Google may be the most recognized new 21st century brand in the West. But in China, its name was a dog. Surfers had been pronouncing the unfamiliar “Google” as “gougou” or “gugou,” among other variants – meaning “doggy” and “old hound.” An easier-to-pronounce name is just one of the reasons why rival Baidu has been eating Google’s lunch in China. That’s why the company tweaked its iconic name yesterday as it opened a new engineering center in Beijing. Google renamed itself “Gu Ge” (pronounced “goo-guh”), which China Daily elaborately translates as “song of the harvest of grain.” Google (Research) officials said the new name projected “the sense of a fruitful and productive search experience, in a poetic Chinese way.”

What a dim sum of thinking this is. Let them pronounce Google any way they want. Americans find it difficult to properly pronounce high-end names like Audi and Porsche, so each name has an Americanized pronunciation, no biggy.

And the “old dog” as a negative is a glaring red herring. Yahoo means “idiot” in English, Crossfire implies “violent death” and Gap means “missing, broken or incomplete”. The idea that consumers process names literally is false. They process them in the context of the experience and the brand.

And give the Chinese some credit, they know that Google is not a Chinese word with Chinese meanings!

Wang Laboratories, one of the iconic pioneers of computing, was founded by Dr. An Wang in Lowell, Massachusetts. Certainly they could have changed their name to accommodate Americans that might be put off by a name like Wang. But there was no need. Everyone understood that Wang was a Chinese last name and was not being used in the sense of Johnson, an American last name. Even though Wang was an American company. The same holds true here.

The notion of splintering a brand name like Google into different names for different countries, based on the sophomoric understanding of naming demonstrated by their explanation, is truly absurd.

There are no new rules of naming.

Says Blandor the Imponderable: “‘Gu Ge’… which translates as ‘song of the harvest of grain…the sense of a fruitful and productive search experience, in a poetic Chinese way’, is MY SHCTICK!!! This is no lesser a transgression than if Gallagher were to wear Robin’s rainbow suspenders or if Mr. Williams were to smash swollen cucurbitaceae on stage! I demand redress!”

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The hot word in the field of sales — indeed, pervading the world of perfect pitching — is brand.

”The King Is Dead, Long Live His Brand” is the Times headline above an article about the way ”Michael Jordan is being mortalized so his sneakers can stay in the game.” That’s because ”building a brand on the back of a legend works only until that back breaks.”

The noun blazed on the scene a thousand years ago as a burning stick, and the meaning soon transferred to the mark left on the skin of a horse or a criminal by such a stick, or branding iron. That mark became the sign of infamy: Richard Hooker wrote in 1597 of an age marked ”with the brand of error and superstition,” and later, a firebrand became the symbol of an inflammatory rabble-rouser.

The burned-in mark, in the 19th century, began to signify ownership not just of an animal but also of liquids in wooden casks, like wine or ale. The brand-mark became a ”trademark,” and in the 20th century the designated item so labeled became a brand. In 1929, Fleischmann’s Yeast absorbed the coffee maker Chase & Sanborn and other companies to form Standard Brands (now a part of Kraft), in hopes that brand names would produce brand loyalty. A generation later, David Ogilvy, the advertising executive, was dubbed by the author Martin Mayer in 1958 as an ”apostle of the ‘brand image”’ who sought to persuade the consumer ”that brand A, technically identical with brand B, is somehow a better product.” Within two years, the novelist Kingsley Amis extended brand image from a product to a genre: ”mad scientists attended by scantily clad daughters” constitute ”the main brand-image of science fiction.”

…”It’s a new brand world,” wrote Tom Peters in the magazine Fast Company in 1997, playing on the compound adjective brand-new. In an article titled ”The Brand Called You,” Peters argued that ”the main chance is becoming a free agent in an economy of free agents . . . looking to establish your own microequivalent of the Nike swoosh. Everyone has a chance to be a brand worthy of remark.”

Well before the blogosphere became a media power, Peters held that ”the Web makes the case for branding more directly than any packaged good or consumer product ever could. . . . So how do you know which sites are worth visiting? The answer: branding. The sites you go back to are the sites you trust. . . . The brand is a promise of the value you’ll receive.” His article helped project a new sense of the word into common usage, as he suggested ways for individuals to self-brand by focusing on the values (of imagination or budgetary dependability, of creative talent or personal charm) that make an individual’s brand unique.

We now have a Brandweek magazine, and a Web site aimed at what used to be called ”Madison Avenue” named Brand Republic. Basketball teams, rock bands and celebrities rise and fall as brands. Business Week headlines a story about Yahoo’s attempt to establish itself in foreign markets with ”Exporting an Über-Brand.”

In a world where the words new and fresh are relentlessly repeated on every product label, the name of the sales technique is getting old and stale. Where is the ad-Übermensch, the creative Ogilvy, who will put forward a new moniker for the name of the atmospheric marketing game? The time has come, as John Kerry puts it, to unbrand the word brand.

Safire then gets a little cranky and goes on to pick a bone with Yahoo! for forcing the terminal exclamation point on him, and vows that from now on when he has to use the name in print he will write it with a question mark instead: Yahoo?

More interestingly, the redoubtable language maven makes a good point in his lambasting of a particularly egregious dot com-era naming convention, “internal capitalization”, as well as tracking down the Eve that birthed this monster:

BlackBerry, appropriating the name of the fruit of a bramble bush, sports what is called ”internal capitalization” to make the brand name distinctive. That’s the next worst thing in corporate nomenclature, stemming like kudzu from the 1951 TelePrompTer. Entranced by the symmetry of two five-letter groups beginning with b, the corporate namers capitalized both, turning a proper noun improper, at least in my book.

What reason do I have to resist this sly typographic mind-manipulation? As Shakespeare put it in ”Henry IV, Part I”: ”If reasons were as plenty as Black-berries, I would give no man a reason upon compulsion.” (The Bard wrote the word as ”Black-berries,” with initial cap and hyphen. Four centuries ago, that was O.K.)

Ultimately, internal capitalization is unnecessary and distracting. Blackberry is a perfect name for a diminutive email device that looks like a blackberry; ‘BlackBerry’ serves no purpose and just dilutes the power of the brand.