (This is key!) It requires that you consciously determine how you’ll present your enterprise to the marketplace, and by extension influence the manner in which your enterprise is to be perceived by the marketplace. A computer-repair company seeking to leverage its low-cost and efficiency will identify itself differently than a landscaping concern emphasizing its ability to beautify suburban lawns — or at least it should.

The external assessment requires that you attempt to evaluate your company, on the same metrics of strengths and weaknesses, through the eyes of that target customer — one with whom you have no connection, familial or otherwise, and one for whom your company is but another among several possible options. Ask yourself how this consumer might initially perceive you, and the product/service that you’re claiming you’ll deliver. Try to anticipate their questions, concerns and doubts, and contemplate ways that you can credibly address them. (It’s in your best interests to seek out honest and objective feedback on this point.)

Once you’ve completed these exercises, your task is to devise a marketing strategy that leverages your strengths, and compensates for your weaknesses. There are no uniform methods of accomplishing this, but there are certain core marketing essentials that entrepreneurs ignore at their peril. Here’s a list of what I consider to be the top five:

I. Presentation.  As an early stage entrepreneur, it’s critical to understand that you are the face of the business. The manner in which you present, comport and express yourself will determine the way in which people perceive you, and by extension, your business. When in the public eye, always conduct yourself in a mature and professional manner. Develop a short, key-points summary of your business that you can casually insert into conversation or deliver when asked. Get professional-looking business cards, designed in a manner that is consistent with your business deliverable (e.g., a graphic designer’s card should be different than that of an investment advisor), and be sure to have some on hand at all times.

II. Networking.  Perhaps the most oft-repeated business fundamental there is — and with good reason. Networking enables you, at little or no cost, to acquaint yourself with a universe of like-minded individuals who may themselves become clients, mentors, investors or partners — or be able to refer you to other such persons. Seek out, join and leverage professional organizations that cater to your chosen field of endeavor. Should you be constrained from doing so, think about ways in which you can create networking functions of your own.

III. Volunteering.  To succeed you will need customers. Period. To get customers you will need opportunities to demonstrate the quality of your work product. Period. It’s a self-reinforcing cycle that’s impossible to avoid. Seek out high-visibility, high-credibility customers and offer to work your magic free of charge in exchange for using them as business references going forward. (You may also want to consider establishing some kind of incentive system wherein past/current customers are rewarded for creating future customers.) Additionally, consider volunteering for community groups and at community-based events. You can grow your professional network, build experience, credibility and references, while at the same time cultivate what is hopefully a genuine image of philanthropy that can only work to your advantage.

IV. Collaboration/Bartering.  It stands to reason that there are going to be larger players operating in any space in which you choose to focus your energies. In almost all such cases, you won’t have the resources to compete with them head-on. However, in most cases, your business function may complement those of another business — large or small — with whom you can collaborate or barter for mutual gain and market strength. If your company seeks to promote concerts, for instance, the managers of the local performance venues may permit you to collect email addresses at upcoming events that you and they can share going forward. Similarly, if your enterprise centers on customized fashion accessories, in exchange for promoting their businesses to your customer base, the owner(s)/manager(s) of local beauty and nail salons might be willing to distribute your business card or brochure to their own customers. It’s all about reciprocity.

V. Promotion.  This is a budget-responsive tool that’s far too frequently misused by budding entrepreneurs. As a start-up you want to distribute your promotional materials — pamphlets, brochures, newsletters — in places that are likely to capture your core consumer, and via methods that aren’t going to irritate or offend. As stated above, consider the “identity” of your business and the sensibilities of your target customer. A computer-services entrepreneur probably won’t gain as much from a flyers-under-the-windshield-wipers strategy as s/he would from politely approaching computer users in the local coffee bar or library, or parent-child pairs in the neighborhood bookstore or the local supermarket. A lawn-care professional is sure to do better via personalized, daylight-hour, door-to-door appeals than s/he would stuffing flyers in neighborhood mailboxes. Think about the promotional strategies that irritate you and those that appeal to you, focus on adopting the latter.

In closing, it’s important to note that the suggestions offered above aren’t to be read as a comprehensive list of entrepreneurial-marketing essentials; they’re intended to serve as foundational basics that stimulate your strategic imagination, and help to organize those strategies within a thoughtful professional framework.

It’s also important to note that these strategies aren’t mutually exclusive, each builds on, reinforces and facilitates the others. Marketing — indeed, business — is a holistic undertaking. Each decision and commitment that you make will have consequences — positive and negative; intended and unintended — on the other facets of your enterprise. An effective marketer must be mindful of these truths; an effective entrepreneur, even moreso. Good luck!

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This primer was originally produced for attendees of a panel focused on teen/young adult entrepreneurs at the 2007 Black Enterprise Entrepreneurs Conference + Expo.

This Business of Bhangra: A Conversation with DJ Rekha

DJ Rekha (née Rekha Malhotra), the nation’s foremost purveyor of Bhangra music and the founder of Sangament, Inc., speaks to creative.reconstruction about the business of popularizing an art form, and the art of sustaining Basement Bhangra — New York City’s longest-running music-and-dance party.

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CREATIVE.RECONSTRUCTION: Can you briefly describe the enterprise that is Sangament, Inc.?

DJ REKHA: Sangament is the name I’ve given to my company. It’s a combination of the words Sangam and entertainment. “Sangam” itself is a north Indian Hindi word meaning the confluence of rivers; it’s where the rivers flow, in essence. Sangament Inc. is the entity through which I do all of my work — as a DJ, as a marketer and as a consultant.

Do you recall your initial investment?

It’s a bit difficult to say, because the entity has been evolving ever since my cousins and I bought some DJ equipment in our late teens, and I consider Sangament to be an extension of that. But with that being said, the initial investment was about $300. Sangament, Inc., the formal corporate entity, has been in business for about six years.

How would you describe or characterize Bhangra?

Bhangra is a music and a dance that originally comes from Punjab: A region — and an ethnicity — divided by India and Pakistan. It’s one of the forms of music that’s indigenous to the area; it was transported to the UK through the immigration of Punjabi peoples that came to the UK post World War II. And now, roughly three generations later, the music has taken in its environment and developed and transformed in a unique way.

What was it that drew you into that cultural space?

The cultural space was my household in many respects. I was exposed to the language via my parents. I didn’t have much exposure to that music. I grew up on Bollywood, which is a Hindi language-based music that emerged in the Hindi-language film industry. I was initially exposed to the music by my mother; she brought back a tape from England after a visit there. This was around the time that the Bhangra scene really started kicking-off in the UK. I heard it and it really blew my mind. At the same time, my cousins and I just got interested in DJ-ing and forming a crew.

How was Bhangra initially received in India, and how is it received today?

I think initially, in India and maybe even in Pakistan, Bhangra was perceived as sort of regionally based folk music: very specific to a locale, very jubilant, very lively and very festive. It was and is the music of north Indian weddings. In the UK, in the same way, it was brought over and it kept going through cultural practices. Especially because of the political context in which it sort of incubated in the UK: you had these communities of color that didn’t really assimilate or mix and they really held on to their cultural traditions, so they kept it alive. And in terms of its perception, Bhangra has been like House [music]; it keeps having waves in the UK, of breaking and becoming mainstream, and then disappearing.

There was actually a hit a few years ago with Punjabi MC [“Beware of the Boys”]. This record that broke in Europe, and then Jay-Z actually rapped on it here [in the States] quite by accident. The whole idea has been that this music is really going to break and go somewhere. And it does a little bit and then it doesn’t. But there’re still a lot of barriers to entry to south Asian artists in the UK. Even though it’s a community that’s embedded in that cultural landscape, I think that artists there tend to have a hard time breaking out. Society there is still kind of insular and the industry is kind of shallow. So we have yet to see the corporate forces that encourage, discourage, exploit and co-opt these cultural forms — all of which are necessary for a genre of music to become “mainstream.”

India, China and America seem to be three nations with large enough, and wealthy enough, populations to sustain their own independent cultural forms — commercially speaking. Why hasn’t that seemed to happen with Bhangra in India?

Well, it has. But you have to understand that Bhangra is a very specific kind of music, and in India it’s popular now, to some degree. But in India, Bollywood and Hindi-language culture is more accessible to people; it’s not simply that Bhangra isn’t popular. Also, where you have a community and you have a large diaspora, what works in India — and I know first-hand as a DJ — doesn’t fly in the UK and it doesn’t work here. People’s tastes are different.

There was a moment in the early 90s where these Bhangra bands were becoming quite popular in the UK. They went to India and didn’t get any traction. Because India is so diverse culturally — so many languages, the largest middle-class in the world — it’s hard to generalize peoples’ preferences. Only after Punjabi MC’s track broke internationally did it break in India, very much in the same way a Madonna track would break in India: It got put on a soundtrack in a Bollywood movie.

You mentioned that you got exposed to Bhangra music through your family, and that, in turn, stimulated your interest in DJ-ing. Is it accurate to say then that this enterprise proceeded from that interest in DJ-ing?

Well, I grew up in a business-oriented family. So I have this little entrepreneurial…problem. Growing up, I always worked for my dad; he had several businesses. For several years I worked at his store in midtown Manhattan and, you know, that was my business education. So there’s something very innate in me about not working for anyone, having a certain kind of hustle going. And having done it a lot — having dealt with cash growing up — that was always inherent. I always found a way to maintain some autonomy. So when I started DJ-ing, it was a hobby that I always took seriously as a business. It took a while to get it down on paper and what have you, but the minute money was exchanged, it was a business to me. It started with my cousins and just grew from there. I have a real keen sense and interest in branding and remaining a viable entity. I came to it through Bhangra music and as a DJ, but I see it as a larger thing, a larger idea.

Did your experience with the family business help to allay the anxieties that entrepreneurs often feel in starting a new business?

Unfortunately, I inherited some of those anxieties. Working in an environment like a family store, it’s very informal and there isn’t really a sense of making or not making money. And because the income tended to be so inconsistent, we were told that we needed to watch it. So I picked up that anxiety, but I also picked up some practical things, particularly on the management side: like working with people, and understanding that there’s going to be turnover. In my dad’s business, people were constantly leaving. So I recognized that you always needed to be ready for that and other semi-unpredictable things. Also, working as a DJ, in clubs and private events, you just develop a thick skin about things and problems. And I’ve noticed that the best-run venues I’ve worked and partnered with over the years were those that were managed by people that just knew how to deal and didn’t get overly excited or panicked when problems arose.

What have been some of the challenges you’ve encountered in sustaining Sangament?

The problem with our club nights, is that we don’t sell advance tickets, and so you never know what’s going to happen on any given night. You don’t know if the rain is going to make the people come out more or less. And between the managers and the bouncers, everyone is Monday-morning quarterbacking: “You know what it is, it’s because…” fill in the blank. I guess we’re just really affected by seasonality and by things that are happening in the world. Club-going is a very particular kind of entertainment. We survived 9/11; we had to, and we had to determine what to do in that instance. Can you have a party after something like that went down? On the flip side: Can you just abruptly stop? How do you as a business keep going when what you do is provide X kind of service and it just doesn’t seem appropriate, in a given moment, to provide that service. How do you get through that?

How did you choose to handle that situation?

Well, one of the things I seek to do as an artist, when I’m wearing my artist hat, is to going beyond just playing music. My feeling is that we create spaces, so there’s a lot of care invested in creating spaces that are open to people. We do a lot of physical things: We create flyers, we project images on the wall, and we make all these little choices that result in an experience. So we had a night scheduled 9 days after 9/11. And we were at a loss to determine what to do. Do we say No? Do we say Yes? What do we do? And I ended up making a decision to open. We didn’t do anything in the way of promotion; we simply said that we’re open, because everything else was shut down. We’d been watching CNN, and everyone was in a daze, but I was just like “come down and have a drink with me.” And we gave a lot of money way, because we felt it was the right thing to do. We just dealt.

But that being said, the biggest challenge hasn’t really been the event side; that’s almost second nature at this point. My biggest challenges have been cash flow: I feel the frustration of wanting to do more but not having the resources. I learned business through working at a candy store. I’ve never had to raise capital. And just the persistent challenges of being efficient and handling the minor annoyances that tend to slow you down — essentially, the basic “Business 101” stuff that I’ve had to learn on the job, so to speak.

We recently launched a formal recruitment process to hire someone. Usually it functions on word-of-mouth, but I really didn’t just want to hire anyone. But now I know why companies pay their employees thousand-dollar fees to refer good people. It’s tough! We ended up having to re-evaluate our plan. We were going to have two people: one person doing operations and another doing marketing. I liked the idea of separating the functions and roles, but I kept getting the wrong kinds of people: people who really wanted to do the marketing stuff, people who weren’t anal enough or just didn’t have enough experience to handle operations. In the end, my marketing person was like: “I’m here, I can just work full-time.”  And we just opted to hire a temp to fill-in the gaps. I just don’t have the energy and the resources to recruit somebody at this point. So it’s things like that I didn’t think that I’d have to deal with.

So lack of capital is a persistent challenge. Does anything else come to mind?

I have the general feeling that there’s a lot of potential. And I’m not worried about sustainability, but growth. And to me, growth includes capital. But I feel like I’ve done a good job of building a brain-trust of friends, of people who are informal consultants to me. People who work in consulting firms or other related fields and are lending their expertise to me. The frustration is that they’re available when they have time. I haven’t really tried to raise capital because I’m waiting for that one big thing. In the meantime, I’m cultivating the network and resources that will enable me to do that when the time comes that we really think Sangament is ready to grow to and develop a really strong venture. The areas of the business that are growing are the marketing side and the consulting side.

And those sides of the business help companies penetrate the south Asian market in the US and Europe?

My clients tend to be more boutique-oriented. I find myself attracted to those projects that I have a real connection to. We don’t really have the resources to deploy international-scale initiatives, but we are working with record labels and certain kinds of media services. What we’re really good at is viral marketing and using our existing brands and channels to engage tastemakers. As the face of the company, I have to be very selective about what kinds of projects I take on. I can’t really risk losing my credibility. So by default, my client roster is comprised of record labels and people doing very culturally specific stuff.

What’s your relationship — and the relationship of Bhangra — to the American music industry?

To the American music industry, if anything, I’m just a squirrel trying to get my nut. I’m not overly interested in a “grand-success” model. I believe that slow and steady wins the race. After nine-some-odd years, I just signed a deal with Koch Records, and I’m really happy with it. I like the company. I like the way that they work. I also don’t see it as my meal ticket; it’s just adding something to my enterprise. Koch tends to align with artists that already have their own following. And I think that the most important thing that a label can do for you is to get your music on the shelf.

One of the benefits of actually having a business of my own is understanding the other side of the equation, is knowing that the label is a company: They have X amount of resources and the things that will give them a return — and the people who are nicest to work with — is where the energy is going to go. So make it easy for them, and it will be easier for you. In the case of the Punjabi MC record, that song was licensed in this territory. The licensing label made tons of money on the song, but you couldn’t find it in the stores. I say that to illustrate that several strategies exist for monetizing music. As an artist, it’s key to understand the tendencies of the label you’re affiliated with.

A few moments ago you mentioned that you didn’t have a grand success strategy for Sangament….

No, I didn’t mean to suggest that. I do have a large-scale vision for the company. What I meant to say is that a lot of music artists want get on MTV; they want a Grammy; they want platinum sales. I simply want people to like the music enough to buy it. I don’t need the validation of platinum sales, or Grammy awards or video-music play. That model seems to serves X segment of the population, and what we’re seeing in the music industry is the realization that to sell products to different demographics it’s important to realize that people want things in different ways. Starbucks sells a lot of CDs; Oprah sells a lot of books.

So you have no objection to Sangament, or DJ Rekha, becoming a recognizable brand?

Uggh! That sounds awful! [Laughs.] No, bring it on. I mean there was definitely a moment when I was like “Buy me out, give me a salary, and let me just have creative control.” And that was borne of the frustration of not having the resources to do stuff. And frankly, I’d still entertain offers of that nature. I realize that I have a certain way of doing things: ethics, integrity and fairness at every corner.

For instance, it’s fairly easy to get people to volunteer to be in the creative industries. I don’t believe in that, for lots of reasons: one of which is that if you’re going to transact with someone, you need to break the bread commerce. I just believe that. I certainly want to get paid when I do something. I get offers to do fancy benefits and they’ll be like, “We can’t pay you.”

It’s funny — it doesn’t matter who you are or what you’ve accomplished, someone will always ask you to do something for free. They’ll say things like “We can get you a car service,” or “We can get you a this.” And I’m like “Don’t get me that, get me some money!” In the same regard, if Sangament ever were to become “big,” I’d want to keep those kinds of things in mind.

Does Sangament have much of a presence or foundation in India?

Sangament doesn’t really. I do, and Basement Bhangra does, but not Sangament. And again, one of the challenges I have is creating a name for the company that’s independent of me. And that’s important because as a company, we can do a lot more — brand consulting, promotions, marketing, CD song arrangement — than one might associate with DJ-ing.

In closing, what are your hopes for Bhangra? Would you like to see it become a cultural institution in the way of, say, Hip-Hop?

I don’t know. I find a lot of similarities between Bhangra and Dancehall, insofar as they both come from a very specific cultural experience — as does Hip-Hop. Not to discount Hip-Hop in any way. Arguably, Hip-Hop references Dancehall in many ways. Many of the Hip-Hop pioneers were second-generation Jamaican and Caribbean immigrants. But the whole notion or structure of success may be problematic. The music is powerful; it has a certain aesthetic and I think it will always have an audience. I’d like to see it exposed to a wider audience in whatever way possible.

Have you contemplated an exit strategy for yourself as a DJ? As a businessperson?

It’s funny, for many years I said that I would stop Basement Bhangra after 10 years, because 10 years is good for a club night. And part of me still wants to, believe me. I am not lying. I’m like: Let ‘em crave it, let ‘em want it. Go out when you’re on a high note! The party definitely requires a large commitment. People have counseled me to hand it over to someone else to run, but I can’t do that. In nine years — and we do 18 a year — I’ve only missed two nights. If the party starts to weaken, I’ll be the first one to say stop. Everything comes to an end; it all functions on a cycle. If the other facets of the company continue to grow, I’ll be more inclined to step back.

Have you been approached by other companies seeking a collaboration, partnership or merger?

Not yet. But my feeling is that if we focus on the things that are meaningful to us, and the things we do well, those things will come eventually.

So, in theory, you’d be open to it?

Maybe. Maybe. I mean … yeah, maybe.

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This article was originally published in a spring 2007 edition of “The Opportunity,” the newspaper of the NYU Stern School of Business. It was later included in a collection titled “Voices of the Asian American and Pacific Islander Experience,” published in December 2010 by Greenwood, an imprint of ABC-CLIO.

 

War as Metaphor: Theories of Conflict, Negotiation and Resolution in Warner Bros’ “300”

Beneath the veil of romantic heroism that drapes across “300,” the quasi-historical action-adventure film that has laid siege to America’s popular imagination, lay a body of interesting and highly provocative negotiating conundrums.

On the macro level, I think the foremost question is whether it is possible to negotiate with a fundamentally irrational party. On the micro level, the questions parse out into three separate but interrelated theoretical puzzles: i) Can and should earnest, substantive negotiations occur in instances of gross power inequalities? ii) Are more powerful parties be better served by making demands of their opponents, or extending offers/requests? iii) Is it better for punitive consequences to be scaled-up or maximized from the outset?

The setup runs something like this:

King Leonidas, ruler of Sparta, a small but fierce Greek city-state renowned for its prowess in war, is approached by a team of emissaries from the court of King Xerxes, ruler of Persia, the world’s dominant imperial empire, seeking a token gesture — “earth and water” — of alms, recognition and submission to the authority of the Persian throne.

Leonidas, disinclined to submit, emboldened by Athens’ resistance to the Persian King, and enraged by the emissaries’ patronizing tone in the face of Spartan resolve, not only refuses to accede to Xerxes’s wishes, but proceeds to kill the entire team of messengers — an act that desecrates the customs of the Age and guarantees that Persia will respond with war.

Leonidas pulls together an elite team of 300 Spartan soldiers and engages the Persian army at Thermopylae (the hot gates): a narrow mountain pass that will negate the Persians’ numerical advantage, and magnify the superior tactical strengths of the outnumbered Spartans.

The Spartans’ defense is so fantastic, the number of Persian soldiers they kill is so great, that Xerxes sends to additional hosts of emissaries to the Spartan encampment in the hopes of brokering a cease-fire. The Spartans kill the first messenger (incurring more spirited offensives from the Persians, which the Spartan soldiers thwart); and the second messenger, King Xerxes himself, is confronted not only by King Leonidas’s refusal to submit, but also his scorn (forcing Xerxes to unleash his elite soldiers, which the Spartans defeat, albeit with greater difficulty).

In the end, Xerxes returns and through yet another emissary, offers Sparta and King Leonidas dominion over the entire Western world, if they would only bow before his throne. The Spartans refuse and kill the emissary. Xerxes, after being wounded by a spear thrown in defiant fury by Leonidas, gives the command to launch an all-out attack and the Spartans are eradicated.

The Pyrrhic exploits of the Spartans so inspire the city-states of Greece that they collectively take up arms against Persia and, in time, ultimately defeat Xerxes’s army.

Leonidas’s irrational fealty to the spirit of Sparta leads him to war against Persia — a war he knows that he cannot win — and to risk the destruction of Spartan civilization. In the Spartan mind — a mind conditioned from birth to glorify combat and death in battle — the BATNA (Best Alternative To a Negotiated Agreement), as well as the desired end, is war.

Xerxes’s power and the size of his army effectually precluded any (rational) person or state from resisting the wishes of the Persian Empire. Xerxes’s entreaties were merely token gestures of his beneficence; he knew that all feared his wrath, but wanted all to recognize his mercy. For the Persians, the BATNA is conquest; the target, however, is dominion (which cannot be obtained without war).

i) Can a negotiation truly occur between these two parties?
I think not. Xerxes wrongly assumed that Sparta would rationally prefer assent and life, to dissent, war and certain destruction; his miscalculation created an opportunity for Sparta to openly defy his power (making it, by definition, less than irresistible), and forced him into war. Conversely, Xerxes’s unmatched military strength made virtually every negotiation he entered into one of pure ceremony. Conquest was always a realistic option for him — a costly option, perhaps, but one that was eminently achievable. And if it’s true that parties negotiate to avert or avoid violent conflict (or some analogy thereof), then it’s also the case that Xerxes can’t earnestly engage in negotiation — by virtue of his power and dominance, he can only indulge in polite coercion.

ii) Are more powerful parties better served by making demands vs. offers or requests?
Clearly, Xerxes would have been better served by issuing Sparta an ultimatum: submit or suffer the consequences. For in any scenario involving submission, Spartans would be certain to choose war. Asking Leonidas for a token offering flamed the fire of Spartan pride and honor, and ultimately aroused their warrior fury. Demanding submission would have done the same, to be sure, but that option would not have suggested an exploitable lack of resolve on Xerxes’s part.

iii) Is it better for punitive consequences to be scaled or maximized at the outset?
Launching into all-out war guaranteed that Xerxes would incur the maximum cost in terms of money and casualties, but also opens the possibility of his army losing some measure of prestige. Additionally, if one responds “maximally” and the adversary remains standing, subsequent threats are rendered hollow. Xerxes might have been better served to engage in a “war” of attrition: embargoes, “divide and conquer” tactics among the Greek states, diplomatic pressures and subterfuge. This approach may have allowed Xerxes the option to launch an attack after the morale, resolve and reputation of Sparta had been diminished. Instead, Xerxes declares war from the outset — in the aftermath, he enables the creation of 300 martyrs and an enduring mythology that inspires a nation to do the impossible.

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This op-ed was originally published in a spring 2007 edition of “The Opportunity” — the newspaper of the NYU Stern School of Business.

This Business of Hip-Hop: A Conversation with the Founder of Fat Beats

On the eve of its twelve-year anniversary, Joseph Abajian, the thirty-something founder and CEO of Fat Beats Inc. — a six-million-dollar, 16-employee, hip-hop-culture enterprise spanning music retail, distribution and recording — speaks to creative.reconstruction about the virtues of naïveté, the limits of passion, and the challenges of niche-music retailing in the age of corporate coöptation.

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CREATIVE.RECONSTRUCTION: Let’s assume that the readership is unfamiliar with Fat Beats. Can you briefly summarize your business model and mission?

JOSEPH ABAJIAN: Fat Beats is a niche-based culture company committed to preserving and protecting the elements of the original art of hip-hop through the sale of hip-hop music and culture.

What was your initial investment?

$4,000 and a bit of good credit. I planned the business out as best as I could [Abajian has an Associate’s degree in business administration from LaGuardia Community College], but at the time I wasn’t aware of the value of partnering with someone who had experience in the model. Essentially, if the original store [opened in 1994, in an East Village basement storefront] didn’t generate profits in the first four months, I would’ve been done. In hindsight, had I known how poor the odds were for that store to succeed, I probably would never have taken the risk.  On the flip side, my lack of experience and training forced me to hustle for the things I needed like the shelving, flooring, light fixtures, etc. I found everyway possible to keep my costs to a minimum. I had no other way.

How many retail stores do you have?

Three stores currently. We began with one — in New York — and expanded briefly to a total of five — in Los Angeles, Amsterdam, Atlanta and Japan. The Japan store lasted for about a year, but never really took off. We were never able to capture the proper infrastructure. Again, our mission is the preservation and protection of hip-hop culture, but apparently there aren’t many people out there that fully understand what that means — or at least there weren’t at the time (1996–97). The inventory was just all over the place.

The store in Atlanta was also undone by management problems, but admittedly, my own lack of business know-how and experience (at the time) was a problem as well. In hiring, back then, I’d try to find people with passion for hip-hop. And I still think that’s important, but it’s also important that my store managers have an understanding of retail. And it can prove hard to find people that possess the two. In the Atlanta store [opened from 1998–99], the staff was hard-core, “underground” hip-hop lovers; they didn’t care at all for the “Dirty South” sound that was emerging in the region. In fact they were anti Dirty South. Consequently, they didn’t stock or sell any of those records. [“Dirty South” is a regionally determined hip-hop music aesthetic that evolved in the larger urban municipalities of the South — e.g., Atlanta, Houston and Tampa — during the mid to late ‘90s.] In their defense, the bulk of our catalog is pretty hard-core hip-hop; we’re thin on the pop-rap stuff. But the lesson there was that hard-core can apparently assume many forms.

Was that initial store your first entrepreneurial venture?

…It was. I was a DJ at the time — I still am to some extent — so I knew that there really wasn’t a store that provided the materials that hip-hop DJs needed. There was a [now defunct] Music Factory in Times Square that was the de facto gathering spot for hip-hop DJs at the time, but I felt that something downtown that catered exclusively to hip-hop would be appreciated.

So, in essence, the mission statement was the inspiration for founding the stores?

Yes. Thankfully we’ve been able to remain faithful to that. It was impossible to know back then that hip-hop would become what it is today; it’s grown to a level that I never imagined and that I think few people would have imagined. $200 sneakers; $100 hoodies [hooded sweatshirts]?! Come on!! And that’s just the surface of things. The commercialization of the form has taken it out of the realm of expression — which is where it originally existed — and into the realm of consumption. Clearly, you still have your purists, myself among them, but we’re almost oddities at this point.

Did your business administration training prepare you for the early challenges?

…To an extent: It gave me the tools to open a business: incorporating, insurance, etc., but what proved most useful to me was understanding how businesses were structured — organizationally and operationally. Every job I took after college I used to deepen my understanding of that facet of business.

You began exclusively with the sale of vinyl. When did you decide it was sensible to diversify?

Well, we did carry cassettes and CDs (which were still pretty new at the time), but you’re right, vinyl was the bulk of our inventory and was definitely our sales engine. In about 1998 we started focusing more on CDs; vinyl sales began to decline. 2001 was a bad year for retail record sales: Internet buying really began to take off and 9/11 pretty much stopped downtown commerce cold.

Your website (www.fatbeats.com) offers a sizeable inventory of products that can be purchased online. Did this medium help to grow your business to any extent?

Yes and no: We grew insofar as we expanded into the Internet space, but the Internet space and its functionalities — particularly digital downloads — shrank our brick-and-mortar sales volume far more it generated virtual sales.

Is that what motivated you to expand into record distribution and found the record label?

Actually, no: In about 1995 I met someone who headed up operations for a fairly prominent indie distributor; he proposed that we partner up and create the first distributor that focused exclusively on hip-hop. At the time, record sales were still strong and there was no one out there that was consistently willing to support these artists. Now, the sales margins are a fraction of what they used to be.

Can you envision a time when sales decline to such a degree that you decide to exit the market?

Honestly, we’re close to that point now. That’s not to say that I’m interested in getting out at this point, but numerically, I think we’ve come close to reaching that steady state. At this point, my sales are pretty much solely to the die-hard vinyl collectors, DJs and hip-hop purists. But on the bright side, I don’t think that the numbers will decline beyond this current level.

Given the conditions you’ve mentioned, and given the climate of the music and hip-hop industry, do you think a Fat Beats could be founded today?

Sure. There’re always business opportunities. Granted, many of the advantages I had at the time — particularly the fact that I was a rarity — aren’t present anymore, but that’s only part of the equation. The key now is to build a business in an area that’s underserved, do something that’s not being done. Here in New York, at least, a lot of the niche-centered trade and hipster magazines will find you, give you some coverage and push customers in your direction.

What, if any, is your relationship to the major labels and larger retail stores? Is it complementary? Do they resent you?

For the most part, they don’t really acknowledge us. We’re not doing the kinds of numbers that threaten their streams and there isn’t that much overlap in terms of inventory. So we’re essentially operating in parallel universes.

With this in mind, are there any plans to expand the Fat Beats franchise?

Probably not in retail — not unless I can get the kind of capital investment I need to build, say 20 to 30 stores. I’ve actually been burned a few times in trying to strengthen the company’s infrastructure to sustain greater expansion. I experimented with a few very expansive, custom-designed software platforms to help monitor inventory and sales, but only recently found one that actually works. That being said, I am interested in growing Fat Beats into a 360-degree lifestyle brand. Currently we’re placing a bit more emphasis on the music label and music production in the hopes that the release of a major hit will grow the company profile just enough to capture the attention and imagination of investors.

To build on that: What’s your impression of hip-hop culture at this point, and even more importantly, its future?

That is the question, isn’t it? Honestly, I really don’t know. I feel confident in saying that the old ways will probably never come back — at least not here in the States. Hip-hop seems to still possess that raw, organic feel over in Europe and south Asia, but the decline here is all-pervasive and probably permanent.

What, your opinion, was the root of the demise?

…Corporate co-optation. Once mainstream companies realized that this was the youth movement of the 80s, they quickly found ways to infiltrate and dilute it. Long before Run-DMC became superstars, the early New York B-Boy crews — Rock Steady and the New York City Breakers — were touring the world and exposing foreign societies to hop-hip culture and building a foundation for the growth and spread of that culture. [“B-Boy” is a term of art, possibly derived from the “b” in “break-dancing,” used to describe someone committed to the aesthetics and cultural tropes of hip-hop culture.] That — popularization — isn’t the problem; the problem is earnest appreciation and valuation of the culture. It just doesn’t appear that these corporations make any attempt to do that. MTV refused to run videos by black artists when it first hit the air. Run-DMC [hip-hop’s first multi-platinum selling supergroup] helped to validate the commercial potential of hip-hop, and even they weren’t taken seriously by mainstream corporate entities. [Most notoriously, Adidas’s refusal to brand the Run-DMC “My Adidas” tour, even though the group’s platinum-selling single, “My Adidas,” helped make the sneaker company’s “shell-toe” model an enduring stylistic marker.] Something tells me that the same kind of disdain and ignorance is behind [corporate America’s] newfound acceptance of hip-hop.

What’s your exit strategy? Do you sell the brand? Hand over the reins to someone else?

Eventually, I think I’ll either have to downsize or expand — or sell. Successful mid-size companies, in this space certainly, are a fast-dying breed. You either have to be the really small boutique operation that lives on customer loyalty, or the mega-sized operation that provides everything to everyone. Admittedly, I’d like to see [my] company acquired by a company with the expertise and resources to really expand it. On that front, unfortunately, no one’s really looking to acquire a retail operation — at least not a retail company like ours. Everyone wants to buy Internet companies. Personally, I don’t think people will ever stop retail shopping; it’s more than just the purchase, it’s the experience. That’s something that the Internet can’t provide — at least not yet.

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An edited version of this article was originally published in the Fall 2006 edition of “The Opportunity” — the newspaper of the NYU Stern School of Business.

Setting the TEMPO: The Birth of a Cable TV Network

Frederick Morton, Esq., SVP of MTV BALA’s Intellectual Property and Litigation Group, provides creative.reconstruction with a founder’s perspective on TEMPO: the Networks’ soon-to-be-launched Caribbean channel, as well as an insider’s outlook on “Caribbean-ness,” and a dreamer’s viewpoint on the utility of sleep deprivation.

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CREATIVE.RECONSTRUCTION: At this point in time, what would you have us — the viewing public, the MTV community-at-large — know about the channel?

FREDERICK MORTON: Well … MTV Networks is launching a channel focused on Caribbean culture which, when it’s at full throttle, will explore all aspects of the richness of the culture: history, cuisine, music, sports, travel — all of those areas are to be explored.

It’s a “One Love” channel, premised on the fact that there’s such a thing as a Caribbean identity. Regardless of whether you’re from the Spanish-, English-, Dutch-, or French-speaking islands, the channel hopes to underscore the notion that we all are one. And that stems from the fact that we all share a colonial heritage: every country was a colony at some point — some still are (in some respects). The geographic migration of the people within the regions also reaffirms that fact. For instance, you could be in Nevis and hear Spanish, because there is a large Dominican population in Nevis. And similar dynamics exist in all the islands.

We plan to launch in October, and we’re looking to announce here in NYC at the end of May in conjunction with “Caribbean Week”: a week-long slate of activities put on by the Caribbean Tourism Organization.

In October, we launch in the Caribbean itself, along with wrap-around coverage of the Caribbean-American Day parade in Brooklyn: how the trucks get out, the political and economic influences of the event, etc. We’ll be launching on a “carnival theme,” which is fitting because every Caribbean country has one; it’s a phenomenon that unites the region.

In ’06 we plan to launch in the U.S, and then other markets — Latin American, Europe — soon thereafter.

So the channel seeks to popularize this notion of Caribbean “one-ness,” or reinforce it?

I would say primarily to reinforce it, because the reality is already there, but also to popularize it, because a lot of people don’t fully realize that fact. So there are elements of both. The Caribbean environment is one of multiplicity; Trinidad is probably the biggest melting pot ever. That’s what folks are used to in the Islands, but it’s good to encourage a remembrance of that.

Is the channel intended primarily for Caribbeans or for non-Caribbeans with an affinity for the region and its culture(s)?

The channel is intended for those who already consume Caribbean culture — naturally that includes Caribbeans. But we know that 40 million people visit the region every year consuming Caribbean culture and these are non-Caribbean people. This venture seeks to televise the product to people already consuming the product. We know it’s not only Caribbean people eating the food, or watching cricket, it’s Indian, Pakistani, British, etc.

The point we hope to make is that the Caribbean is part of the American cultural fabric — and that’s not a radical idea. If you consider the proximity of the Islands and the importance of the Islands’ economies to the early settlements, it just makes sense. But in doing the research you often find that Caribbean influences are so deeply entwined into American culture that you don’t even see it. …

We know that the Spanish Caribbean islands have exported baseball players. We know that the other islands have exported many track & field athletes, boxers, and entertainers. Many key figures of the civil rights era and the Harlem Renaissance — W.E.B. DuBois, Malcolm X, Marcus Garvey, James Weldon Johnson [writer of “Lift Every Voice and Sing,” the black national anthem], the novelist Claude McKay, just to name a few — were from the Caribbean. Hip-hop was founded on Caribbean beats and artists: DJ Kool Herc, Doug E. Fresh, Grandmaster Flash, DJ Red Alert — all key figures in the founding of hip-hop — are from the Caribbean. The list is practically endless.

Alexander Hamilton — one of the nation’s Founding Fathers — was actually born and spent his early childhood in Nevis. Of course the school textbooks don’t touch that sort of thing, but that’s a small sampling of the types of ideas and historical facts that the channel will seek to reveal.

Do you recall how the idea for the channel occurred to you? Was there a ‘eureka’ moment of sorts?

I think it was in me for a long time. When I came to the States in ’85 to attend college, I quickly became involved in the Caribbean affinity organization on my campus, and helped to spearhead many of the cultural initiatives — parties, concerts, etc. I went on to law school and continued to promote the culture. Later, with two friends, I opened a Caribbean nightclub—“Visions”— and continued to forge relations with many of the artists that will be featured on the channel. So the foundation was already there.

One of our charges as employees of the business — legal is part of the business — is to constantly think of ways to move the business. So in the course of my day-to-day responsibilities, I always try to consider new ways through which I can help move the business.

I figured “Well, I know about this thing. I know the demo. I know its commercial promise and power. So let me spread the word.” Some days later I started thinking about it. I did some research, lost sleep for about a week or so, banged out a prospectus and made a presentation to Tom [Freston, then CEO of MTV Networks] over lunch at Blue Fin. I still remember the day. Tom said that I had a viable idea, but I would have to sort of usher it through the organization to gain support. I didn’t really know what he meant at time. If I had I may not have done it [laughs]. But I subsequently learned. I spent two and a half years spreading the word to the key people in the company.

So it was a challenge to promote the channel idea inside the company. What kinds of challenges do you anticipate promoting it outside of the company?

I think that the core audience won’t prove to be that much of a challenge. I’ve travelled through the Caribbean introducing and promoting the idea to the various industries and they’re very receptive. There’s huge excitement for this vehicle. There were some initial concerns regarding exploitation, but the fact that I was the face of the channel, so to speak — somebody that was speaking the same language, and that was determined, or am determined, to export the culture in the respectful and dignified manner in which it deserves to be exported — helped to mitigate those concerns.

The culture has already made noise, but now there’s a larger, point-on media platform for the regions’ culture-based industries — music, the cuisine, the tourism — to grow and/or further solidify, to penetrate all those areas where the culture already has a presence.

Another point to understand is that you don’t have to be Caribbean to be “Caribbean.” It’s a joie de vivre; it’s a mentality — a state of mind — that transcends race, sexuality and all those labels. These notions are informing and inspiring the channel. We’re confident that it will inspire the viewership as well.

How would you answer the skeptics?

The channel will speak for itself; it’s already speaking for itself. I’m not creating anything; the reality is already there — the food market, the travel market, the music market, the cricket market.  We’re just using the TV to help spread acknowledgement. We don’t have to really develop programming out of thin air; it’s all already happening. My answer to the skeptics is: “Just open your eyes and look around. You’ll see it.”

Considering your position here, and your proximity to the decision-makers in this company, would you view your success in launching the channel as being instructional or exceptional?

It has been difficult, no question. But it’s already been an incredibly rewarding and educational experience. I don’t think that it’s ever as easy as pitching an idea and getting the greenlight to realize it. Whatever idea you have, you must be ready to navigate the [corporate] culture with it; that’s what I’ve been doing for two years.

Of course, having already proven yourself doesn’t hurt. But at the end of the day, this channel is still outside my core competency — or at least what people think my core competency is. So you have that to overcome, but you overcome it on the strength of your vision and your willingness to do the work necessary to bring it to light.

I’ve “lawyered” this thing to fruition. And by that I mean: I can’t go to court and tell the judge “I think I’m right.” I have to go to court and tell the judge “I’m right because X, Y, Z….” And X, Y, Z is real substance that compels the judge to move in my direction. That’s what I had to do with this.

I’ve become a walking encyclopedia of all things related to the Caribbean — and there was tons to learn. I didn’t realize how vast this matter was, but I got to know it. And I got to know that the case was compelling — undeniably. The thing is what the thing is. But you have to present it. And even then, some people will refuse to see it. So then you have to find other ways to persuade that person. And if they still don’t see it, you go to the next person.

So you have to believe in the thing that you’re doing, you have to want to work and sacrifice some sleep; that’s often what’s required. And then you have to see it through. Because the ups and downs in this kind of thing are for real! Without that core driving passion, it’s all too easy to become discouraged.

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An edited version of this article was originally published in the Fall 2005 edition of RUFUS — MTV Networks’ intra-organizational newsletter. [The image of Frederick Morton was taken from the official TEMPO website.]