A Punk-O-Festo

Last summer, on a sunny morning, I was on my way to downtown Brooklyn when I saw it. A flicker of text across the Brooklyn Paramount marquee: 'NOFX Final Tour.'

NOFX - one of those punk bands that became the relentless soundtrack of my youth. The very first website I ever visited was theirs, circa 1995, on my dad’s clunky old Power Mac 7100. Back then, my family had just moved from Tahiti to Frankfurt, Germany. The change was so stark it almost hurt. One day, black sand beaches. The next, a sky the colour of wet cement. The change in scenery couldn’t have been more radical, but somehow, I fell in love with the place. Because in Frankfurt, amidst a world of precision, order, and punctuality pressing in from all sides, I found punk rock.

Image credit: Mathieu Bredeau

Merely a few steps from our apartment, hidden in a quiet neighbourhood, was one of the most iconic punk venues in Germany: Batschkapp. I spent nights sneaking out, chasing the raw, electric energy of it all. From local German bands to acts from New York City, Tokyo, Berkeley, Malmö and, hell, the heart of it all, Southern California.

Batschkapp was my playground, where I absorbed everything. Each show, each night, the punk-rock ethos got into my bloodstream: the sound, the attitude, nonconformity, the refusal to be boxed in, self-expression, free-thinking, the unmistakable fusion of psychedelic and comic-book aesthetics from SoCal skate and surf culture, and, of course, the inimitable Dogtown-esque sense of style embodied by bands from Laguna, Hermosa, Redondo, and Long Beach in LA. It was a lesson in living, unfiltered and untamed.

I've seen nearly all my favourite bands at Batschkapp, except NOFX. They always managed to slip away. I got off the bus, bought my ticket, no hesitation. Final tour. Brooklyn, NY. This time, I wasn’t letting it pass me by. Almost 30 years later, I was coming full circle. Right back to that raw energy that first pulled me in.

The moment I fell in love with punk rock was also the moment I fell for advertising.

Sandwiched between the blur of Insane in the Brain by Cypress Hill and Come Out and Play by The Offspring were these ads on MTV that hit even harder than my favourite music videos. Cantona’s iconic Au Revoir. Gondry’s drugstore story. Diesel’s Boy Scouts. Airport ‘98. The Guinness Surfer.

They struck me with the same raw energy as punk rock. And just like that, they pulled me into a career in advertising. A few years later, I found myself in the planning department of a British agency in Mexico City, working on a French brand. Advertising felt simpler then - or at least, it seemed that way.

At the time, I was trying to grasp the inner workings of an ad agency (still am, tbh), but I knew one thing, an ad had power. At its best, an ad should hit you like the first time you heard “Sabotage” by the Beastie Boys. Nodded along to Flat Eric’s beat. Air-drummed with the Cadbury Gorilla. When an ad gets it right, it doesn’t simply strike a chord. It reverberates, lingers, and lifts the entire industry. That’s the power an ad has.

Fast forward to today, and it feels like we’re living under a creative dictatorship in so many ways.

We’re constantly told what works. What’s trending, what’s in, what’s out. Who’s hot, who’s not.

The classic story arc? Doesn’t cut it anymore. Insert brand cues here. Time your quick cuts there.

Research firms hand out scorecards like judges on a reality TV show deciding what deserves a standing ovation and what gets cut.

They say, “Gen Z loves that stuff.” Or wait… is it Gen Zalpha now? Good to know.

Experts claim to have cracked the code for great work. How to use music, which format works best, and what will guarantee success.

And don’t even get me started on academics. They’re like food critics who’ve never done a pan-flip over an open flame.

We’re supposed to play it safe, all while making sure the work stands out.

Break through, but don’t break anything.

The rules multiply, along with the boxes to check.

Strategy decks pile up.

We tiptoe on eggshells, forgetting that to make an omelette, you’ve got to crack a few eggs.

Algorithms dictate what’s seen, pressing a pillow over creativity before it even has a chance to breathe.

Now with AI pulling the strings, creativity has been reduced to just a churn of what's 'proven to work'.

History is a long, tired story of patrons in power deciding what can and can’t be said, what should be seen, and what must be hidden. What was acceptable, and what wasn’t.

The Church had its rules. Monarchs had their tastes. Regimes had their limits.

And yet, creativity has never been one for obedience.

Some of the greatest art was born in defiance, finding cracks to push through. It always stands its ground. No matter the obstacles, no matter the time, no matter the Sword of Damocles hanging overhead.

Now, I know what you’re thinking: advertising isn’t art. True.

But some of the greatest campaigns ever created emerged during periods of upheaval. In those moments, brands have always had a point of view. Bold, unafraid, and unapologetic. We saw it during the Great Recession and again throughout the pandemic years.

In all these rules, textbooks, formulas, frameworks, templates, processes, industry standards, efficiencies, funnels, proprietary models, systems, consolidations, automations, and automated creation, creativity has been taken hostage. Stripped of the rawness, randomness, unpredictability, and beautiful dysfunction that make it what it is.

The more we’re shown the Mutombo finger, the more we should give the boot to anything that tries to tame us.

So what’s the way forward?

The answer was right there, flashing on that marquee.

Be more punk.

Not in the look or the attitude but in spirit.

In the way punk never asked for permission.

It thrived in garages, basements, zines, independent labels, skate parks, and DIY venues, because the big guys shut the door. So it kicked it down.

That’s the energy we need to bring back.

That’s what will keep creativity from flatlining in a metrics-obsessed coma.

We need to reclaim the freedom to create things that don’t fit neatly into the mould.

We have to stop treating advertising like a slot machine where the right combination of inputs magically delivers gold. It doesn’t. And it never has.

So don’t just nod along and hope for the best.

Push back loudly. Call out the BS. Tear a hole in the algorithm. Ruffle feathers. Break stuff. Make stuff. Experiment. Let instincts fly. Let the bass line drop as loud as you can stand.

Laugh at the nonsense and dive into the madness.

Because punk is a defiant smirk in the face of control. A refusal to conform.

A middle finger raised. Not out of anger, but out of conviction.

Let’s make work so powerful no formula could ever contain it.

So visceral even a T-1000 would notice.

So unpredictable no machine could replicate it.

So true, it matters to you before it even matters to everyone else.

So fresh it lifts us all.

So what’s it gonna be?

Marching band or distortion?

Find an agency that feels like your own Batschkapp.

I found mine.

Catch you in the pit.

Stéphane Missier is chief strategy office at BBH Singapore.​