The pursuit of wealth (and then figuring out how to keep it when successful) has a long history. The wide-ranging insights below are offered without commentary. However, where additional context is available a good source has been recommended on the pundit or their life. I have read all of the books suggested.
Circa 600 BC
“The observation of the numerous misfortunes that attend all conditions forbids us to grow insolent upon our present enjoyment, or to admire a man’s happiness that may yet, in the course of time, suffer change.”
(Nassim Taleb translates this into the vernacular by quoting Yogi Berra, “it ain’t over until it’s over” in Fooled By Randomness, 2001)
Leonardo da Vinci
“Do not undertake things if you see that you will have to suffer in case you do not succeed.”
“Trust only those who have exercised their minds not on proofs of nature but on the results of their own experiments.”
Estimated net worth in current dollars: $400,000,000,000
(J.D. Rockefeller clocked-in at only $340,000,000,000)
“When I go to bed, I face no obstacles to sleep. I remove with my shirt all the cares of battles and business.”
“I will earn a profit as long as I can.”
The Richest Man Who Ever Lived, Greg Steinmetz, 2015
Netted $3,000,000 in the 1929 market crash.
(Went bankrupt twice before and after 1929)
Cut your losses quickly.
“If a trader doesn’t know his exit before he takes the entry, he might as well go to the racetrack or casino where at least the odds can be quantified.”
Let profits ride until price action dictates otherwise.
“It never was my thinking that made the big money for me. It always was my sitting.”
Control your emotions.
“All through time, people have basically acted and reacted the same way in the market as a result of: greed, fear, ignorance, and hope.”
“Buy all-time new highs.”
“We have met the enemy and they are us.”
“One investor’s two rules of investing:
- Never lose money.
- Never forget rule #1.”
“Concentrate your investments. If you have a harem of 40 women you never get to know any of them very well.”
“Investors operate with limited funds and limited intelligence: They do not need to know everything. As long as they understand something better than others, they have an edge.”
“If I had to sum up my practical skills, I would use one word: Survival.”
Money Masters of Our Time, John Train, 2000
“Excesses in one direction will lead to an opposite excess in the other direction. Think of the market baseline as attached to a rubber string. Any action too far in one direction not only brings you back to the baseline, but leads to an overshoot in the opposite direction.”
“Fear and greed are stronger than long-term resolve. Investors can be their own worst enemy, particularly when emotions take hold.”
“When all the experts and forecasts agree — something else is going to happen.”
As Stovall, the S&P investment strategist, puts it: “If everybody’s optimistic, who is left to buy? If everybody’s pessimistic, who’s left to sell?”
Considered one of the most successful hedge fund managers of all time.
“Make all your mistakes early in life: The more tough lessons you learn early on, the fewer (bigger) errors you make later. A common mistake of all young investors is to be too trusting with brokers, analysts, and newsletters who are trying to sell you something.”
“Don’t make small investments: You only have so much time and energy when you put your money in play. So, if you’re going to put money at risk, make sure the reward is high enough to justify it.”
For more: More Money Than God, Sebastian Mallaby, 2010
Investor and author of What I Learned Losing A Million Dollars, 1994
“There is an inverse relationship between your threshold for pain and success in the markets, so as soon as you feel the pain: get out.”
“I am always thinking about losing money as opposed to making money.”
“No matter how you cut it, there are enormous emotional ups and downs involved.”
More Money Than God, Sebastian Mallaby, 2010
Now, who and what can you add to this list? Leave your comments below…
|Talk about a career in jazz… Gerald Wilson’s first album as a leader was released in 1961 and his last recording was released in 2011.|
First hearing the big band sound of Gerald Wilson was a revelation. Talk about a career in jazz, Wilson played trumpet in the Jimmie Lunceford Band back in 1936. A mainstay of West Coast jazz players, he wandered in and out of the limelight for 50 years, his first album as a leader, You Better Believe It being released in 1961. He died in 2014 at age 96, with his last recording, Legacy, released in 2011.
It was a pleasant surprise to discover that he was not only a big fan of the bullfight, but many of his signature works (two of which are reprised on “Detroit” from 2009) are named after famous bullfighters of the 1960s. He considered matadors and jazz musicians to be kindred spirits engaged in a similar kind of art form. Wilson was befriended by bullfighting professionals and is an honorary life member of Los Aficionados de Los Angeles (sort of like the Bullfighter’s Union of the U.S). The complete oeuvre of Wilson’s tributes to the corrida is listed below. I deliberately chose to only include the original of each song, and encourage you to check out some of the later versions on your own.
This song is named for Jose Ramon Tirado. “He was a young matador I first saw at the bullfights in Tijuana, Mexico,” Gerald says. “He was sensational, had a lot of style, reminds me of one of the young trumpeters today. I was so impressed that I wanted to do my impression jazz-wise of what was going on with him.”
This song is named for Paco Camino. “Paco Camino became the biggest man in the bull ring during that period. He came on with some new stuff that was out of sight. Bullfighting is not a sport, you know. It’s an art, continually evolving with new passes, new uses of the cape, new ways of confronting the bull, adding to the repertoire. It’s very much like jazz. Paco was an artist. He improvised. He was the best,” said Wilson in 2004.
Featured in Sports Illustrated in 1963, ” Paco Camino is the greatest torero of the past 20 years,” said Antonio Diaz-Canabate, one of Spain’s foremost authorities, writing in Madrid’s influential newspaper, the A.B.C. “He leads the bull with the muleta where the bull does not want to go. That is the most difficult thing in the art of bullfighting because it involves the total domination of man over beast.” And a well-known Barcelona critic, Jose Maria Hernandez, wrote of Camino, “He does everything to perfection. He has an indefinable magic. People will remember Camino, like Manolete, not for any one pass or quality, but for his general art and technique.”
This song is named for Santiago Martín, known as El Viti. This is the only recording Wilson made where he played with the band. “El Viti was a great matador, different from any other I ever saw. He never smiled, and he was tough. I tried to trace a picture of him, as it gets down into a unique part where his stuff in the ring would get, wild but not overbearing. It was a place for me to use my eight-part harmony.” Wilson claimed to invent eight-part harmony. El Viti was considered to be the “master of the Verónica.”
The Golden Sword
Dedicated to the pageantry of the bullring.
This song is named for Carlos Arruza, known as “El Ciclón” (“the cyclone”). Retiring after a successful career bullfighting on foot, he came back to start an even more spectacular career on horseback. “He was one of the greatest of all time,” said Wilson. Arruza appeared in two Mexican films about bullfighting and had a part in the 1960 version of “The Alamo” starring John Wayne.
This song is named for M. Capetillo, who performed frequently in Tijuana from the 1960s through the 1980s. He was celebrated as the greatest muletero in Mexican bullfight history. Wilson watched Capetillo fight his last bull on the eve of his retirement.
This song is named for Antonio Del Olivar and was the last of Wilson’s tributes to famous bullfighters. Considered one of the most graceful matadors, Del Olivar once honored Wilson by presenting him with the ear of a bull he had killed.
|The bull and its blood symbolize a call to nature at its most brutal, pure and irrational. -Jose Antonio del Moral|
If you are not a fan of bullfighting please move along. My interest in defending this sport is exactly zero.
There is a documentary about bullfighting, The Matador, by Seavey and Higgins, that follows a very young (and now very famous) Spanish bullfighter, David Fandila, over a three-year period as he struggled to complete 100 corridas in a single season. A cursory glance at the reviews found the film to have been well received when it premiered in 2008, and this in spite of the subject. While I found the story of “El Fandi” more engaging than the story-telling, it certainly offered up some great bullfighting video and even better quotes; from Jose Antonio del Moral, “The bull and its blood symbolizes a call to nature at its most brutal, pure and irrational.”
Many casual comments become quite compelling when scrutinized, including agreement from El Fandi, that he is not an artistic bullfighter. This observation is not without merit, since a comparison to, for example, Enrique Ponce provides a clear contrast in styles. Ponce performs with an elegance of posture and movement that even a first-time viewer would likely define as classical. Whereas El Fandi demonstrates a theatrical, often coarse flair more akin to an entertainer. This difference in approach is not just about technique. It is about the purpose of the spectacle found only in a corrida.
El Fandi states unambiguously his desire to deliver a memorable performance, to “bring the audience to ecstasy.” Being a great bullfighter in the traditional sense appears less interesting than being an inspiring entertainer. del Moral offers another observation to this point, “…but it is a beautiful savagery with an artistic payoff.” By comparison, he refers to ballet, where the movement of the human body is regarded as artistic expression. Yet for El Fandi, it is the elegance displayed in the face of death that defines the artist. While a whiff of fear will destroy an otherwise masterful performance, El Fandi chooses to exaggerate his bravado, delivering a show that forcefully reminds the viewer of the high stakes being wagered with each corrida. His technique is less about the form (classical) than in the delivery (entertaining).
It is also worth noting that the documentary does an excellent job of reminding the viewer that the bulls can give as good as they get. The remarkable scene of El Fandi being gored, immediately undergoing surgery, then returning to the ring forty-five minutes later to continue fighting is unsettling to the extreme. And a vivid reminder of what separates the truly great from the rest of us mere mortals.
Finally, it is worth knowing that a bull only fights once, if it survives it is put to pasture. Speaking about the bulls that survive the corrida, a young David Fandila talks about the “inner calm” he senses when in the presence of these winning champions. Interesting observation from a guy whose death in the ring is the only way for a bull to enjoy an “inner calm.”
|Don’t let hubris or fear keep you from considering participation, even in a small way, in the world economy.|
It is a fact that the U.S. now accounts for only 40% of the world’s stock market capitalization. Yet a look at international rankings of market capitalization by country tells a more nuanced story and confirms that the U.S. remains the best bet, by a long shot, for equity investing. However, Invest-Notes has from its earliest days been an enthusiast of international equities. As with most asset classes, international exposure is best pursued through exchange-traded funds, such as VEU (discussed below). And with the recent drawdown in prices around the world, international stocks might be an interesting place to invest some retirement account money at the first of the new year.
After the U.S. the second spot of most valuable equity markets is held by Japan with 7.75%. Number three is China at 7.5% followed, surprisingly, by Hong Kong at 6.75%. Great Britain and France round out the top six with less than 5% each. More importantly, over the last ten years, the U.S. has gone from 34% to the current 39.81%. We are not losing ground to Asian or European nations, but instead growing at an impressive rate. Reports of our economic demise have been wholly mistaken. Japan, Great Britain, and France have all lost ground with the annual growth for China and Hong Kong at about 2% each. This bears taking a moment to think about. Hong Kong has a population of 7.5-million people in a land-locked area of 426 square miles; China has over a billion people occupying 3,700,000 square miles. Even New York City has more land and people than Hong Kong.
Looking behind the headlines, major S&P 500 exchange traded funds (SPY, VOO, RSP) remain the smartest choice for most individual investors to keep most of their long-term savings and investments. Again, get past the hype, and even after the big drop over the last few weeks, the S&P is still flat for the year (though when I originally started work on this article a couple of weeks ago, the S&P was up 5% for 2018). By comparison, the exchange-traded fund used as a proxy for Chinese equities, ASHR, is down over 25% year to date. Over the last 5, 10 and 20-year periods the S&P 500 has delivered annual returns of over 10%. The often-repeated idea that the U.S. is somehow losing its status as the big dog in global finance is wrong. However, hubris is always a bad approach to investing strategies.
Hubris is not an Option.
In their just-released The World in 2019, The Economist features three articles offering thoughts on how world markets might perform next year. On the one hand, there seems to be some level of confidence that the current bull market in America will see at least month 121, an anniversary of what would become the longest market expansion in U.S. history. On the other hand, these same pundits all suggest our next recession will likely begin before the end of 2019.
But the most intriguing suggestion is to ask whether the gap between the U.S. and most other world markets begins to close because the U.S. economy weakens, or everyone else gets stronger or even just stabilizes. One prognosticator suggests that if the U.S. markets soften, the rest of the world will tumble in tandem. Perhaps though trade wars and U.S. federal reserve interest rate hikes could begin to bite domestically more than internationally. Reversion to the mean is not guaranteed, but it happens surprisingly often.
So, why is investing in foreign equities a good idea right now?
Because there have been and will continue to be times when in the on-going race for returns, international stocks can retake the lead position. My best bet is that most readers have not added any international exposure to retirement accounts in a long time.
An exchange-traded fund like the Vanguard All-World Ex-US Index (VEU) make very good sense as a method of diversification. First, VEU currently offers a 3.1% dividend. Second, the expense ratio is 0.1% (that’s one-tenth of one percent). Finally, the U.S. still only has 40% of the equities markets, and there are some very fine companies worth holding in your IRAs and 401Ks. Stocks like Nestle, Novartis, Toyota, Royal Dutch Shell, and Samsung are solid investments – and better owned in a fund than individually. Don’t let hubris (only local matters) or fear (the world has gone crazy) keep you from considering participation, even in a small way, in the world economy.
|The wheel of the world swings through the same phases again and again.| ―
For no particular reason, I’ve again been reading the collected works of Rudyard Kipling. Mostly he is remembered today (if at all) for two memorable movies based (loosely) on his short stories, The Jungle Book and The Man Who Would Be King. Yet the remaining trove of poems, ballads, mysteries, short stories, and novels are all equally compelling. Luckily, weighing in at around 900 pages, there is much to enjoy.
So imagine my surprise in discovering that the lyrics to the Frank Sinatra classic, On the Road to Mandalay (from 1957’s Come fly with me), are in fact a Kipling poem penned about a century earlier. Equally fascinating has been the number of old chestnuts still in circulation that finds their origins in a Kipling work – “He was a better man than me,” indeed. And I’ll bet many folks of my generation (and their kids) have fond and vivid memories of Walt Disney’s animated version of The Jungle Book. Even though the story of Mowgli is but a small part of a larger work.
The Man Who Would Be King
Yet it was the revelations around both the short story and the movie, The Man Who Would Be King, that inspired this note. First, while the movie has long been a favorite, it has now taken on an added luster. After the first viewing, this movie was an inspiration for my long serving friend David and me to pursue Masonic studies, though in the book this theme is not nearly so prominent but remains important. Second, the pairing of Sean Connery and Michael Caine proved to be a stroke of genius. What a great movie.
However, I had been unable to appreciate just what a tremendous job had been done by John Huston (think, The African Queen with Humphrey Bogart, who was originally cast to play Peachy) when preparing the screenplay. I continue to run across lines from other Kipling stories totally unrelated to The Man Who Would Be King that are included as dialogue in the movie, such as the line “Straight as a beggar can spit.” Additionally, the added scenes allowing a short story to fill a feature-length movie were brilliantly conceived, and a couple of them I actually missed when reading the original story. Clearly, Huston was just as interested in recreating the world of Kipling as he was in retelling this one short story.
With the next viewing of The Man Who Would Be King, it will be the first look through a new lens. And what grander adventure is there than to enjoy discovering something so familiar still has mysteries to uncover.
|Moments of brilliance, moments of bombast and moments of madness give people a reason to talk about jazz, perhaps so they don’t have to listen to the music.|
Half listening to the radio, my full attention turned suddenly to a song I hadn’t heard before. After a couple of minutes, I guessed it must be from a new album from Kamasi Washington. Turns out there is a recent release from Washington, Heaven and Earth, that came out in June. Though relatively new to the scene as a leader, there is a lot of personality in Washington’s music. His sound is distinct, much more so than many other musicians with a larger jazz catalog.
There was tremendous hype, even internationally, surrounding the release of Washington’s 2015 album The Epic. I found it to be a huge, chaotic, sprawling and often frustrating work. Clocking in at almost 3-hours, the range of his music touched on everything, from old jazz standards to Debussy’s Claire de Lune, from free jazz to musically challenging sounds hard to classify. Whether you find his music exhilarating or exasperating, it demands attention. So, it was a surprise to read a review of Heaven and Earth in a mainstream jazz publication that sounded more like a critique of Washington than his new album.
Washington’s sensibilities are clearly on display with this new album.
Brash horns and choirs often fill curious corners of his music. In some ways, it is difficult to think that Washington even has a “sound” since the music stretches to include so many styles and motifs. And yet, there I was certain this song was by Washington and must be something new, rather than a song from his other post-Epic release, Throttle Elevator Music IV (which includes music recorded during the Epic sessions). Of course, he has a sound, a big one, and it is recognizable.
Yet the gist of the review article was a complaint that Washington wasn’t adding anything new to the “jazz canon.” There was, it claimed, no new insights being delivered, just variations on existing themes with the juxtaposition of straight ahead, free jazz and everything in between giving the impression of “new things.” Not to put too fine a point on it, but Washington’s jazz mash-ups are attention-getting because of their sprawling sounds. We do hear old things performed in new ways that sound interesting because of their often odd juxtapositions. I can’t speak to cannons – other than to say their sound might make an interesting punctuation in some of the more aggressive Washington recordings.
The Kamasi Washington Sound.
A comparison of Washington’s rendition of Cherokee with those of widely respected players provides for a striking example of his “sound.” Listen to versions of the Ray Noble jazz standard by sax players Charlie Parker in 1942 (which he remade into KoKo) and Stan Getz in 1960, or from a vocalist like Dee Dee Bridgewater in 1998. Nothing in Washington’s version sounds derivative that I can tell.
Then, right after you play Cherokee, listen to Washington’s Miss Understanding, also from The Epic, and the range of his musical vision is clearly on display. Seemingly, every song needs its own “sound” and Washington strives, and mostly succeeds, in putting a personal touch on every number. Even when that personal touch is at odds with other songs sitting in the same queue.
In a significant way, Kamasi Washington reminds me of Dizzy Gillespie.
For folks outside of the jazz orbit, the image of Dizzy embodied the spirit of jazz. The beret and goatee, the puffed-up cheeks, the boisterous laugh and welcoming personality. Yet even hardcore jazz fans can be challenged by some of his more aggressive music – “jeez, how does he get to a register that high? And why does he play so shrill for so long?” Salt Peanuts was important but is also an acquired taste. People talked about the man, not so much his music.
It now feels like for many Kamasi fills the role of what jazz should look like. A review of The Epic in The Economist and a more recent interview this summer in Monocle, heralded this new savior of jazz: The big man with the big hair and even bigger sound, facing the world head-on and coincidently plays jazz. But Washington’s music doesn’t get much discussion in these conversations. Moments of brilliance, moments of bombast and moments of madness give people a reason to talk about jazz, perhaps so they don’t have to listen to the music.
|Eric Fischl does a fabulous job explaining not just how he goes about the creative process, but how his creative process came to be what it is.|
Eric Fischl’s 2013 autobiography, Bad Boy, is quite the piece of work – literally. His name was familiar to me, though his paintings were not. One of the New Kids that came of age, and fame, in the early 1980’s by putting figurative back into contemporary art. Julian Schnabel and David Salle being his contemporaries. The book is split pretty evenly between his personal history, professional life, thoughts on art, and making for often-uncomfortable reading. Finding some modicum of peace in this world depends on ensuring your personal demons don’t get the upper hand. Mr. Fischl seems to have fought the hard fight and won.
The reason to read this book, though, is the fabulous job Eric Fischl does in explaining not just how he goes about the creative process, but how his creative process came to be what it is. While it has been argued (mostly, it seems, in reviews of the book) his self-introspection borders on navel-gazing in the worst possible sense. That view is completely wrong-headed.
Eric Fischl’s conviction of the artist as a storyteller resonates strongly with me. To hear the artist as a young man was motivated by the works of both Mondrian and Max Beckmann is a testament to his longstanding desire to understand art in all its richness, contrast and complexity. Though disagreeing with, for example, his assessment of artists like Sol Lewitt, Fischl still makes a solid case for how the ideas of what really good minimalist artists were trying to say were hijacked by the intellectually lazy.
In contrast, Fischl is adamant to a degree harmful for many of his personal relationships, that the artist must have something to say. More important, the artist must have something to say that someone else actually wants to hear. The failure of Art to retain its place of pride as a shared cultural touchstone is correctly blamed on hubris. On page 341, Fischl makes the following comment, “I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard artists saying, ‘Fuck the audience.’ But I thought: Why fuck the audience? Why not involve the audience?”
The many, brilliant passages where Fischl discusses his creative process, for both individual works as well as his overarching philosophies, are illuminating, and oddly familiar. In 1983 the author Umberto Eco published a very small book, Postscript to The Name of the Rose. In the fifth chapter, Eco uses almost identical words to describe almost identical examples of how an author goes about creating an interesting narrative – interesting for both the writer and the audience. A touchstone for the creative process?
|The investment books most likely to improve one’s abilities to invest successfully will not be the ones providing recommendations of what stocks to buy, and right now. Most valuable are books providing information to help guide intelligent decision-making.|
The investment books most likely to improve one’s abilities to invest successfully will not be the ones providing recommendations of what stocks to buy, and right now. Nor will a book simply offering models of fund-centric portfolios based on the age, temperament or any other attributes of their intended audience. Most valuable are books providing information to help guide intelligent decision-making. Though the classic works of Benjamin Graham and Philip Fisher are often recommended, their extreme technical orientation serves mostly to alienate less obsessive investors. Below are some suggestions for the less rabid, but no less enthusiastic investor looking to get smarter.
A great place to begin is Winning the Loser’s Game by Charles Ellis, originally published in 1985. It is far too easy to be blinded by success stories like those of Warren Buffett and Peter Lynch. The simple reality – clearly demonstrated by Ellis – is that few people (or mutual funds and their managers, or individual stocks) manage to consistently beat the market over time. His explanation of how people can appear to be great investors when in fact their success is due to statistical survivorship bias is eye-opening. Understanding the damage we inflict on ourselves through preventable mistakes, high-risk gambles and most significantly the fees we choose to pay as investors is vital if we want to be successful as investors. How could have taken over thirty years for this message to sink in?
A personal favorite from 2012 and one, it should be noted that several Invest-Notes readers have been less impressed with, is Antifragile by Naseem Taleb. This investment book is a refinement of his first work, Fooled by Randomness, published about twenty-five years ago. Taleb goes way beyond the idea of a “Black Swan Event” (a term he coined, and title of his best selling book, though not a favorite of mine) and discusses not only how to avoid unexpected events, but how to benefit from them when, not if they happen. As Taleb cleverly explains: experts aren’t; things that can’t happen will; and like physical exercise, stress can be harnessed for self-improvement. Don’t let his arrogance distract you from the invaluable insights being offered. Taleb’s most recent book, Skin in the Game, published earlier this year is also terrific – but more valuable if read after Antifragile.
Another good primer is the original edition of The Millionaire Next Door published in 1996. That some of the book’s conclusions have been shown to be faulty does not take away from the value Millionaire can offer would-be Warren Buffett’s. Short of winning a lottery (and that includes the genetic lottery), fortunes are most likely to be built over time, through luck, hard work, and patience. The many stories discussed in Millionaire provide practical examples of how to make the most of our current situation. This includes the single best thing anyone hoping to accumulate significant assets can do: Live beneath your means. It also helps explain why on lists of the wealthiest Americans over three-quarters are self-made, having created a fortune rather than inheriting one. Yes, you can be the millionaire next door, just not right away.
While The Essays of Warren Buffett is on many lists (and is on my bookshelf), there is another text providing a more insightful overview of how great investors operate. This book from 2000 also demonstrates beyond any doubt that there is no one single path leading to success. Money Masters of Our Time, by John Train, provides provocative insights into the thinking of seventeen of the most successful investors of the 20th century. It is here you will see that Buffett’s earliest successes came with risk most of us would never consider and that he has never repeated. Also worth noting is that several of these investors, among them some of the richest people on the planet, don’t use their wealth as anything but a scorecard. If there was ever proof demanded that having all the money doesn’t necessarily equate to happiness, this book is it.
Finally, More Money Than God by Sebastian Mallaby can do more to explain hedge funds, what they do, and how they work than other investment books you can read. The U.S. financial system, and the Wall Street crowd, in particular, have never met a good idea that couldn’t be abused and corrupted. Read in tandem with Money Managers, the world of investing will look very different when you’re done. The origins of these curious investment vehicles (and the people who created them) are fascinating, with many of the concepts still applicable, even for the individual investors reading this note.
|“Like his more celebrated contemporary Miles Davis, Giuffre remains a musical chameleon, a distinctive stylist who constantly feels compelled to change his sonic setting.” -Ted Gioia |
Jimmy Giuffre: The Headstream of Divergent Tangents
Jimmy Giuffre is not much heard these days. In fact, I’ll argue that the handful of jazz chroniclers who even dwell on his work are mostly focused on the wrong music. Much is made of Giuffre “anticipating forms of free improvisation” through his thoughtful experimentation within the jazz idiom. Specifically, his work with pianist Paul Bley and bassist Steve Swallow are consistently mentioned as a seminal moment in jazz; an anticipation and then foundation-setting music associated with the later works of Albert Ayler and Archie Shepp. It is not clear this emphasis on the free jazz aspect of Giuffre’s career isn’t more a case of sources repeating each other, rather than a result of critical listening to his music. This work is not so interesting to me.
The most intelligent and sympathetic discussion of Jimmy Giuffre and his life in music will be found in Ted Gioia’s terrific book, West Coast Jazz: Modern Jazz in California, 1945-1960 and originally published in 1992. Giuffre’s music included many strikingly distinct periods, many difficult for even a hardcore fan to appreciate. Stories emanate from a stint at North Texas State, when the school was in its formative years in becoming a beacon of jazz education, followed then by the heady influence of a religious mystic (a decade before it was the trendy thing to seek). Later would come Giuffre’s early success as a composer, rather than player, with Woody Herman providing some interesting context for the career that would follow.
Jimmy Giuffre Goes Experimental
The Jimmy Giuffre Clarinet from 1956 is a touchstone for understanding Giuffre’s development as a player and composer. The controlled transition from straight ahead to a more experimental style of jazz is what makes it sound so rich. Thirteen musicians participate on this album, but none play on more than three of the songs. No more than six musicians are ever included in a single track. And the first number, “So Low” is a solo piece, featuring just a clarinet and leather shoe. Only the third album with Giuffre as the leader, the future begins to come into focus. Here is a crisp, quiet, somewhat dissonant sound that is unique to the time. Even the pop music covers convey a special interpretation.
Next in line was The Jimmy Giuffre 3 also from 1956, when Jim Hall joins Giuffre, along with bassist Ralph Pena, who now comprise the entire ensemble. This music, without piano or drums, and such limited orchestration, offers a surprisingly full sound. The distance between the numbers “The Song is You” and “Forty-Second Street” is long, though not hard to follow. The music is experimental but still filled with playfulness and jazz motifs easy to digest. While other fine music from Giuffre, in the vicinity of these two recordings would appear, his desire to explore moved inexorably into uncharted waters.
|The late hard-edged paintings by both of these artists inform each other, but the calligraphic-like images show another alignment of thought leading to a similar solution.|
While reviewing some black and white photos of painting exhibits from the late 1930’s that featured the work of Piet Mondrian, I was struck by the resemblance of the paintings from this period to calligraphy. Frankly, it appeared to be very much in the genre of Japanese art where the calligraphy is the art. In these old photos, the blocks of color become black fill for horizontal and vertical lines of varying widths, with many appearing to be some unknown and cryptic alphabet.
The similarity to work by Ad Reinhardt from 1948 to 1951 was pretty striking, and not something I had noticed before. The late hard-edged paintings by both of these artists inform each other, but the calligraphic-like images show another alignment of thought leading to a similar solution. With so much focus on Mondrian’s later, iconic work, other than a 1987 catalog from a Mondrian exhibit in Japan, his calligraphic works don’t appear to have been much reproduced. Nor have I seen examples on display at museums with respectable collections of Mondrian’s paintings.
And while we’re talking about curious similarities between artists, Piet Mondrian created a series of paintings in 1919 that appear to me as precursors to work by Sol Lewitt. Specifically, Composition with Grid 1 and Composition with Grid 4 (called lozenge paintings; a square canvas with the corner oriented to the top). For Mondrian’s development, these paintings are the bridge between earlier geometric paintings and the later, more famous paintings of irregular grids with blocks of primary colors.
As Mondrian was trying to reconcile the linear depictions of ocean waves and building facades with his irregular blocks of colors, this series provided a more satisfying result than paintings like Composite in Kleur B from 1917. Yet these Mondrian works can be difficult to associate visually with the later and more famous paintings he is known by today. Similarly, it can be argued that Lewitt’s early efforts with strict cube forms also led to later works featuring pyramids and random forms, far removed from the dogmatic images associated with minimalism. Interesting that Mondrian moves from loose, figurative works to precise geometric paintings of lines and grids while Lewitt moves from precise black and white works informed by the cube to loose, color-filled images of wavy bands and irregular shapes.