|“All card playing is not gambling, all stock purchases are not investing…”|
– Jim Paul, What I Learned Losing a Million Dollars
What the heck is an investment plan? Open a brokerage account or interview a financial planner and you get handed a questionnaire intended to help determine what kind of investor you are – or will be, as a new client. But how do you answer a question like “Rate your tolerance for risk on a scale of 1-to-5?” A person willing to blow $1000 at the blackjack table while on a vacation in Las Vegas could be appalled at losing that same $1000 on a stock purchase. The glib advice – embarrassingly repeated at Invest-Notes on occasion – that everyone should have “An Investment Plan” isn’t really much help.
Investors must know themselves
Creating an investment plan is not complicated, but it does involve some critical thinking. First, acknowledge we have no control whatsoever over the movement of investments like equities, real estate or gold. There is no way to know if a stock is going to go up, and if it does, how high it can go. On the other hand, how much money you are willing to lose is entirely up to you. In essence, your investment plan is simply a set of rules to ensure that you never lose more money than you can afford.
As an investor, you can tell yourself that the stock you just bought is going to double in price, but that’s just a guess. Deciding that you are not going to lose more than, let’s just say 20%, while waiting to see if your guess is correct is the purpose of a plan. Conversely, suppose you are right and the stock does go up 100%. A decision made in advance to sell the stock anytime it drops more than 20% as the price goes up ensures you turn some of those paper profits into real ones. Prudent investors manage risk by making sure they never let emotions influence their decision making.
Second, you have to decide who you are every single time you make a transaction involving invested capital. You will not always be the same person, and if you become someone new in the middle of an investment episode your odds of failure grow exponentially. Along with a decision on what you are willing to spend in pursuit of a gain, you need to consider who you are. In the final analysis, it’s deciding in advance whether a piece of real estate, a stock, or a poker game (there are successful professionals in this field) is an investment, speculation or a gamble.
|“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.
|As Einstein taught us during the formative years of these two important artists, nothing can be analyzed in and of itself, but only in comparison to other phenomena.|
Jackson Pollock has always appealed to me more in theory than practice. The idea of an Action Painting is intellectually stimulating and supportive of the notion that the thoughts behind a work can be more significant than the final outcome (an idea Sol Lewitt took to beautiful extremes). Yet then there’s that awkward moment, when confronted by one of Pollock’s major drip paintings up close and personal, magic happens. The painting comes to life, a beautiful example of practice fully manifested and theory be damned. An encounter with Greyed Rainbow from 1953 is a forceful reminder of how powerful some of Jackson Pollock’s paintings are.
A new twist on enjoying that painting was the opportunity to compare the Pollock to a work by Willem de Kooning, Excavation from 1950, while both were on display a few seasons ago at the Art Institute of Chicago. Roughly the same size, the two paintings made a stunning pair. Though both are considered paragons of Abstract Expression, the aesthetic and intellectual underpinnings of their work are not easily reconciled. Nonetheless, they still manage to deliver stunning similar results, but through different means of execution.
The deliberateness of de Kooning’s strokes provides an interesting contrast to the splash and drip of Pollock. That this Pollock also includes touches of a pale yellow that also permeates the de Kooning allows for thoughtful comparison. Viewed as a pair the two paintings serve as bookends to the notion of how an Action Painting is created. As I seem to recall from art school days, early on Pollock sometimes started with a figurative entity then layers on the paint until the subject was obliterated. A return to using figurative elements late in his career was accompanied by a much darker color pallet. de Kooning, on the other hand, never fully abandoned using figurative elements in his works – especially representations of the female form (sort of). de Kooning also tended to offer a brighter overall appearance (once past the black and white paintings of the 1940s).
Indeed, on close examination, it is not hard to look at the de Kooning as a sky filled with clouds that can be imagined as objects (sort of). Whereas the Pollock can only be viewed as an exercise in pure abstraction (paint for paint’s sake). Yet both land firmly, and reside comfortably, in the world of Abstract Expressionism Action Paintings. As Einstein taught us during the formative years of these two important artists, nothing can be analyzed in and of itself, but only in comparison to other phenomena.
Privateering as an Investment Strategy
(Hint: The Only Yields are Literary)
By: Gerry Scott
A friend’s generous and thoughtful gift of a print depicting a late 17th century sailing ship led me to consider what I might contribute to his site by way of a thank you. Since the site deals with thoughts on art, jazz, and investments, and frequently discusses books that deal with those subjects, I thought bringing his readers’ attention to three books on the unlikely union of high-seas adventure in pursuit of wealth and English literature might be appropriate.
In the early 18th century there was a great deal of interest in England in the possibility of reaping financial reward from trade with what was then known as the South Sea, on the model of the success of British trade with the East Indies. At the time the South Sea comprised the southern Pacific Ocean that washed upon the shores of South and Central America from Tierra del Fuego (and Cape Horn) as far north as California. While there was indeed wealth to be made in trade with the region, there was a major flaw in the scheme for British investors in that it overlooked the strict proprietary interest the Spanish Crown maintained over its colonies. So, despite the formation of the South Sea Company along the lines of the Honorable East India Company, and the extraordinary investment in it that ultimately led to the financially disastrous “South Sea Bubble,” it was highly unlikely that there would be much financial gain for British investors in the company’s stock.
There was, however, another tried and true way for loyal Britons to reap financial rewards from Spain’s colonies on the South Sea. This method was known as privateering, in which a civilian ship captain would outfit a vessel as a warship, similar to that shown in the print, and sail it on behalf of the British government against the sovereign’s foes, seizing enemy merchant ships and plundering them along the way. While this might sound like piracy, it was made perfectly legal by the ship captain obtaining a Letter of Marque from his government. It was a plan that adventurous English sea dogs had followed since the days of Sir Francis Drake.
It was this second scheme of investment that a group of London merchants decided to follow when they banded together and outfitted two vessels as privateers, the Speedwell, and the Success. The resulting voyage of the Speedwell was to ultimately play a role in the creation of one of the best-known English narrative poems of the 19th century, while the voyage of the Success would present a brief moment in time, only recently discovered, when history and literature intersect in an extraordinary way. Each of the three books dealing with these vessels has a role to play in recounting the events.
Of the three, the account written by one of the privateer captains is especially engaging. A Privateer’s Voyage Round the World by George Shelvocke has been reissued in the Seafarer’s Voices series by Seaforth Publishing. If you are unfamiliar with the series but are interested in accounts of life at sea told by those who lived it, then this series is well worth your notice. Each volume is an abridged and edited version of the original, with footnotes and a useful introduction. Vincent McInerney, who served in the merchant marine and worked for the BBC, provides the notes and introduction to Shelvocke’s account.
Shelvocke, who had been a lieutenant in the Royal Navy before undertaking his privateering voyage, originally published his account in 1726, four years after his 1719-1722 voyage. He did so largely to counter legal charges (including piracy, ironically) brought against him by the Gentlemen Adventurers after his return to England, and to refute the character assassination job done against him by the former commander of marines aboard the Speedwell, William Betagh, who had published an account the previous year.
Shelvocke’s work is an interesting tale of lashing storms, a troublesome and untrustworthy crew, outlandish battles fought at sea and ashore, great privation and near starvation, and even a shipwreck on a deserted island, the same island that Alexander Selkirk – the model for Daniel Defoe’s Robinson Crusoe – inhabited. But Shelvocke’s work is more than an adventure story, for he takes pains to include descriptive passages of the things he has seen that address natural history, anthropology, and geography, helping to place him in the category of the literary gentleman-scholar and appealing to Europe’s keen interest in reading travel literature describing the wider world at the time.
What gains Shelvocke’s real contribution to literature, however, is a brief passage in which he records that while rounding Cape Horn, his second in command, Simon Hatley, in a melancholy fit, shot a solitary albatross that has been accompanying them for several days. Some seventy years later, William Wordsworth was reading Shelvocke’s book at precisely the time that his friend Samuel Taylor Coleridge was working on The Rime of the Ancient Mariner and was in need of a deed that would render the protagonist of his poem cursed.
The second book of the three is The Speedwell Voyage by Kenneth Poolman, who served in the Royal Navy during World War II and went on to work for the BBC. Poolman blends Shelvocke’s narrative with that of the antagonistic Betagh and the journal of George Taylor, Chief Mate aboard the Success to give a fuller account of the voyages of the two vessels. While the differences in the interpretation of events between Shelvocke and Betagh, as each strives to tarnish the other’s image as much as possible, is unresolved, the harrowing stories of both vessels make interesting reading. Additional insight is also given to the curious relationship, or lack thereof, between Shelvocke and the commander of the Success, Captain Clipperton, who may likely have been unhinged.
The third book to deal with the voyage is The Real Ancient Mariner, Pirates and Poesy on the South Sea by Robert Fawke. The author has set himself the task of trying to flesh out the life and career of Simon Hatley, Shelvocke’s melancholy second in command who gains his place in history by potting the unfortunate albatross looking for companionship in desolate seas. And, remarkably, he succeeds in putting quite a bit of flesh on Hatley’s bones. In doing so, he casts a wider historical net describing earlier voyages, the privateering literature of the day, and discovering, along the way, that during the brief time that the Speedwell and the Success cruised in company, Hatley was aboard the Success to represent Speedwell’s interests and so were the models for two other literary characters, Alexander Selkirk, the inspiration for Robinson Crusoe, and William Dampier, whom Jonathan Swift used as inspiration for his Gulliver.
For interesting nautical reading with a literary flair, these three books each pay dividends.
Electricity was in the air when trumpeters Miles Davis and Donald Byrd heard a buzz. Miles was first to noticeably respond to the stimulus with his 1968 release, In A Silent Way. Though George Benson had appeared on one cut from Miles previous album, Miles in the Sky (“Paraphernalia”), it was on In A Silent Way that the electric guitar of John McLaughlin made Miles’ jazz start to rock. The impact of McLaughlin being turned loose on Bitches Brew – along with three electric keyboards, and one electric bass – reverberates among jazz aficionados even today. No need to run down that voodoo here since the story of Bitches Brew and its aftermath is an oft-told tale.
Donald Byrd was also moving away from hard bop at this time, recording some exciting music equally as controversial if less remarked upon. With the 1970 release of Fancy Free (recorded in the spring of 1969), Byrd uses an electric piano (played by Duke Pearson) for the first time. Subsequently, it is often suggested that Byrd was mostly emulating what he heard on Bitches Brew with his exploratory album Electric Byrd in 1970. I disagree.
Miles Davis and Donald Byrd’s Drawn Influences
That many of Byrd’s sounds from the addition of electric instrumentation reflect some influences from Miles at this time is certainly correct. Yet Byrd was moving in a very different direction than Miles, as a critical listening of their music reflects clearly. Not only was the composition of the band’s instruments distinct, more important is the way each went with their subsequent output. And the case can be made it was In A Silent Way that Byrd referenced while recording Electric Byrd. Bitches Brew was released less than a month before Byrd recorded Electric Byrd, hardly enough time to have been an influence.
Much is made, especially by Miles himself, of the impact musicians like Jimi Hendrix and Sly Stone had on Miles’ music of this period. Yet for a guy who was reputed to have fired band members for “practicing” between gigs, Miles’ music doesn’t really reflect the sound of a Sly Stone or James Brown number, just their attitude. Byrd on the other hand, actually plays the groove, rhythm and funk heard on Sly’s There’s A Riot Goin’ On. Which, it should be noted, came out in 1971.
A quick look at “who played what instrument” on the two albums, Bitches Brew and Electric Byrd, make comparisons difficult to support. Byrd credits nine musicians, with one flute player appearing on a single song. Again, Duke Pearson on electric piano is the only electric sound. Though it could be argued that Airto, an artist appearing on many Miles recordings, brought a certain sensibility influenced by Miles. Yet it only takes a couple of minutes to get past the space-rock to find a funky jazz groove in “Estavancio”, Electric Byrd’s opening cut. Then along comes two flutes, reverb notwithstanding, to fully ground a jazz fan and later provide a Latin tinge. “Essence” plays with some of the Bitches Brew tropes, but without ever getting lost in them. The closer, “The Dude” speaks to what comes next in Byrd’s output.
The title cut of Bitches Brew has an entirely different sensibility. Nearly three times longer than “Estavancio”, “Bitches Brew” covers an extreme range of velocity and timing without ever finding a groove. Uncomfortable at times, the song glorifies an improvisational method that verges on cacophony as each musician blazes his own trail. Three electric pianos and a bass with McLaughlin again on electric guitar drive this crowd of thirteen. Oh yeah, and two drummers. The music on this album is magical, maddening, often incomprehensible and cannot be hummed. The biggest difference between these two pivotal albums is what happened next.
A variance in approach
Miles chased his electric bunny down a hole most people had a hard time fitting into. His next recording, Jack Johnson, remains a personal favorite and is a more listener-friendly effort likely for being a movie soundtrack. As for Live-Evil and On the Corner, 1972 and 1973 respectively, history has not been so kind. I listen to a lot of jazz with a lot of jazz enthusiasts far more sophisticated than me, and I cannot ever recall somebody playing either of these two albums, even during Miles music marathons. Frankly, these albums don’t sound so good today, just harsh. This was not music for the hoi polloi, an audience Miles sought, but instead suitable mostly for the jazz cognoscenti and die-hard fans.
In contrast, Byrd next released Ethiopian Knights, where groove and funk moved back into the forefront. The addition of Bobby Hutcherson and Harold Land helping to move the dial back toward a more approachable jazz sound. In 1972 Byrd managed to find a sound that would drive his next musical phase with the release of Black Byrd. This album, panned in the community of traditionally minded jazz fans, went on to become for decades the biggest selling album in the Blue Note catalog. With help from the Mizell brothers, Byrd started playing a music everyone seemingly wanted to hear – except hardcore jazz-heads.
Interestingly, a look at the time demonstrates that the 1969 album In A Silent Way was also a likely influence for other terrific musicians like Freddie Hubbard and Carlos Santana. Hubbard’s 1970 Red Clay is widely considered one of his stand-out efforts and features Herbie Hancock on electric organ and Ron Carter on electric bass. Santana’s 1972 release Caravanserai is considered a turning point in his career, jazz sensibilities clearly on display. In 1973 Santana recorded an album with John McLaughlin (famous for his edgy work on Bitches Brew) called Love, Devotion, Surrender that couldn’t stand in starker contrast to the electric guitar McLaughlin played while with Miles.
Donald Byrd understood that it was incumbent upon musicians – whether jazz, rock, or pop – to create pathways to their music using every means possible. Miles made music for his muse, ultimately at the expense of many fans. As he stated on the cover of Bitches Brew, his was new “Directions in Music.” For Byrd, this period was about bringing future jazz enthusiasts into the club, with a kind of music that’s inclusive, not exclusive.
Invest-Notes continues to forcefully urge that individual investors anchor their investment and retirement portfolios around exchange-traded funds (ETFs). Specifically, indexed funds of the S&P 500 and international blue-chip stocks. Around this central component, it might make sense to add specialty funds, like those comprised of medical companies (for growth) or utilities (for yield). For the truly adventurous, and being mindful of the risks involved, having a handful of individual stocks can also make sense.
Individual stocks of major companies will find that on September 30, 2018, the description of what business they are in will change. This is not as odd as it might sound. Netflix started as a business to rent DVDs by mail. Disney made cartoons. AT&T was the phone company. Today Netflix has something like 125 million subscribers to a streaming video service that not only offers the same movies they used to rent but creates more custom content than the three TV networks combined. Disney now owns theme parks and ESPN. AT&T just bought Time Warner, go figure. As businesses evolve, so should the way in which we invest in them.
During the formative years of Invest-Notes, there was often discussion of specific trades. After the market mayhem of 2008-2009, not so much so. The shift in focus went from what to trade, to how to trade. This idea of talking about ways to make smart investments by thinking about our behavior will continue, but right now we’re going back to being very prescriptive about a specific investment idea.
New kid on the block
There is about to be a brand-new industry sector that will be composed of big companies coming from other sector funds. This matters, because the Big Daddies of indices, S&P Dow Jones and MSCI, use the GICS stock classifications to determine things like whether Home Depot should be identified as a Consumer Staple, or a Consumer Discretionary stock. In their turn, the Big Daddies of exchange-traded funds, like State Street and Vanguard, use these sector definitions of the S&P 500 and MSCI to decide what stocks will be included in the ETFs that individual investors are buying in ever-increasing amounts.
As a quick reminder, the Global Industry Classification Standard (GICS), is a worldwide standard for stock classification. Established in 1999 with ten sectors, the GICS started with: Consumer Discretionary; Consumer Staples; Energy; Financials; Health Care; Industrials; Technology; Materials; Telecom; and, Utilities.
The only change to this line-up occurred in August of 2016 when the Financial sector was bifurcated to create a Real Estate sector. Discussed here at that time in our article, “The Difference Between Banks and Buildings“, it should be noted that while Invest-Notes correctly identified the pros and cons of the change, we totally whiffed on guessing the subsequent performance of the two sector funds.
The transition taking place on September 30, 2018, is more impactful since it will see three sectors facing major changes to their composition. First, Telecom Services will be renamed Communications Services. Currently, the smallest of the eleven GICS sectors composed of only the stocks in the S&P 500, when Telecom becomes Communications it will grow from 2% of the index to around 10%. The challenge for investors is determining what to do with current sector holdings when some of the biggest stocks in the S&P get shuffled around. Google, Verizon, and Disney are not niche investments. In point of fact, the top holdings in the soon to be Communications Services sector comprise about 10% of the S&P 500.
Now, what happens to the Information Technology Sector when Google, Facebook, and other heavy hitters are no longer part of Technology ETFs and become components in the new Communication Services Sector? Or the Consumer Discretionary Sector (a sizable ETF holding in my personal accounts), where Netflix, Disney, and other big companies will be moving out. And is it a good bet to add one of the big Telecom ETFs – IYZ or VOX – in advance of the reshuffle?
|As a longtime fan of Jim Nutt, I’ve much enjoyed seeing some of his earlier works, but it was his recent portraits that literally took my breath away.|
One of the more memorable exhibits of the new millennium was at the Museum of Contemporary Art Chicago in 2011. Essentially a retrospective of the painter Jim Nutt, it was the first public showing of his work in about a decade. As a longtime fan of Nutt, and as much as I enjoyed seeing some of the earlier works again, it was his recent portraits that literally took my breath away.
Comparatively intimate in scale, and most accompanied by an original pencil preparatory drawing, the work is masterful. Layers and layers of color applied in ways that created both striking textural patterns and an inner luminosity. These life-size portraits of women could easily be dismissed as a “slicker” version of earlier work where faces and figures are distorted to an extreme that is regularly described as grotesque. But the colors and patterns serve to provide focal points that make the imagery playful rather than malicious. Regrettably, the handsome and competently printed catalog just can’t do these portraits justice.
Recently spending time looking at a book of the handful of known paintings by Leonardo Da Vinci and glancing up at work of Jim Nutt above my desk, I was reminded of the other show I saw on that spring day in Chicago. Pure serendipity, and the kind of coincidence that keeps life interesting, earlier that same day I had wandered through a show at the Art Institute of Chicago with medieval art that included, to my absolute delight and surprise, a small Madonna and child by Leonardo Da Vinci known as Virgin with Yarnspinner. It was the first time this work had been on public display since being purchased by a private collector in the early 1970’s. Even a background reminiscent of the Mona Lisa but poorly executed by assistants, could not diminish the power of the two figures. I was intrigued by the similarities between the Da Vinci and the Nutt portraits, including the bizarre foreshortening on the face of the child, and the luminosity of the Madonna’s face.
When I later shared my observation of the similarities between his portraits and those of Leonardo Da Vinci, Nutt disagreed. I defended my idea by explaining that I stood enthralled for so long while staring at the Yarnspinner a museum guard warily inquired, “is everything okay?”. The same evening found me at the CAM show where the similarities of the many portraits by Nutt with the Yarnspinner seemed so obvious. After a brief back-and-forth between the two of us about the differences in mediums and techniques, Nutt remained skeptical of my conclusions. I’ll stand my ground and reiterate a surprising affinity can be found when comparing the originals – it does not work to compare reproductions.
|It was a presentation Glass gave while I was a student at the Minneapolis College of Art and Design that altered the trajectory of my intellectual pursuits.|
A recent rereading of his 2015 biography, Words Without Music: A Memoir, served up a reminder of the many ways in which Phillip Glass has had an outsized impact on my life. His music is, of course, fascinating and often very good. Though it really started with the movie Koyaanisqatsi which I had the good fortune to watch accompanied by a live orchestra playing the soundtrack, it was the discovery of the album Glassworks around the same time that kick-started a collection that has since grown substantially.
Personal favorites also include collaborations with Brian Eno and David Bowie, Low and Heroes, as well as the Concertos and other works conducted by Dennis Russell Davies, with the oddly titled Saxophone Quartet Concerto being quite engaging. However, despite the effort expended, his operas (like those of another favorite composer of both Glass and myself, Mozart) have just never found a place in my musical world.
The book describes in vivid detail what living in New York was like at a time when fine art and music were undergoing huge shifts in form and function. Phillip Glass worked to pay the bills as a studio assistant with artists like Richard Serra. Glass did some of the heavy lifting involved with creating some of Serra’s early molten metal works. The involvement of Glass within the New York dance scene of the 1970s was a surprise. His subsequent visibility and ultimately well-deserved respect and commercial success were hard earned and long in coming, with bills being paid by doing manual labor and driving a taxi instead of earning music royalties. An early interest in Buddhism and work with Tibetan refugees, set in motion passions that have endured throughout his life and career. Glass talks about his spirituality in an engaging manner that persuades without lecturing.
It was a presentation Phillip Glass gave while I was a student at the Minneapolis College of Art and Design that altered the trajectory of my intellectual pursuits. Coming a few years after the (relative) success around 1976 of his first major opera, Einstein on the Beach, he was at the time of the lecture working on another major project, the opera Akhnaten, which would debut in 1984. His discussion of Akhenaten’s life and place in history stoked the fires of both my imagination and intellect. That his account turned out to be more fanciful than factual proved unimportant. The life and times of Akhenaten remain an enduring interest of mine.