Sonic Direction Brief

This is the paperwork part. It tells us who to talk to and what kind of job this is, so the price and the delivery date are right.

Music can't say words, but it can carry a feeling. Before we can pick that feeling, we need to know what your brand actually is and who it's for.

Skip the marketing talk. If you'd never say it out loud to a friend, don't write it here.

Instead of "we deliver innovative solutions," try "we fix people's furnaces, and we show up when we say we will."

Where a sound plays changes how it has to be built. A phone alert has to work in under a second on a tiny speaker. A TV ad has room to breathe and can use deep bass.

If we build the wrong one, it won't be a matter of taste — it just won't work.

Music that feels exciting to a teenager can feel like noise to someone else. Knowing who is listening — and what else is going on around them — keeps us from guessing.

Someone in a loud truck can't hear quiet detail. Someone in headphones at midnight can hear everything.

Words like "friendly" mean different things to different people. One person's "friendly" is a ukulele; another person's is a warm voice and a slow piano.

So we do it in two parts. First pick 2–4 words that fit your brand. Then, for each word, write what you think that sounds like. You don't need music words — plain language is better.

"Trustworthy" → "steady, not rushed, ends on a note that feels finished — nothing jumpy."

Doing this now means when you hear the first draft, you can say "that's not what I meant" and point at your own words. That's what keeps us from wasting your time.

If your sound could belong to a competitor, it hasn't done its job. Naming who you don't want to sound like is one of the fastest ways to make sure yours stands apart.

You don't have to know what they sound like in music terms. "Their ad music is loud and rushed and I hate it" is a perfect answer.

It is much easier to point at something than to describe it. One example saves an hour of guessing.

Important: we will never copy a song. We only borrow the feeling — the speed, the instruments, the mood. So tell us which part you like, not just the name.

"The Airbnb ad music — I like how gentle and unhurried it is." That's a great answer. "This song, it's cool" is a hard one.

The dislikes matter just as much. Knowing what makes you wince stops us from sending you a draft you hate.

So you know what you're paying for before we start. If something you expected is missing from this list, tell us now — not at the end.

"I like it" is not something we can aim at. A clear finish line is.

Write down the thing that would make you say, six months from now, that this was worth doing. We both hold each other to it.

"Someone knows it's our show from the first second, before anyone speaks."
"Our ad sounds like us even with the picture turned off."
"Our app alert doesn't sound like every other app on the phone."

Signing here means you agree with the direction above. We start writing music the day after.

After that, small changes are normal and included. But changing the whole direction means starting over, and that becomes a separate job with its own price. That's not us being difficult — it's the same as re-doing a logo from scratch after you approved it.