Living Dangerously - Issue 40

All right, I'll admit it: On the surface, this formula isn't as significant as decoding the human genome. But it is an interesting exercise in decoding something as important as deep-tissue communication. My friend Dan Mapes, chief technology officer at Oz Entertainment (the company that is creating a technology-driven theme park just outside Kansas City, Kansas), says that, inasmuch as consciousness rules our lives as thoroughly as genes do, the decoding of language and meaning may measure up to the decoding of genes. When I told him about my search to understand these rules, he called my research the Human Menome Project, for the work done in memes, the building blocks of meaning.

Here's how my Human Menome Project proceeded: Using Atkinson as the map that defined the space of inquiry, I started looking for word patterns that he suggested enabled rock stars to seduce listeners and to connect to an audience. It turns out that you can sell your ideas -- good or bad -- through the magic of words that form a conversational genome or define an incantational pattern.

One caution: My little lab -- my ears and the space between them -- is not terribly sophisticated. I've evaluated the word clusters, the sounds, and the speech patterns of a few leaders. So far, I've borrowed a lyric or two from Bruce Springsteen. He is, after all, the Boss.

Here are the patterns that define the music of leadership. They work whether you're giving a speech or conducting a conversation.

Tell a survival story. Advertisers say that sex sells. Well, it doesn't sell as keenly as a survival story does. Steve Jobs is a master at using survival to sell. Every pitch that he makes pits him against someone or something. Even when he doesn't allude to survival, it's always part of his myth. Almost reflexively, it has become his initial gambit, the song that he opens with. He doesn't even need to articulate it. You'll hear the same thing in most of Springsteen's songs. Even the ones about love are about survival, the promise of getting through.

A survival story is best told by opening with a question. One of the best is, "To be, or not to be?" Pose a mystery that needs solving. Heighten a conflict. Begin and end with a question, because questions are more powerful than answers.

Go for true intimacy: Sound as if you are talking to yourself. The theories about servant leadership -- caring for another more than for yourself -- have their place. But when you want to convey something really important, the counterintuitive approach is to imagine that no one is listening and that you are talking to yourself -- honestly, vulnerably, even painfully. Others will feel that they are overhearing your most unguarded thoughts. The honesty conveyed is strong. Don't bother trying this if you're bullshitting; the falseness will ring loud. But when talking about a new plan, idea, or philosophy, imagine that you're speaking to yourself. Shakespeare's soliloquies and sonnets are like this. So are Springsteen's songs. Take, for example, these lyrics from "Better Days." They sound like an interior monologue.

Well, I took a piss at fortune's sweet kiss
It's like eatin' caviar and dirt
It's a sad funny ending to find yourself pretending
A rich man in a poor man's shirt

We may be growing distrustful of all public rhetoric. We want the truth, and we only trust getting it when the cues are right: intimate, personal, and authentic.

If you're feeling confident in the spotlight, try using double entendres: They draw people in as if you were sharing a private joke.

Follow the "rule of three." Three of anything -- parallel words, rhymes, clusters -- capture a listener. There is something about the wiring in our heads that makes any collection of two seem wrong and incomplete. And if you go for four, you'll risk being shut out of people's listening space. So try threesomes like "now, tomorrow, and forever" or "purpose, strategy, and resolve." (Check out Springsteen's song "Johnny 99.")

Pay attention to the way words sound; the music is half the meaning. Sounds evoke a visceral feeling. The Italian language, for example, is full of vowels, which means that you speak it at the front of the mouth. That's also where babies form their "goo-goo," "ga-ga" language. When we listen to Italian words, we repeat them in our mind's ears. They make us feel warm, hugged, and innocent. All language has a subtle music of meaning.

Consonance -- the repetition of consonants -- is full of hard sounds. Using words that contain lots of consonants suggests that you really mean business. Consonants are tough. Evoking a very emotional response is better done with vowels. It opens up people's ears and softens their feelings.