“I watched with glee while your kings and queens,
Fought for ten decades, for the gods they made,
I shouted out “who killed the Kennedys?” when after all it was you and me”.
— Charlie’s Singer
I know our title is trite, but I am sorry about Charlie. Really sorry.
I’m also, however, surprised and gratified by the reaction to his death, which was deep, broad and heartfelt.
His passing took me by by surprise, as it did everyone. He’d been around so long, was such a rock, that even more than Keith, he seemed like a guy that would live forever. However, as is now evident, he was merely mortal.
Now that he’s gone, having undertaken the responsibility to provide probing rock and roll commentary in this financial publication, I want to offer some thoughts about his place in history.
He was most certainly the perfect drummer for the Stones – both musically and (from what I gather) personality-wise. A dignified, centering force against Mick and Keith’s wildly divergent excesses. As a drummer, he knew exactly how to anchor those songs; he provided the beat that was needed, and nothing else. From this perspective, he is to be honored, maybe even sanctified.
But a galactic, creative musical force he was not.
Sorry, Charlie.
Because the Stones were always about the songs they wrote. They were never a jam band. No extended guitar riffs, and no drum solos.
Sorry (again) Charlie. I would’ve liked them to allot you five or six minutes during, say, “Gimme Shelter” or “Sympathy for the Devil”, but that wasn’t how the Stones rolled.
This latter masterpiece, perhaps Charlies’ finest work on the skins (though he did get a righteous assist from a Ghana-based conga player named Rocky Dzidzornu), was recorded in the first half of June 1968. On the night of the 5th, some dude did RFK — forcing Mick to rewrite some of the lyrics. Well, on Friday, the California Parole Board approved the dude’s 16th liberation application – apparently with the blessings of the Kennedy family.
Did Sirhan say he was sorry? Probably.
But this note is about Charlie, and the main question remains: can the Stones carry on without him? I say yes. And, here I present, by way of contrast, the earlier trajectory of Zep, who, while they had some fantastic songs, offered their greatest contribution in the form of overall sound. How four guys – one of them a noninstrumentalist – could create the sonic blast that they did remains, for me, one of life’s sweet mysteries.
And Bonzo was essential to that. So, when he died, though I thought that they could have forged on, I understood why they bagged it. But to replace Charlie? Pick any of the countless drummers who could ape his every strike on the high hat and not miss a beat? Piece of cake.
My guess is that Mick and Keith continue without him – unapologetically. And I hope they do.
Sorry (again), Charlie. But published reports suggest that he gave them his blessing to do so, and one way or another, at this point, the entire band is little more than a caricature of its former greatness.
******
Whether by way of tribute or indifference to Charlie, it was quite a week for risk assets (well, some of them anyway). Our equity indices soared to yet another series of previously un-breached heights, and, in doing so, they unremorsefully ignored a passel of risks and potential problems. I’ll lay aside the ignominious turning of the American Military Tail in Kabul, which drew sufficient attention from investors as to cause benchmark valuations to drop about a half a percent for about half a day – all recovered, and then some, by week’s end.
Yes, investors moved on, shamelessly bid ‘em up in the wake of substantial progress in the passing of the atrocious ~$5T budget add-on (and attendant tax increases, etc.), the highest recorded inflation figures (according to the Fed’s favorite measure) in three decades, the continued, confounding covid conundrum, and, just for good measure, a gathering storm (named after my daddy’s mama, who lived, or at any rate, died, in the threatened region) that pushed Nat Gas prices to their highest summer levels in a generation:
Jumpin’ Jack Flash It’s a Nat Gas Gas:
Most of the unrepentant revelry was catalyzed by Chair Pow’s unabashed, remotely-rendered remarks to an absent audience at Jackson Hole, conveying that: a) tapering might begin this year; but b) there’s no timetable for raising rates at the short end of the curve – which his crew at the Fed explicitly control.
I rate this about a 9.5 on the Bailout Scale, falling plainly short of our wholesale abandonment of Afghanistan, embellished, as it was, by our contribution of billions of dollars of weaponry, cash, other treasures and (of course) blood, to our victorious enemies. Powell might taper before Christmas; on the other hand, he might not. It would take him about 30 seconds to back off, and to do so with impunity.
We’re now in the doggiest end of a very doggy summer. When it concludes, we face the likelihood of myriad virus shutdown showdowns, the pantomime of Congress stuffing the equivalent of nearly two years of incremental obligations onto our already crippling debt load (based exclusively on the signatures of a President and Vice President who have, to put it generously, failed thus far to establish their leadership and judgment credentials). In addition, there will be labor shortages, supply chain disruptions, and myriad other problems too numerous and indecorous to inventory in this family/financial publication.
And while all of this is transpiring, the Stones, what’s left of them anyway, will embark on a tour without their founding lead guitarist, bassist, and keeper of the beat.
But away from the stage, all economic matters will filter inexorably through the flimsy film of politics.
So, I ask you, if we emerge around, say, Halloween with a significant portion of the economy in viral disruption, with higher taxes, with a galactic set of new entitlements passed into law, with manifold immigration, public safety and foreign policy problems worthy of an extension of the Michael Myers film sequence, will the Fed deem it the appropriate time to withdraw support?
I highly doubt it. Because the markets won’t like it. And neither will the electorate. And nobody in Washington will care about anything except creating economic optics that fit their political narrative.
So, I’m expecting the same market conditions to ensue this fall that we’ve suffered since spring. With valuations all dressed up but leaving investors no place to go.
I wish I had better news to report, but unless you want to enrich a select, elite corporate class that is fully in cahoots with the Washington cabal, opportunities are slim. Big Money is calling the shots here. This was always the case, but the dynamic has intensified. It controls the politicians, including Biden and Yellen. In turn, Biden and Yellen control the Fed. And for quite some time, the Fed has controlled the markets.
The rest of us are simply extras in this show – un-miced backup singers holding, if we’re lucky, a tambourine for a prop.
But this note is about Charlie, who left us, this past week, to the world’s sorrow and myriad testaments of gratitude and appreciation. Prominent among the fond remembrances is the time when Mick introduced Charlie as his drummer, whereupon Charlie grabbed him by the collar and said “Don’t ever say that again. I’m not your drummer. You’re my singer”.
Well, sorry, Charlie, but you were wrong. You were Mick’s drummer, and you filled that role with grace, dignity and excellence. I hope it was enough for you.
I suspect it was.
But as for the rest of us, the part we are asked to play is less exciting, glamorous or lucrative than sitting on a riser, sticks in hand, and overlooking teeming masses of admirers. We’re stuck with it, so let’s suck it up and do the best we can.
Meantime, Goodbye Charlie. I won’t forget to put roses on your grave.
TIMSHEL