Our Financial Crucible

I was watching some of the House Financial Services Committee’s hearings yesterday with the chief executives of Goldman Sachs, JPMorgan Chase, Bank of America, Citigroup, Morgan Stanley, State Street Bank, Wells Fargo Bank, and Bank of New York sitting there like a bunch of guilty school boys, being berated by their elders. These firms were the lucky recipients of the $700 billion banking bailout.

A number questions were posed to score points for our lawmakers, questions that were expected to be answered by a show of the hands so we all can see the scarlet letter of guilt. Questions along the lines of “how many of you have received government money but have changed your credit card terms?” The perplexed guilty parties sort of looked at each other (obviously wondering what is meant by the question), and as one would timidly raise his hand, the others would slowly follow. These questions went on and on, an embarrassment to those who posed them, those who were forced to answer, and those of us who are relying on this “system” to fix the problem. (Although they did manage to get John Mack of Morgan Stanley to say, “We are sorry.”)

Most of these lawmakers are the very ones who once pressured financial institutions to make loans available to everyone no matter what their creditworthiness so they could boast their beneficence to their constituency. And the bankers are the same financial wizards who created leveraged products that passed off tremendous risk to investors, and, now, to us. We also had a Federal Reserve that fed the fire with practically free money, leaving Alan Greenspan recently wondering, “I still don't fully understand how it happened or why it happened.”

One can empathize with the feelings of outrage, especially now that we learn that some seven hundred Merrill Lynch employees “earned” bonuses of more than one million dollars in 2008 as the firm lost $27 billion. Yesterday the apologists on CNBC generally defended Wall Street bonuses because even when a financial firm overall loses money there are individual “producers” who make pockets of money. The CNBC cheerleaders went on to say that these “producers” need to be “incentified” – otherwise they will be left only with their base salaries. Most people might be content with the latter and isn’t this the kind of “incentive” which motivated “producers” to take excessive risk in the first place?

The questions posed at the witch-hunt hearings centered on why banks are not lending out all the money they received. What planet do our representatives live on? You can’t force banks to lend money if people do not have jobs or are worried about losing jobs, and that is the central element in the crucible of today’s financial times. Just a cursory look at the chart Job losses in Recent Recessions prepared by Barry Ritholtz dramatically goes to the heart of the matter:

http://www.ritholtz.com/blog/2009/02/job-losses-comparing-recessions/
.

West Palm Beach Hosts Sondheim

As Stephen Sondheim would say, “life is Company!” A few days ago we saw the great man himself at the Kravis Center in “A Conversation with Stephen Sondheim” with musical examples. As Updike is to contemporary American literature, Sondheim is to contemporary American music. When he walked onto the stage, Ann and I held our breath: a living legend before us. We’ve seen many Sondheim shows and revivals and even have a small “connection” with him through our old hometown of Westport, Ct. where Sondheim served as an apprentice at the Westport Country Playhouse in 1950. But this was such a different experience.

I wasn’t sure what such an evening might be like, although I suspected the venue would be a discussion prompted by a moderator, in this case Sean Patrick Flahaven the Associate Editor of The Sondheim Review http://www.sondheimreview.com/ with musical illustrations by Kate Baldwin who apparently was a last minute replacement for Christine Ebersole. Kate is a quintessential Sondheim singer, someone with a wonderful voice who articulates every word with the emotive intent of the song. The pianist, Scott Cady, was equally up to the task of communicating the subtleties and rhythms of the master’s music.

In fact, that is what Sondheim’s work is all about, the perfect marriage of lyric and music. As he explained in his “Conversation,” “I write for actors.” I watched him watch Kate sing the examples, wondering, exactly what was he thinking. Was he remembering how and when he wrote those pieces, or was he subliminally critiquing her performance, or was he just taking in the evening, as we were, a tribute to a legend?

I had hoped to hear more about the music itself, his comments on the particular pieces that were sung during the evening, but most of the night was about his reminiscences of his fabulous career. Having followed Sondheim, I was familiar with most of his musical works but was amused by some of the “inside information” he shared such as, in addition to Sweeny Todd, his musical Into the Woods had been prepared for film, although it never made it to the screen. This version was created with Jim Henson puppets alongside such luminaries as Robin Williams, Roseanne Barr and Steve Martin. With Henson’s death, this project ended.

I also learned he wrote a musical, Saturday Night, in 1954 when he was only 23 http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Saturday_Night_(musical), but it was not produced until about ten years ago. I think of it as a precursor to his portrayal of urban life in his breakthrough musical Company (the first Sondheim musical we saw when we lived in Manhattan in 1970). Saturday Night has a breathtakingly beautiful piece “What More do I Need?” which Kate Baldwin sung as the opening example. I was so taken with it I immediately bought an mp3 copy on Amazon (very competently sung by Dawn Upshaw but I like Kate’s version which is only accompanied by the piano) and then downloaded the sheet music from FreeHandMusic.com using the Solero Music Viewer (great service for musicians – allows you to buy just one piece, download it, even transpose it, and then print it). I’ve been sort of “consumed” playing the song since then. It can be seen on YouTube, sung by Anne Hathaway of all people (never knew she could sing so well). http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JRBLlnN8YbU

Rodgers and Hammerstein brought the musical to a new plane making the songs intrinsic to the plot. (Hammerstein in fact was Sondheim’s mentor.) With Company Sondheim took the Broadway musical to the next level, and he has elevated it ever since. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Company_(musical). Sondheim is in a class of his own. As he explained in “Conversations” Company is not a plot driven musical. He thinks of it as it as a work of art you can look at from different perspectives and find different meanings.

Before seeing “Conversations” we rented the brilliant 2007 revival of the show, filmed for PBS and now available on DVD, staring Raul Esparza. Esparza’s interview on the DVD is worth the price alone – how it feels to play in a Sondheim musical. Company is chock full of Sondheim’s trademark conversational songs, works of art in their own right, looking at the foibles of relationships and what life means without them. Baldwin sang “Another Hundred People” from the show.

Most of my piano repertoire is focused on the great American Songbook, the work of Bill Evans, and the music of Stephen Sondheim. I regularly play his pieces; they are intricate, and while some are not necessarily melodic, many are beautiful, and all are memorable. His lyrics and music are so closely intertwined that just hearing the music is like looking at an impressionist painting without the brush stokes or reflections of light. But, I hear the lyrics in my mind as I play, and I am continually drawn to his work.

“Not a Day Goes By” is one of Sondheim’s more poignant ballads which is sung twice in his 1981 musical Merrily We Roll Along, first as a statement of a husband’s unequivocal love for a wife who now wants to divorce him, and then as a reprisal (in this musical time goes backward) on the day they were married. The ambiguous lyrics can be read at http://music.yahoo.com/Stephen-Sondheim/Not-A-Day-Goes-By/lyrics/818119 and my rendition of the song can be heard here:

[Sorry, but the link to this song was subsequently removed by Google Pages]

Life is Company. Thank you Stephen Sondheim!
.

Accountability

It’s been called “draconian” by compensation “experts,” the same ones that are employed by the financial services industry – a proposed cap of $500,000 for the “top executives” of companies receiving the TARP funds. Pass the collection hat for the CEOs of Bank of America, Citigroup, and General Motors who pocketed more than $37 million in total compensation in 2007, probably the peak year of the chimerical financial derivative.

But what about the rouges gallery of financial wizards who misrepresented risks to investors and yet cumulatively pulled down hundreds of $millions from an unsuspecting public and fled the scene, such as John Thain, Stan O’Neal, Robert Rubin, Chuck Prince, Dick Fuld, et al.?

To the rescue, a grass roots “claw-back” movement is underway, orchestrated by Nouriel Roubini, the NYU economist who warned about the current crisis years ago and Nassim Taleb, author of “The Black Swan: The Impact of the Highly Improbable.” http://lacunaemusing.blogspot.com/2009/01/black-swan-reveries.html)

Unless Rubin and others like him are made to mandatorily return their bonuses or are given some other punishment, the system that regrettably emerges is one "in which it’s the worst of capitalism and socialism, a situation in which profits were privatized and losses were socialized. We taxpayers have the worst."

See http://www.facebook.com/group.php?gid=51818722129&ref=mf

Aging and Writing

Marking the passing of a great American novelist, The New York Times Weekend Review carried an outstanding essay "John Updike’s Mighty Pen" by Charles McGrath http://www.nytimes.com/2009/02/01/weekinreview/01mcgrath.html?emc=eta1

Especially interesting was the Video A Conversation with John Updike, taped in October 2008, with Sam Tanenhaus, the editor of the Book Review, “about the craft of fiction and the art of writing.” Disquieting to think he died only a few months later, but listening to the interview I was struck how much he ruminated about aging and writing. He said that he was currently working on an historical novel set in the 1st century, but not knowing much about the period he was trying to educate himself, lamenting, though, that “maybe I’m too old to be educated.” He also said he was thrilled that the New Yorker had recently accepted two of his short stories as he was “trying to keep [his] name in the New Yorker after a long draught.” “It makes me feel like a real person to get a short story in the New Yorker.”

He went on to observe (and much of this is paraphrased here) that there comes a moment in a writer’s life when you are full of material untouched in your mind and seemingly urgent and it merges with enough skill to get it down, but this skill tends to peak in an American writer’s late 20s or early 30s. In those years I could bring a naiveté and therefore a sense of wonderment to my writing. “I’m not ashamed of my later work, but feel there is an unforced energy in the earlier work.” We never idolize anything beyond youth in this country. Consequently, we’re all failed youths, as we don’t believe in the wisdom of the ages especially now that so many people live forever in old age homes. Some of our greatest writers were Hemingway and Fitzgerald; “their idea of happiness is to be young.” And those words concluded the interview.

I closely identify. In Florida that sense of aging, a feeling of irrelevancy, is particularly pervasive. As Updike says in Rabbit at Rest, “There’s a lot of death in Florida, if you look. The palms grow by the lower branches dying and dropping off. The hot sun hurries the life cycles along….Even friendship has a thin, provisional quality, since people might at any minute buy another condominium and move to it, or else up and die.”

I thought my feelings might be confined to those of a retired businessperson living in the “sunshine state.” But my friend Bruce, a teacher and a writer living in Massachusetts, to whom I sent the New York Times link, seems to have had a similar reaction. This business of aging, still trying to stay productive, moving forward with learning as being the very essence of living, is something I would like to think we share with Updike. Here are Bruce’s comments on the Updike interview:

I listened to the interview and was, of course, attentive to his remarks about aging and youth. Naturally, I immediately applied what he said to myself to see if I thought it was true. My conclusion about me is that I am profoundly and forever naive. Thus, I'm surprised that because I am old I am invisible. I am surprised that my students don't realize that I am wise and learned. Oh, they do to a degree, but their best perceptions of me are ones that leave out my age. I'm surprised that young teachers with a few exceptions do not seek me out. I am surprised I am not valued because I have so much experience. Perhaps, I am, but it's not apparent to me. I like what Updike said about the unforced energy of youth. I think that's true, but an older man needs to seek to find what imparts an unforced energy to his own endeavors. I keep returning to Bronte's remark about being appreciated and expecting to get credit for what you do. Don't she says, or you will spend your life waiting. Then again in our own conception of ourselves we are never appreciated enough. Thus, we are back to Ecclesiastes and vanity. In any case, I liked the interview, especially the remarks about America and youth

See http://lacunaemusing.blogspot.com/2008/02/old-friends.html for more about Bruce.

Updike at Rest

John Updike passed away today. I deeply grieve. I’ve read most of his works, particularly his novels, except his most recent one, The Widows of Eastwick. Ironically, I just finished his penultimate novel, Terrorist, which I mentioned in my last entry.

Updike has been my companion since I began to read his work, starting with Rabbit, Run soon after it was published in 1960. The image of the young high school basketball star, Harry 'Rabbit' Angstrom, going up for a jump shot, “his hands like wild birds” as I recall Updike’s description, is indelibly etched in my mind. I have followed Rabbit through cycles of life that seem to mirror mine. Those novels Rabbit, Run, Rabbit Redux, Rabbit Is Rich, and Rabbit At Rest were each published at the beginning of a new decade (as well as his briefer Rabbit Remembered published at the beginning of this decade). Each captures the Zeitgeist of those moments in time. Updike had an ear for language, the mores of the American suburbs, and wrote with an erudition befitting his Harvard education.

Although his sexually charged Couples published in 1968 might have put him in the mainstream of widely read contemporary American writers, I love some of his lesser-known works such as Roger’s Version and Toward the End of Time.

But I was constantly drawn to Harry ‘Rabbit’ Angstrom who was about ten years older than I. When I read Rabbit At Rest I wondered whether there would be a similar fate, “escaping” to Florida, only to become lazy, flabby, and depressed. As it turns out, I did follow Harry to the sunshine state, and about ten years after him, but I would like to think that is the only similarity. After all, I always had Updike to keep me company, to help keep me engaged.

Updike increasingly ruminated about death in his later works, as one is prone to do as one ages: an acceptance that it happens to all of us – “no one gets out alive” – as we flippantly say. It’s the singular part we must play in this birth/death comic tragedy that we wonder about. I found myself looking for clues of Updike’s own feelings in his recent literature.

From Terrorist comes one of Updike’s more poignant passages, describing the thoughts of Jack Levy (the novel’s aging high school guidance counselor) in the dark of the early morning: …Jack has personal misery, misery that he “owns,” as people say now – the heaviness of the day to come, the day that will dawn through all this dark. As he lies there awake, fear and loathing squirm inside him like the components of a bad restaurant meal – twice as much food as you want, the way they serve it now. Dread slams shut the door back into sleep, an awareness, deepening each day, that all that is left on Earth for his body to do is to ready itself for death. He has done his courting and mating; he has fathered a child, he has worked to feed that child, little sensitive Mark with his shy cloudy eyes and slippery lower lip, and to furnish him with all the tawdry junk the culture of the time insisted he possess, to blend in with his peers. Now Jack Levy’s sole remaining task is to die and thus contribute a little space, a little breathing room, to this overburdened planet. The task hangs in the air just above his insomniac face like a cobweb with a motionless spider in the center.”

What great writing. Just to key these words makes me shudder with the knowledge that there will be no future Updike novels. We have lost a truly great American writer and, for me, a heartfelt companion..

Early in the Morning

It is early in the morning on the eve of President-elect Obama’s inauguration – in fact very early, another restless night. When it is so early and still outside, sound travels and I can hear the CSX freight train in the distance, its deep-throated rumbling and horn warning the few cars out on the road at the numerous crossings nearby.

Perhaps subconsciously my sleeplessness on this, the celebration of Martin Luther King’s birthday, relates to the incongruous dreamlike images of the bookends of my political consciousness, from the Little Rock desegregation crisis of 1957, the freedom marches that culminated with the march on Washington in 1963 and Martin Luther King’s historic "I Have a Dream" speech, to the inauguration tomorrow of our first Afro-American President. All this breathtaking demonstration of profound social change in just my lifetime.

Much has now been said comparing Obama to Lincoln. In my “open letter” to Obama that I published here last May http://lacunaemusing.blogspot.com/2008/05/open-letter-to-senator-obama.html I said “Your opponents have criticized your limited political experience, making it one of their main issues in attacking your candidacy. Lincoln too was relatively inexperienced, something he made to work to his advantage. Forge cooperation across the aisle in congress, creating your own ‘team of rivals’ as Doris Kearns Goodwin described his cabinet in her marvelous civil war history.”

The Lincoln comparison is now omnipresent in the press, not to mention his cabinet selections indeed being a team of rivals. But I am restless because of what faces this, the very administration I had hoped for: a crisis of values as much as it is an economic one. The two are inextricably intertwined.

I am reading an unusual novel by one of my favorite authors, John Updike, Terrorist. One of the main characters, Jack Levy laments: “My grandfather thought capitalism was doomed, destined to get more and more oppressive until the proletariat stormed the barricades and set up the worker’ paradise. But that didn’t happen; the capitalists were too clever or the proletariat too dumb. To be on the safe side, they changed the label ‘capitalism’ to read ‘free enterprise,’ but it was still too much dog-eat-dog. Too many losers, and the winners winning too big. But if you don’t let the dogs fight it out, they’ll sleep all day in the kennel. The basic problem the way I see it is, society tries to be decent, and decency cuts no ice in the state of nature. No ice whatsoever. We should all go back to being hunter-gathers, with a hundred-percent employment rate, and a healthy amount of starvation.”

The winners in this economy were not only the capitalists, the real creators of jobs due to hard work and innovation, but the even bigger winners: the financial masters of the universe who learned to leverage financial instruments with the blessings of a government that nurtured the thievery of the public good through deregulation, ineptitude, and political amorality. This gave rise to a whole generation of pseudo capitalists, people who “cashed in” on the system, bankers and brokers and “financial engineers” who dreamt up lethal structures based on leverage and then selling those instruments to an unsuspecting public, a public that entrusted the government to be vigilant so the likes of a Bernie Madoff could not prosper for untold years. Until we revere the real innovators of capitalism, the entrepreneurs who actually create things, ideas, jobs, our financial system will continue to seize up. That is the challenge for the Obama administration – a new economic morality.

Walt Whitman penned these words on the eve of another civil war in 1860:

I hear America singing, the varied carols I hear,
Those of mechanics, each one singing his as it would be blithe and strong,
The carpenter singing his as he measures his plank or beam,
The mason singing his as he makes ready for work, or leaves off work,
The boatman singing what belongs to him in his boat, the deckhand singing on the steamboat deck,
The shoemaker singing as he sits on his bench, the hatter singing as he stands,
The woodcutter's song, the ploughboy's on his way in the morning, or at noon intermission or at sundown,
The delicious singing of the mother, or of the young wife at work, or of the girl sewing or washing,
Each singing what belongs to him or her and to none else,
The day what belongs to the day--at night the party of young fellows, robust, friendly,
Singing with open mouths their strong melodious songs.

It is still early in the morning as I finish this but the sun is rising and I’m going out for my morning walk. Another freight train is rumbling in the distance. I hear America singing.

.

The Bernie Reality Show

What a brave new financial world, one that can produce the confluence of a Bernie Madoff, his feeder funds, the regulatory (that is the lack of regulations) environment where such a Ponzi scheme could thrive over decades, and the eager investors who convinced themselves that their steady “returns” in good and bad markets were an entitlement of their connections and station in life (as Jane Austen might have put it), not to be questioned by them. Now there is the endless media frenzy over Madoff, even including a camera trained on Madoff’s apartment building in NYC. This is the perfect diversion from the more serious financial landscape of trillion dollar bailouts with consequences no one can foretell.

The same society that gave rise to Madoffian cupidity and deception is also addicted to reality shows such as American Idol, Survivor, etc. so here is the idea: give the man his own TV program, such as the one depicted in The Truman Show! That way, Bernie’s every movement voyeuristically can be monitored with all advertising revenue going to the “BMVBF” (Bernie Madoff Victim Bailout Fund). What’s the sense of sending him to prison only to make license plates? After the BMVBF is fully funded, sponsorship can then be diverted to TARP, TAF, TSLF, ABCP, HOPE and all the other bailout acronyms, present and future. Thanks Bernie!