John Butleron the inexact science of nomenclature
The John Butler Trio played a gig in Dublin last Monday. I didn't make it down to the National Stadium, but the show went on without me - as you may or may not have expected. In the preceding weeks, friends sent a couple of camera-phone pictures of a poster advertising the event. I also fielded one serious inquiry as to whether I was this John Butler, but I belong to no trio. In fact, the real John Butler is an Australian performer with strong convictions about ecology and long, pointy, acrylic fingernails.
If I were sitting in the boardroom when they were brainstorming possible names for a dreadlocked folk singer, and the boss had asked us to blue-sky it, reassuring us that there were no wrong answers, the name John Butler would never - in a million years - have sprung to my mind; even if he told us that we had to find a name by lunch, and that the first person to offer up 50 suggestions would win a set of steak knives.
Truthfully, the only way I would have said "John Butler" would have been if he pointed at me and demanded who I was and what I was doing there, considering I was just the janitor.
I'm proud to carry my grandfather's name, and leaving aside the historical connection I believe it has an evocative quality all of its own, but does John Butler evoke the earth and suggest competence at the didgeridoo? Does John Butler say 12-string guitar and dreadlocks? It does not. Australia is responsible for some fascinating place names, from Woolloomooloo to the Warrumbungle Mountains. John Butler is an incredible guitar player, and though his trio doesn't appear to have suffered from their nomenclature, just how many records might they have sold if they had been properly branded?
I have a friend whose job this is - verbal branding. His company finds trademark names for companies and products, names that perfectly reflect their brand and market position. In pursuit of the right name, he can often be found poring over dusty manuals containing the genus of butterflies. All of this research is undertaken in the pursuit of a name that, once assigned, will seem obvious and self-evident to any consumer. Fittingly, for a company whose job it is to create a subconscious attachment to any product or service, they are well-named - Imaginary Friend.
The business of nomenclature is lucrative, and within it pharmaceutical companies spend the most money. To cite a random example, fluoxetine is the generic name for the drug the world knows as Prozac, and you can be sure that the name Prozac was developed because it satisfied a number of rigorously researched criteria, from the positive connotations of the first three letters, to the adequately scientific Z.
In the consumer drug market, the more hard consonants present in a brand name, the stronger and more effective a drug suggests itself to be. Don DeLillo called contemporary drug names such as Xanax, Zirtec and Zantac "the gods of science fiction". However, the opposite effect can be required, and Prozac itself has recently been re-branded Sarafem and marketed simultaneously to women suffering from pre-menstrual anxiety. It's clear how the suffix -fem might offer a more comforting, female-specific ring to it.
I just wonder about priorities. All of this care and attention has been lavished upon the naming of a drug, and yet our children, our angels, are roaming the playgrounds bearing some of the most hideous names one could imagine. I can't give examples because it would be cruel, but as I have already coldly deconstructed my own name, I feel entitled to judge other people's choices.
It begs the question whether there's a corner in the market for a professional consultancy to provide help with the naming of human beings - that is to say, children. Surely they are more precious to us, more important to name correctly, than our stash of pills. So, if you find yourself in possession of a baby without a name, shoot me a mail. My methodology is highly creative, and I will think outside the box.
Firstly, I will browse the spam filter of my e-mail account, because it is a goldmine. Unsolicited e-mail can be a nuisance, but in the last few days alone I have received correspondence from Henrik Greenstreet, Mac Chung, Everett Byrd and Dorothy Esposito. Henrik, Mac, Everett and Dorothy - what a delightful set of quadruplets! That will be €40,000 excluding VAT.
If my spam filter is empty, I will turn to the world of literature, which is equally replete with inspiration. In the works of Martin Amis alone, I can find an East End slob called Keith Talent, a female police officer called Mike Hoolihan and a black academic called Fenton Akimbo. There are so many inspirational examples in the world of jazz too, from Sonny Rollins to Thelonius Monk and Wes Montgomery.
Equally, the most exciting moment in any televised golf tournament is the shot of the leader board, boasting Fred Funk, Fuzzy Zoeller, Curtis Strange and Duffy Waldorf. I will scour international golf tournaments for the perfect name for your child. But wait - there's more. I can appreciate the names of the most unlikely candidates. I enjoy the sonorous tones of Adnan Khashoggi, but if you are wary of naming your son after a Saudi arms dealer (some people might be), there is always Cubby Broccoli, the producer of the Bond films.
Closer to home, I will consult whoever is responsible for naming some of our newer housing estates. In recent weeks I have driven past Julian Avenue, Garry Nure and Nugent Court, and none of these are real people, not yet, anyway. If you are still not happy, I will consult my Rolodex, because I have worked with some of the finest names in the business, from Tinoo Singh to Sophie Formica, and from Fritz von Rumohr to Ben Benjamin.
John Butler blogs at http://wordpress.lozenge.com