31 minute read
Keith Harris Did Ya Know
MBUK’s partnership with the Did Ya Know? podcast series continues with Decisive Management co-founder Adrian Sykes talking to one of the most experienced and respected black British execs in the business, Keith Harris…
K
eith Harris was raised in Whitehaven – a town which, he reflects, was “very appropriately named”.
To prove the point he tells the story of paying a nostalgic visit to his old school a few years ago. He was peering over the wall when an elderly lady started talking to him. He explained that he used to go there. Ah, she said, you must be one of Dr Harris’ children…
Indeed he is. And he was expected to follow in his father’s footsteps. Unfortunately, explains Harris, he wasn’t quite up to medicine, and the best/closest he could do was a degree in Zoology at Dundee University.
His parents must have thought it was quite the diversion. They hadn’t seen the half of it.
Whilst at Dundee he became Entertainments Convenor, booking bands including Thin Lizzy, Yes, Wishbone Ash and Supertramp.
He also started managing a band called Peaches, eventually dropping out of university, moving to London and taking various casual jobs to pay the bills whilst waiting for his clients to hit the big time (his temp jobs included putting up shelves at C&A in Marble Arch – “you could see my ones for years afterwards; all the clothes were bunched up at one end”).
After two Peel sessions and a lifetime’s worth of in-fighting, Peaches split – “and I realised I might have to get a proper job”.
Happily, for literally generations of artists and colleagues, and for the good of the UK and global music industry, in some ways he never did…
How did you break into the business?
In 1975 I answered an ad for a Promotions Manager for Transatlantic Records. I got an interview and got the job.
Pretty soon my patch was the whole country. Transatlantic was a very small company, and my expenses couldn’t cover a hotel, so I had to try and get bed and breakfasts. Now, you can imagine what it was like for a black guy, on his own, trying to get into a bed and breakfast in the far flung reaches of the UK in 1975.
After two weeks I used to drive home from Newcastle, Manchester or wherever rather than have the humiliation of going to people’s houses, asking them if I can get a bed for the night and them slamming the door in my face.
Somewhere I’ve got my passport photograph from that time and I look older then than I do now. That’s how things were then; you got bitter or you got on with it.
I did that job for about 18 months, and then I had a disagreement with the General Manager and we mutually decided it was probably best if I didn’t work there anymore.
So, I walked to the nearest record company, which was EMI’s Licensed Label Division, it was literally 100 yards down the road. They said the guy that’s doing promotions for Motown, which was one of their licensed labels, was about to leave, would I be interested in taking over? So I said [laughs], well, you’re obviously gonna have to force me...
You didn’t ask about the salary at that point?
I did not ask about the salary.
And that started you on this journey, working at Motown, which morphs into something very special, doesn’t it?
Well, what actually happened first was that the General Manager of the Motown label inside of EMI, a guy called Julian Moore, said it’s probably best if I go down and see
the people at Motown International, in Rathbone Place; go and introduce yourself and tell them that you’re going to be doing promo for Motown.
So I went and saw them, everything was fine. Two weeks later I went to start my job, got called in to the General Manager’s office again, and they said, ‘Listen, I’m sorry, but you can’t actually have the Motown job.’
I said, ‘What do you mean? You offered it to me!’ It turns out that the people running Motown International had said they didn’t want a black person working for Motown; they wanted a white promo person.
In the end, they put someone who was already working there on Motown and they gave me four other labels: EMI International, Ariola, Fantasy and Casablanca.
So, I’m no longer doing regional radio, I’m now doing national radio. Radio 1 and Capital are my primary targets, and I’ve gone from a small label doing folk music, to pop labels; that was a big jump.
The next thing that happens is, because I’m having a bit of success, I get a call from Elton John’s then new label, Rocket, asking me to do promo on his new album, Blue Moves. A little later, I’m at the launch party, I’m talking to this woman, and Ken East, the Vice President of Motown International, the guy who had seen me a few months earlier and decided he didn’t want me working for Motown, came across. He said, ‘Oh, I see you’ve met my wife, Dolly,’ to which she said, ‘Oh, yes, Ken, what a charming young man.’
The next day, literally the next day, I got a phone call from Ken to say, ‘I think I made a mistake, will you come and work for Motown?’
That just happened to coincide with the launch of another little album, called Songs In The Key Of Life. So I had Elton John’s Blue Moves and Stevie’s Songs In The Key of Life; as a promo person, you couldn’t have had a better calling card. Oh, and I was also doing the club promotions as well.
Back then, in 1976/77, every record company had one black employee. And in every case, that one black employee did disco/club promotions. Except for me,
With Stevie Wonder on the weekend they first met, 1977
because I was at Motown I was allowed to be the Head of Promotions.
Did you guys have a sort of support system amongst each other?
We naturally supported each other, because we’d find ourselves in the same clubs at one o’clock in the morning.
We’d see each other a lot and talk a lot, but it wasn’t like a support bubble so much as, at that time, Black people all supported each other. If you saw another black person in the street, you would always say hello. Even if you didn’t know them, you would not walk past a black person without acknowledging their presence.
So when you were in the same business, of course there was a feeling of support, even though I don’t think any of us told each other our various complaints; I certainly never told anybody my story about what had happened at Motown during that time. We were basically just getting on with the work.
So you’ve started working on Songs In The Key of Life, but it’s also The Commodores, Rick James, The Supremes, Thelma Houston…
And Smokey Robinson. I say that because Smokey was one of the first artists who came over that I was responsible for looking after. He came over with his wife, Claudette, and his two children.
You can imagine what an incredible thrill it was for me to find myself in the presence of Smokey Robinson. He was so humble, and such a genius. I learned such a lot from the way he conducted himself. This guy was – and is – literally a living legend, but he was just so down to earth.
That’s where I got support, from the black Motown artists when they came over here. Because they were all shocked to find a black person doing promo in the UK. I got a lot of support from them.
I got support from Thelma Houston, I got support from the guys in the Commodores, particularly Clyde, the drummer, we all got on very well.
And even Rick James. Rick was crazy, you know, but we acknowledged each other, because there weren’t that many black people in the UK working in the
Backstage with Scherrie Payne and Susaye Greene of The Supremes, 1977
music industry. So whenever the Motown artists came over, they were very supportive of me, and that was a source of strength.
What made you make that move to Los Angeles?
In October 1977, I was on tour with Smokey Robinson. We were in Manchester and I got a phone call from the General Manager of the Motown label. He said to me, ‘You need to come back down to London tonight. Stevie Wonder’s coming into town, he wants to go out and we don’t know where to take him, so come back and take him out.’
Of course I was thrilled, because Stevie was arguably the biggest artist in the world at the time, and I’d been a huge fan from way before I joined Motown.
I drove down to London, met him at a club called Gulliver’s and we spent the next three days together. We just got on, we were two guys, roughly the same age, from different backgrounds, but with the same outlook.
When he went back to LA, we kept in touch. He was calling me up saying, ‘Hey man, you should come work for me.’ Now that’s a big jump. LA was a long way away in 1978, let me tell you.
But, again, this is how these things happen to me, I sort of got pushed into it.
I was called in to the Managing Director’s office at EMI Licensed Label Division one day, out of the blue, and I was told that the General Manager of Motown in London at the time is leaving. He said, ‘It might seem to a lot of people that you’d be an obvious choice to take over the job, but I’m calling you in to tell you that I’m not going to give it to you, so don’t bother to apply.’
I was like, ‘Really? Okay…’ And then as I was on my way out the door, as a kind of an afterthought, he said, ‘We’re going to get someone with more experience.’ There wasn’t much I could say about that; I’d only been there a year and a half, maybe two years.
About a month later, he called me in again and said, ‘We haven’t found anybody yet, so would you take over, do the General Manager’s job while we continue to look around?’ I took over and ran the label for about four months. They then told me they’d found a man called David Hughes, but, they said, he doesn’t know too much about marketing and some of the other areas, so would you look over his shoulder and help him out?
When you get told that they’re bringing in a white person, who’s less experienced than you, to do the job they told you that you couldn’t do because you weren’t experienced enough… the writing’s on the wall.
So I called Stevie and said, ‘Listen, is that job still going?’ He said yes and I moved to LA.
Do you remember how you felt, stepping off the plane?
There was a lot of fear and trepidation, because I didn’t even really know what job Stevie wanted me to do.
And it became very clear fairly quickly that Stevie himself wasn’t actually sure what he wanted me to do exactly; he just wanted me to be on his team.
I was in LA and I was kind of looking for work. I knew quite a few of the people who worked in the Motown office in LA, I’d met them in London.
At the time, Motown had moved from Detroit to LA, but it still had that Motown family thing, so all the artists had an office in the Motown building, on Sunset Boulevard. I spent a lot of time there, learning who did what. I was also driving Stevie down to the studio every day and just generally making myself busy.
Being in that Motown office and seeing how things worked on the black music scene in America, that was fascinating, because I had no prior experience of that. The whole idea of having a record company where 90% of employees were black and 50% the employees were women... Motown had more women in senior positions than any record company I’ve ever been in, even to this day. It was just remarkable, and a complete culture shock.
And through all that, gradually, I found a role. At the time Stevie had two key people on the management team: one was a guy called Ewart Abner, who was a former president of Motown. And the other was a guy called Johanan Vigoda, who was Stevie’s lawyer. He had done his deal when he turned 21 and then when Songs In The Key Of Life came out.
These were his two key consiglieri. They were older guys, they were in their fifties or sixties at the time. I became a third person in that triumvirate, someone nearer Stevie’s age. We’d talk things over, I’d give my opinion. I was attending the meetings, hearing what was going on and telling Stevie what I thought.
My title then became Operations Manager, because I was at the hub of all the things that were going on. It was a fantastic experience. I learned a lot, I travelled a lot,
Leading Stevie Wonder across the stage, Wembley Arena, 1980
we did a couple of world tours. They were just establishing the American Black Music Association and I had a seat at the table with all these people who were vastly more experienced than I was.
It was just great to be able to be there and sit and listen and learn and soak it all up. I was just very privileged and I Iearned a lot in a very short space of time – because I had to.
How did you make your way back to the UK and what did you learn from being in the States with Stevie and Motown?
I’d been working for Stevie for nearly three years, working between 16 and 24 hours a day, and I was very tired.
As time went on, as I was getting more and more central to the organisation, I realised that either I was going to commit the rest of my life to looking after Stevie Wonder, or I was going to leave and try and do something myself. I chose the latter.
I said to Stevie, ‘I’m going to leave at Christmas, I’m going to go back to London.’ I don’t think he really believed it. We kind of talked about it from time to time, but it wasn’t really discussed.
And then, just before Christmas, I said, ‘You know I’m leaving in two weeks, right?’ And actually, when I left, I hadn’t made a plan, because I thought it was disrespectful to start looking for other work when he hadn’t really acknowledged that I was going.
And what had I learned? A lot, obviously. I couldn’t mix with the people I got to mix with without learning a phenomenal amount. And I also developed a lot of contacts.
I think probably the biggest thing I learned during my time with Stevie was that anything is possible; you just have to get things done. I think when I started, I probably had much more of an attitude of, Oh, no, that can’t be done, that’s not possible. By the time I left: whatever it is, there has to be a way – that was much more my attitude.
I remember Stevie calling me up one day and saying: Listen, I’ve got this great idea; I think we should pick up Congressman John Conyers’ idea of trying to make Martin Luther King’s birthday a national holiday. I said, ‘Yeah, that is a good idea.’ At which point he said, ‘Right, I want you to organise it.’ Whoa, what?! [laughs].
But the point is, when I started I’d have said, ‘Nah, I can’t do that.’ But then you think, okay, yeah, there has to be a way.
Stevie had said he wanted to have this march on Washington, like Martin Luther King’s. So I then had to think about how are we going to do that? How are we going to get people on side and make it happen? And we did.
That was definitely one of the standout moments from my time there, and a big part of making me realise that you actually can make things happen.
What did the UK music industry look like when you came back in 82? Had there been any significant changes?
There have been some changes, because I was away during the punk rock period, so I came back to the post-punk world. The industry seemed to have contracted – prog had gone, disco had died. It was looking for something new.
One of the first people I spoke to was Barry Marshall of Marshall Arts, and he suggested that maybe I would like to come and work with them. I was reluctant because I was thinking of doing my own thing, or maybe getting back involved with the major record companies.
But then he said to me, ‘What about this young guy, Junior Giscombe? He seems to be getting some attention in America, someone’s talked to me about getting involved in managing him, would you be interested in coming in on that?’ I went to meet Junior, we talked and Barry and I took on joint management.
Mama Used To Say had been released in the UK and had been ignored. I had some connections in America, so we went there with it, with a remixed version, and it became a number two R&B record. It was a big moment, because I think it was the first time a black British act really started to happen over there.
There was another band, called Central Line, who I started managing and they had some success in America. From there, I ended up embarking on management.
And you put a great little roster together didn’t you, working with artists that anyone who cares about black British music should know about.
Yeah, well there was Junior and Central Line. I managed a guy called Paul Johnson, and a band called The Walkers, who deserved to do a lot better than they did. I really just got my head down and got stuck into the whole British soul thing, as well as obviously trying to have pop success.
And then later on I ended up working with Omar, Lynden David Hall, etc., but that was much later. Before that there was the battle of the eighties, with bands like Light of the World, Beggar and Co, Shakatak, Billy Ocean, all these people making really good records, and they were all struggling to get any kind of attention on British radio.
There was a battle to be fought. And because I’d been a radio plugger, I was able to go into battle and start to try to harass people into being fair. I didn’t want anything other than fair treatment.
It just seemed like that there was almost a kind of a ‘one at a time’ policy, you know? ‘We’ll let them have a hit, but then drop them.’
If you looked at the make-up of radio, Radio 1 had no black producers, no minority producers of any kind, and usually only one black presenter – and they did the soul show.
So the people who were judging the music had absolutely no background and no knowledge of it. It seemed to me that they were saying, Well, I suppose we ought to let one of these through at a time.
How did you go into battle?
I particularly remember a letter that I wrote to the then controller of Radio 1, Derek Chinnery, pointing out that they were treating black British music unfairly.
He wrote a letter back which was remarkable, and black British people will be familiar with this, because he sort of said, I’m surprised you’re taking this line, Keith, you’re not like those others… [laughs]. He didn’t actually use those words, but you knew the implication. He said he couldn’t see there was a real issue. I mean, after all, and this is his actual phrase, ‘there’s a fair sprinkling of black faces on Top of the Pops every week.’ And I’m thinking, What does that mean, ‘A fair sprinkling of black faces’?!! We had a robust exchange at that point. It was a matter of making people aware that we weren’t about to take this, you know. If nothing changed behind the scenes, we were going to start to openly criticise and openly comment. And it wasn’t just me, I had allies.
“It was a matter of The British Black Music Association was formed by Root Jackson and making people aware Byron Lye-Fook. that we weren’t going I remember we made a TV programme called Soul Searching, to take this.” looking at why there was a lack of black talent in the chart, and why so few black artists have long-term careers, and it provoked a really furious response inside the industry.
What was that response?
A lot of people were very defensive. The reaction was, That’s not true, nobody can accuse me of being racist, I’ve played this particular record etc. They just didn’t get it. I remember one A&R guy who’d been very successful with a lot of black acts, I was doing a conference with him. On the panel he was saying, ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about, think of what I’ve done for black music in Britain, all the hit acts I’ve had.’ I said to him, ‘Have you ever thought about what black music’s done for you?’ He actually offered to fight me outside. And I said to him, ‘There’s only going to be one winner here – and it’s not gonna be you’ [Laughs].
This is a side to Keith Harris I’ve never seen before, but I like it!
I wasn’t advocating violence, but I am a fourth dan black belt in Taekwondo, so I was saying that with some confidence.
You’ve always been at the vanguard of diversity, inclusion and equality in our industry, and you’re now Chair of the Equality and Diversity Taskforce. Tell us about that, and about the differences you see between the times you’ve been talking about and now?
Well it’s interesting, I remember Stevie asking me once, ‘What are you doing? Why don’t you come back?’
And I told him what I ideally wanted was to have a black music infrastructure in the UK. To me, if I could have something as a legacy, that would be it. I said, ‘In America, they’ve already done it; in the UK, we need to develop something.’ I was seeing too many talented artists not getting anywhere, because their careers were being completely stifled.
Clearly things are moving in the right direction, and we’ve seen a lot of change recently, so where do you think we are right now?
Right now, I’m really optimistic. And one of the reasons is because social media, and access to marketplaces, other than via the long-standing, more restricted channels, has really changed things.
You can see what’s happened with grime. A group of people just said, we’ll do our own thing, we’ll find a route to market for ourselves; that’s much healthier. And something we’ve always known: where the money leads, the industry will follow. And, you know, so much money started to be made out of black music, the industry had to say, Hey, welcome, guys – you’re carrying cash!
And that’s great, but what we don’t have at the moment are people of colour running major labels…
Yeah, but I do believe, as I said, that where money leads the industry will follow. And I think that having now reached a kind of almost a critical mass in terms of the number of minorities involved in the industry, it is only a matter of a relatively short time before one of those people has massive success.
I am quite optimistic, because the door has been opened; it’s the thin end of the wedge. I’ve seen a lot of people who have been given an opportunity, and I know that they have the talent and the ability to go on to create something really substantial.
They are the kind of people who are going to make a difference, because they have not just their own successful careers, but they have some historical depth. They have some understanding of what needs to be done, they are looking out for minorities and looking out for the people who they can promote and accelerate and bring through. That’s going to make a dramatic change.
Talking of that, what does success in this area look like for that generation, in the years ahead?
I want to see proper diversity, I want it to not be remarkable that a woman is running a major label, or a black person is running a major label. That should not be even remarked on, that should be the new normality.
It’s going to be a little while before we get there, but I think it will happen. The dam has burst. Hopefully, it will happen right
across society. The music industry really should always have been a leader, but it’s been slow – so let’s hope we can catch up and then start to get ahead of the game.
Are you still involved with Stevie?
Yeah, I mean that’s gonna be a lifetime thing. I only get involved in his business a little bit these days, but we still talk very regularly. There’s too much history and we know each other too well for that to come to an end.
Let’s go back to 2015 for a minute, when you were awarded your OBE, because we were all so proud. Tell us about
“He offered to fight me. that. It belongs to a lot of people. I
I said, There’s only mean, I have it, but I’ve had a lot of help on the way, from people like going to one winner yourself, and many others, who’ve been very supportive. Sometimes here, and it isn’t you.” it’s a pretty lonely road, because it’s a lot easier to say nothing than to say something. The other point I want to make is that there have been certain black music industry executives who have been successful in industry, and people have said, ‘They don’t say anything, I don’t see them raising their heads above the parapet.’ Well, listen, they don’t need to, their work speaks for them. You need some people in those positions, who are highly successful, who just do the job really, really well, so it just confirms that if you give minorities a chance, they can be as good as anybody else. I think of my friend Dej Mahoney, who was Head of Legal and Business Affairs at Sony for 12 years, people like that. All I want them to do is just be so good, which they are. He now has his own very successful company, and hopefully the industry realises what they’re missing, because that’s happened so many times. n
This interview is taken from a new podcast series, Did Ya Know?, which tells the often unheard stories of key figures in the British music industry, and is focusing initially on pioneering executives of colour. The team behind the new pod includes Stellar Songs co-founder Danny D and Decisive Management co-founder Adrian Sykes. MBUK and our sister brand, Music Business Worldwide, are proud to be partners and supporters of Did Ya Know?. You can listen to it wherever you find your favourite podcasts.
Sammy Andrews is CEO of Deviate Digital, an independent marketing agency across the music business. Here she discusses the most crucial elements a digital marketing campaign requires in the modern age – and shares some of her best tips and biggest frustrations…
It’s fair to say Deviate Digital has had a good run in 2021 so far. We’re averaging at least two top 10 UK records a month and have already helped land two No. 1 records for our roster this year (Tom Grennan and You Me At Six), as well as achieving countless international top 10s, predominantly running global digital advertising with a specialised focus on paid social.
I formed Deviate out of both love and frustration: love for my job and our industry, frustration that people are still getting it so terribly wrong, from the top-down and the ground up; it both baffles and infuriates me.
I saw a real opportunity for an agency to sit in the middle of all stakeholders and help change the business, by understanding the game better than anyone else and, perhaps more importantly, understanding all stakeholders’ objectives and how they need to work together in the digital age to achieve success for artists and campaigns.
The idea of change, progress and advancement for the industry is just as important to me as personal and professional success, something that has no doubt been both a blessing and a curse for my previous employers, but something that has helped Deviate thrive. And I know it’s important to our clients, indeed sometimes it’s exactly why they come to us.
The week before I announced Deviate publicly I was offered a dream role as Head of Digital at one of the most respected major record labels in the world. I sat, (probably far more merry than I should have been) with Alison Bonny (former UK VP Comms at Spotify) in Spotify’s BRITs box at the O2 getting texts from the floor with ridiculous offers to halt the announcement, scrap the company and move in-house with them.
Alison is, without doubt, the best person to have by your side in a wage negotiation, despite, or perhaps because of, being a bottle of champagne deep, and she insisted, never mind seeing more zeros than I could have ever dreamed of, that I text back and ask for more. As tempting as the increasing six figures looked, I declined the role that night, because I believed I could achieve more, for both myself and the industry, with the freedom that running an agency offered.
I am delighted to say, despite the fear, trepidation and challenges that come with running your own business, it was the best decision I have ever made.
We now have clients all over the world and a hand-picked team of some of the greatest minds
Xxx You Me At Six
the music business has to offer. And I’ve learned a lot over the last few years, seeing people make the same mistakes again and again, watching people miss tricks left right and centre.
With that in mind, I wanted to share a few of the brilliant things happening across the digital landscape, as well as some of the mistakes I see the business make consistently, in the hope that maybe we can work together to build a better, stronger and more successful business for all.
Stop Putting Artist Data Behind Walled Gardens
This is one of the biggest gripes I have with our industry and one of the most detrimental things anyone could do to a campaign and to an artist’s career.
The most incredible thing about the digitisation of the modern music business is the incredible wealth of data we are generating. Used correctly it will both inform and transform a campaign, but far too many parts of our industry are locking it behind walled gardens and it has to stop.
I have zero doubt that over the coming years
we’re going to see an epic legal and moral battle over data ownership vs access, and talent will go where they can be in control of this. I hope that ahead of this battle all stakeholders wake up and smell the coffee.
Across streaming data and fan data, locking this away is an absolute nonsense in the digital age and will never allow for a fully connected digital campaign (which is insane).
In an ideal world managers and artists need to own their data and allow relevant partners access as and when required. The same partners generating an additional set is fine, but locking managers and artists out of the data flow, usage, reporting and collection is a fucking farce.
You’re cutting your nose off to spite your face, but also your artists’ in the process, and believe me when I say savvy managers are taking names of the worst offenders across the board and looking to jump ship as a result…. we hear from most of them!
If you silo an artist’s live, ticket, e-commerce, fan direct, streaming, sales, advertising and social data you have yet to fully realise the potential of the digital age.
Catalogue Is For Life, Not Just For Christmas
Catalogue is an ever-increasing area of growth across our business. There was a time when catalogue campaigns existed purely to peddle out a shitty, overpriced box set, but the huge rush in rights grabs and the unstoppable rise of TikTok and streaming has the industry fully embracing the fact that songs have the potential to make money all day, every day.
Investment in paid spend, content marketing, content creation, UGC encouragement, influencer marketing, playlisting, or savvy partnerships means the potential to breathe new revenue and life into older tracks has never been more tangible and achievable.
We work with some very forward-thinking managers and labels who understand that using existing catalogue to heat up the algorithms ahead of new releases is a win-win for all. We are increasingly brought into campaigns ahead of any other team members for this very reason.
Make Sure Your Advertising Is Always-On
A successful advertising campaign is not just running a few token ads around a track release. But that’s what many of you are doing. The smartest labels and managers we work with understand the need to invest, nurture and cultivate a campaign and fanbase way ahead of, during and long after any release. The ‘always-on’ approach is not one anyone should apply to their daily life, but it absolutely is one everyone should take in advertising.
The Ecommerce Journey Should Be Smooth, Simple And Connected
The amount of money being left on the table out there is outrageous. When we get new clients in, we sit and audit the full digital footprint and I can’t believe how many don’t have fully functional integrated e-commerce solutions across all available platforms.
Even less have full conversion tracking and re-targeting set up. It’s absolutely bonkers to me that in a world where a sale is a click away, people are missing this easy, fruitful trick.
And whilst we’re talking clicks… if it takes more than a few to buy a T-shirt or a ticket, you’ve lost more than half of them already.
It’s time to up the industry’s collective game. Some of our biggest platforms are archaic in comparison to some of the bright young tech solutions.
Tom Grennan
Always spend time understanding the user journey across any of your properties and don’t be afraid to speak to your partners about improving them.
Indistinguishable From Magic
Working with visionary partners makes our job so utterly rewarding and we are very fortunate to work with some of the most forward-thinking companies and individuals in the game.
Some people just ‘get it’ and are prepared to write the new rule book with us. I am forever grateful to the clients that took a chance on us over the dusty old existing industry architecture.
In the digital world, pushing the boundaries of innovation and technology is vital and finding new ways to help our clients succeed is quite frankly thrilling. Each day presents new challenges and opportunities and at Deviate we not only welcome them, we actively seek them.
Deviate Digital is based at Tileyard, London, located in Kings Cross, Europe’s largest community of artists, studios and businesses, all revolving around music, ideas, collaboration and creativity.
