HOW ONE  SOUND BITE CAN SHATTER AN IMAGE 

Since I teach communication skills, and am particularly interested in establishing, building and maintaining rapport, I pay close attention to whether those people we come in contact with—even minimally—are those with whom we leave a good impression of ourselves.  Since I also own a P.R. firm, I am intensely cautious when coaching my clients—after all, one wrong sound bite on the air or in public and he or she can alienate one or many.

    I did not realize how important this was until I found myself on the “alienatee” side of a brief conversation with a celebrity recently, one I had admired more than just about anyone (and, I had been around numerous celebrities over the years so I’m not easily impressed or in awe).

    Let me set the scene: I took my youngest son, a 26-year-old-filmmaker, and avid music fan, to San Diego for a concert, something we had planned for months. Since I spend a good deal of time working, taking time away from the job for a jaunt to San Diego was a big deal for me. 

    We had gone online the minute the tickets went on sale to see jazz great, Diana Krall.  Krall’s works had served as the background soundtrack as I composed many of my written works; I played her wonderful jazz interpretations while I spent eight years of my life—many nights and weekends—penning Charlie’s Notes,  a 300-page memoir about my father’s life as a jazz bassist, a book ultimately endorsed by the legendary Ron Carter. The book chronicled every era of my father’s life, starting with the emergence of jazz in the 20s. It was a way for me to cope while my father withered away from Alzheimer’s. Krall’s sensational and touching renditions of many great standards seemed to fit the mood for the backdrop I needed; they were both nostalgic and classic.

    I thanked her in the book’s acknowledgements.

    For years then, I had a wonderful image of an artist I had revered. I cheered her on with every Grammy. I was the first in line to buy each new release. I had also seen her in concert before.

    As I walked into the hotel where I was staying in San Diego and where Krall was due to perform a few hours later, I made my way through the lobby and into the small greenbelt courtyard area which led to my room nearby. My son was with me.

    Something caused me to turn around; I’m not sure what. As I did, I noticed that Ms. Krall was a few feet behind me, her two darling, curly-headed twin boys breaking away to romp on the makeshift “putting green/croquet” patch. She chased after one of them. I felt for her. I knew what it was like to chase small children around and try to keep them in tow. I quickly deduced she, too, was staying at the hotel.

   I looked at my son and mouthed, “Diana Krall.” He mouthed back, “Really?” We continued on to our room just a few feet away, its front door facing the courtyard where she continued to romp with her children. I told my son I was going to ask her if she would be willing to take a quick photo with me. He was dubious. Something about the mood he thought she was in, he told me later, that made him think it may not have been a good idea.

    I have worked with many celebrities, both as an improv comedy player and as a publicist, and blessed to have a wall lined with photos taken with a number of them—including Bill Cosby, Cheryl Hines, Laraine Newman, Kenny Rogers, Joey Bishop and Tommy Lasorda, to name but a few. True, most of these folks were friends or people I had worked with during a special event, but also on that wall are other photos including one with Michael Jackson, who I nervously approached in the first class cabin of an airplane for a photo op one afternoon while en route to Miami. He could not have been more kind and gracious. He left a very distinct impression.

    But then, so had Diana Krall when I got up the nerve to approach her, but the impression she left was not a good one.

    Let me further set the scene:

    After realizing it was “her,” I scurried to my room and plugged my cell phone in for a quick charge; it had a camera in it and the battery was running low. After a few minutes, I quickly made my way out the door and across the few feet of winding and narrow cement walkway to approach Ms. Krall. No one else was around except for two of “her people” who had joined in the child play. Though, as a guest, I was just as entitled to step onto the greenbelt and walk right up to her, I did not. I wanted to be respectful and not encroach on her, well, what seemed to be, her territory at that moment. I respectfully remained on the cement walkway as I quietly hollered out (so as not to bring any unwanted attention to her), “Ms. Krall?” Her back was to me. She did not hear me. One of her “assistants” had. That person smiled at me and got Ms. Krall’s attention. She turned to look at me. I sweetly asked, “Excuse me, may I ask you a quick question?” Of course, the question I was about to ask was whether or not she would be kind enough to take a quick snapshot with me. Ten seconds. That’s all I needed. Had I time though, I wanted to tell her how great I thought she was as an artist, explain who I was, how much I admired her, tell her about Charlie’s Notes, and how I would be so deeply honored to add her to my photo wall. At that point, I had planned to run back to my room and get my “charged up-enough” phone/camera.

     Having watched her talk gently and kindly to the audience when I had seen her perform before, and given the nature of her superb sensitivity with her tender ballads and her oh-so-cool nuances and impeccable phrasing with many jazz standards, I was not prepared for her response to my innocent question. “I’m sorry but I’m busy playing with my children right now,” she snapped in a supercilious tone and with a look of disgust on her face.

     With that, she abruptly turned away from me.

     I almost fell over.

     I walked back to my room, crestfallen, bewildered, embarrassed and humiliated. Suddenly, I flashed on the memory of Donny Osmond at the Hilton Hotel (my client) the day I was attempting to shepherd Osmond to a luncheon that followed a “Walk of Stars” induction. Osmond wouldn’t budge until he had signed every autograph and taken every requested photo.  As he and I finally bolted for the room where the luncheon was being held, he said to me, “My fans come first. My fans are why I am a star. I will never forget that.” 

     For years, I had so admired Diana Krall, based on her work and a very different perception of her—my bad; my “foolish heart”—but, now, suddenly, I perceived her in a whole new light. Not a good one.

     Of course, I understood her wish for privacy, but had she uttered the same words in a different tone and attitude, I would have taken it well. But, wow, what attitude….

     I gave a great deal of thought to what the lesson may have been with that experience.  Was it some kind of karma? Had I done something like that to one of my “fans?” I hoped not, and if so, I immediately begged my Higher Power for forgiveness.  Going forward, I vowed to remain kind to others no matter what mood I might be in.

     Giving Ms. Krall the benefit of the doubt, I like to think that had she known what impact her response had on me, and what she left in the wake of that remark (I am no longer interested in her work), she may have treated me differently; in fact, she may have even been sorry.  That is what I tried to focus on while I begrudgingly sat through her concert that night.

    When dealing with others, I think we all have to remember it is not what we say but how we say it (as I preach in class while running ExecuProv’s series of “self-expression” exercises). We also have to know how quickly we can shatter another person’s positive image of us—have it disintegrate in a mere instant. Yes, we can do exactly that in one single sound bite….  My advice in this Blog entry: Beware and in the words of Sammy Cahn, who wrote the lyrics to the song of the same title with composer Saul Chaplin and one that Krall has covered: Please be kind…