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Sing it, FreeCreditReport.com guy!

Talk about 'identity theft!' That singer in those commercials isn’t even real!

FreeCreditReport.com
Poor Baby-faced Everyman — forced to cater waiter a big L.A. rock star party (in a yet-to-be released commercial) that should be his — if only he'd do something about his lousy credit score!
By Helen A.S. Popkin
MSNBC
updated 9:07 a.m. ET Aug. 7, 2008

Helen Popkin
Helen A.S. Popkin
He is the baby-faced everyman caught in a Kafkaesque nightmare of credit score woes. A troubadour of the American masses, his songs reflect the far-reaching effects of the housing crisis, predatory lending, skyrocketing gas prices and the economic downturn — or maybe he’s just one in former John McCain advisor Phil Gramm’s nation of “whiners” suffering a “mental depression.”

He’s the FreeCreditReport.com guy, and you are so totally in love with him you want to have like, 10 million of his babies. Or you hate his guts and if you never see him or his stupid drummer and bass player again it’ll be too soon.

And if so, really, who could blame you? Those ubiquitous TV commercials featuring his three-man indie rock band with their infectious ditties of financial failure have aired more than 90,000 times since the advertising campaign’s October 2007 launch (in case you lost count).

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“Aside from just the astounding scale of success, we’re pretty tickled by all the FreeCreditReport.com spoofs and parodies on YouTube,” says Dave Mulhefeld, the songwriting phenom behind the über jingles and senior copy writer at The Martin Agency — the same advertising masterminds behind the Geico gecko and cavemen. Meanwhile, the commercials are directed by the comedy mastermind behind “Dude, Where’s My Car?” and “Harold and Kumar Go to White Castle.”

(You heard me. “Mastermind.” Those movies are frakkin’ howl-arious.)

As of now, YouTube carries more than 70 FreeCreditReport.com homages, ranging from parents filming their kids’ renditions to one guy full-out rocking on acoustic guitar. According to the company, traffic and memberships to the site have gone up 20 percent since the campaign began, with more than 5 million current members. The cultural impact of this musical commercial series is so pervasive that a million critical consumer news stories about how the actual product isn’t actually — well, “free” — would do little to slow its momentum.

And there are critical exposes. The New York Times published a scathing article earlier this week about FreeCreditReport.com which is owned by Experian, one of the three major credit bureaus. Heck, msnbc.com’s own New York Times bestselling author Bob Sullivan got all up in FreeCreditReport.com’s business two years ago. But the written word is no match for that adorable new “Bicycle” ad featuring our boy and his band that the company loosed on the American TV viewing audience just this week.

Any consumer outrage over FreeCreditReport.com has nothing to do with the site and how you don’t get your “free” credit report until you and your credit card number enroll in the $14.95 per month credit-monitoring service, of which you get the first seven days free, but if you fail to read the fine print and don’t cancel, your credit card is automatically charged until you do.

(Not to mention, if singer boy’s credit is so bad, how would he even have a credit card to register if he ever got around to checking it out?)

Any shock associated with FreeCreditReport.com doesn’t come from any practices that might be construed as misleading. The freakout occurs when viewers learn that the guy in the commercial isn’t actually The Guy. That isn’t his band. He was never half of a marriage doomed by his dream girl’s heretofore unmentioned defaulted credit cards. He and the wife didn’t make their first (and last?) home together in the same place he conducts band practice — her parent’s basement.

In fact, identity theft never forced his employment at a pirate-themed seafood restaurant or that due to his willful ignorance regarding his own credit score, his automotive choices were limited to a used subcompact which caused his legs to stick to the vinyl and his posse getting laughed at.

In fact, Baby-faced Everyman’s sweet folk rock voice — one that would fit perfectly opening for Superchunk in Chapel Hill, NC sometime in 1992 or narrating a “School House Rock” lesson — isn’t even his voice. Because, get this. Dude isn’t even American. Talk about identity theft!


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