The Capo d’astro Bar Method for Finding Great Whisky Stories.

The Ad Biz has been very good to me.

When I was a child, someone asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up, and I told them I wanted to be Darren Stevens, the oft-jinxed husband in Bewitched.

He was an Ad Guy at McMan and Tate, a fictional ad agency, and he spent his days learning about new businesses, brainstorming, and pitching ad campaigns. What could be better than that? Creating new stuff every day and getting paid for it? You can have your astronauts and firemen and doctors, and lawyers. I wanted to be an Ad Guy.

And I did. I worked in ad agencies. I owned ad agencies. I did that ad stuff inside big companies. I freelanced all over the country and made stuff up every day, and always loved it.

And the reason I was pretty good at it can be traced to an ad I read in the back of a design magazine late one night when I was trying to steal ideas for a college design project.

The ad headline was Looking for the Capo d’astro bar, written by Bud Robbins.

I’ll reprint it here in a bit.

But the basic theme is this. If you want to really sell something, you have to tell the story. And if you want to tell the story, you have to immerse yourself in the subject. Turn over every stone, look in every crevice, ask a lot of questions, and see what nobody else sees.

That’s where the magic is hiding. And a lot of people can't see it.

And that’s why I’m going to go to Scotland and Fohr Island to live at distilleries for the summer.

Spirits are the sum of their stories. Taste is pretty subjective. One whisky might taste great to you and terrible to someone else. Sure, there are basic parameters of quality, but in the end, it’s the flavor and the story, and a great story will greatly improve the flavor.

Have you ever been served a bottle of wine by a collector that didn’t come with a story?

And have you ever shared a great glass of wine or a dram of great whisky that didn’t inspire great stories?

The Story is The Thing.

So following Bud’s advice, I’m going to embed myself into some very special, and perhaps unknown to you, distilleries to find the stories that, maybe, nobody knows are there.

I invite you along on this journey. I’ll be writing and posting videos, pretty much every day from July to October, and maybe I’ll just stay on the road for years, finding and sharing these great Still Life Stories.

And that Capo-D-Something story. Here it is. Use it in your life and go a little deeper into everything. Find that magic.

“Looking for the Capo d’astro bar.”

By Bud Robbins

Back in the sixties, I was hired by an ad agency to write copy on the Aeolian Piano Company account. My first assignment was for an ad to be placed in The New York Times for one of their grand pianos. The only background information I received was some previous ads and a few faded close-up shots…and of course, the due date.

The Account Executive was slightly put out by my request for additional information and his response to my suggestion that I sit down with the client was, ‘Don’t tell me you’re one of those? Can’t you just create something? We’re up against a closing date!’

I acknowledged his perception that I was one of those, which got us an immediate audience with the head of our agency.

I volunteered I couldn’t even play a piano let alone write about why anyone would spend $5,000 for this piano when they could purchase a Baldwin or Steinway for the same amount.

Both allowed the fact they would gladly resign the Aeolian business for either of the others; however, while waiting for the call, suppose we make our deadline.

I persisted and reluctantly, a tour of the Aeolian factory in Upstate New York was arranged. I was assured that ‘we don’t do this with all our clients’ and my knowledge as to the value of company time was greatly reinforced.

The tour lasted two days and although the care and construction appeared meticulous, $5,000 still seemed to be a lot of money.

Just before leaving, I was escorted into the showroom by the National Sales Manager. In an elegant setting sat their piano alongside the comparably priced Steinway and Baldwin.

‘They sure look alike,’ I commented.

‘They sure do. About the only real difference is the shipping weight—our is heavier.’

‘Heavier?’ I asked. ‘What makes ours heavier?’

‘The Capo d’astro bar.’

‘What’s a Capo d’astro bar?’

‘Here, I’ll show you. Get down on your knees.’

Once under the piano, he pointed to a metallic bar fixed across the harp and bearing down on the highest octaves. ‘It takes 50 years before the harp in the piano warps. That’s when the Cap d’astro bar goes to work. It prevents warping.’

I left the National Sales Manager under his piano and dove under the Baldwin to find a Tinkertoy Capo d’astro bar at best. Same with the Steinway.

‘You mean the Capo d’astro bar really doesn’t go to work for 50 years?’ I asked.

‘Well, there’s got to be some reason why the Met uses it,’ he casually added.

I froze. ‘Are you telling me that the Metropolitan Opera House in New York City uses this piano?’

‘Sure. And their Capo d’astro bar should be working by now.’

Upstate New York looks nothing like the front of the Metropolitan Opera House where I met the legendary Carmen, Rise Stevens. She was now in charge of moving the Metropolitan Opera House to the Lincoln Center.

Ms. Stevens told me, ‘About the only thing the Met is taking with them is their piano.’

That quote was the headline of our first ad.

The result created a six-year wait between order and delivery.

My point is this. No matter what the account, I promise you, the Capo d’astro bar is there.”

Follow along at www.TheStillLifeStories.com and if you'd like me to come write at your distillery, let's talk.