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Elevator music is a remarkable invention. It plays to an audience that literally cannot leave and it still manages to lose everyone’s attention within seconds. It’s clearly there, maybe you briefly think “That's quite pleasant,” but then promptly forget about the tune while it’s still playing.

So many talks remind me of elevator music.

They’re clearly there, someone’s speaking, perhaps even eloquently. But when you leave the room, you can’t tell anyone what was actually said.

The interesting thing is that nothing has to be “wrong” for this to happen. Elevator music is actually designed that way. It avoids friction, it avoids surprises, and it’s mostly harmless. So that, after a few moments, it simply becomes part of the surroundings.

Many presentations do this, too, just unintentionally.

The title slide appears. Then the familiar introduction. Then the agenda. And then the graphs, quotes, tables, and the occasional joke. Very much like the four presentations that came before and the three after.

Again, they’re not necessarily bad. Just mostly harmless. And so, your mind goes elsewhere. The talk is now part of the surroundings.

I wish we’d stop sanding the edges off the very things that make a talk worth listening to.

Someone might disagree? We add a nuance.

Someone might feel uncomfortable? We soften it.

Someone might have different priorities? We squeeze that in, too.

And another one. Until a point that once was sharp and unmistakable has become so perfectly harmless that nobody could possibly feel uncomfortable. Congratulations. You’ve made premium elevator music.

The tragedy is that this often happens to people who have something genuinely worth saying. They care about their audience. They respect different perspectives. They don’t want to alienate anyone. Sometimes, though, they confuse that respect with the absence of friction.

An edge isn’t an act of aggression.
It’s what gives your idea its shape.

You can be kind and still be pointed. You can respect someone’s perspective and still challenge it. You can make people uncomfortable without making them feel unwelcome. And you can absolutely give people room to disagree without retreating from what you believe.

In fact, that’s what I love about great talks. They don’t need everyone to agree. They give everyone something worth thinking about.

Which almost never comes without discomfort. It requires the courage to say things you’re tempted to soften or remove.

Resist.

Make your talk the one people can’t stop thinking about.

Keep lighting the path,
Michael

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