When we started looking for hosts for the Brands and Bands podcast, I wanted voices that felt real. Not polished business gurus or branding “experts” rattling off case studies, but people who could genuinely wrestle with the ideas in the book. People with chemistry, with history—people you’d actually want to listen to.
That’s how we landed on Bob Whitlock and Jane Hart.
On paper, they were a perfect fit. Two seasoned broadcasters with the kind of radio experience that makes live conversation effortless. Bob had the weight of a journalist who takes things seriously, someone who could sink his teeth into the branding discussions. Jane, with her lighter, more conversational approach, would balance him out and keep things moving. We needed that mix of depth and accessibility, of structure and spontaneity. They ticked every box.
What I didn’t realize—what nobody told me—was that they also had history.
I remember listening to their first recording. It was solid, exactly what I’d hoped for. But there was something in the way they spoke to each other. The way Jane let Bob talk himself into a corner before calmly dismantling his argument with a single line. The way Bob, for all his confidence, sometimes hesitated just a fraction before responding to her. It wasn’t just banter. It wasn’t rehearsed. It was lived-in.
By episode two, I couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to the story. So, I asked around. Turns out, Bob and Jane weren’t just former colleagues. They were something more—once upon a time.
Then Bob, being Bob, went and slept with the weather reporter.
I suppose Jane has forgiven him. Mostly. But the thing is, you can still hear it. I didn't notice at first. Every so often, she drops in a casual, “Well, it’s a sunny day,” or “Looks like rain is coming,” just as Bob is mid-thought, throwing him slightly off his stride. A tiny, well-placed jab. Never enough for him to call her out on it, but just enough to remind him—she remembers. It’s subtle, but it’s there, and it’s brilliant.
And that’s what makes them work.
Because that’s what Brands and Bands is about, isn’t it? Emotional connection. The moments between the moments. The way a history—whether between people or a brand and its audience—adds depth, makes something resonate beyond the surface. You can’t fake that. You can’t script it.
And sure, they don’t know music on a deep level. They’re not dropping obscure B-sides or debating the artistic merits of Krautrock. Their musical world is mostly MOR rock and coffee shop culture jazz—stuff that plays in the background of their lives rather than defines it. But that’s exactly why I wanted them. I didn’t want a slick Rolling Stone Magazine vibe, full of industry insiders dissecting every note. And I didn’t want the chaotic energy of an emo college fanzine, where everything is either life-changing or a sellout. I wanted two honest people, living their lives, surviving somehow, and figuring things out as they go.
So, yes, I picked Bob and Jane because they were good at their jobs. But the thing that makes them great? That was an accident. A happy accident.
And if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that the best branding—like the best stories, like the best music—often comes from the things you don’t plan.
