Small Faces

It’s all too beautiful (the refrain from the band’s most famous song: Itchykoo Park)

There’s a lot to cover here, but we must first dispense with a couple of pieces of business.

In the midst of all of the hubbub around 45’s grandstanding insult of LBJ, y’all might’ve missed a significant milestone that presented itself midweek: The Apple Corporation of Cupertino, CA (or is it Mountain View? I get confused) became the first company every to achieve a market capitalization of $1 Trillion.

And that. Is all. I have to say. About that.

Moving on, I am compelled to address the galactic buzz generated by last week’s note about the Faces. Legions of followers pointed out that the group partially evolved out of an outfit called the Small Faces came first. Some even claimed the Small Faces were the better ensemble. Well, yes, there was a band called the Small Faces that predated the visages presumably of larger size, and yes, a couple of their members were a part of both groups. But any reasonable interpretation of Rock History would suggest that Rod Stewart and Ron Wood’s arrival – fresh from the magnificent and vastly underappreciated Jeff Beck/Truth combo—was the seminal event in the formation of the Faces. And, for the record, while I dig their diminutive predecessors, I’ll stick with my longtime allegiance to the core lineup of the Faces as we knew them.

Finally, and on a related note, I must follow up on last week’s Facebook diatribe. You see, instead of just spitballin’ like I usually do, I checked with a couple of cats that actually follow the stock, and they had some interesting things to convey. It seems that the FB Brain Trust had been warning for the two preceding years of the likelihood of slower user growth – a reporting pattern that ended somewhat abruptly with the Company’s Q1 release in April. Here, in the wake of the whole Cambridge Analytica thing, after Zuck’s Excellent Washingtonian Adventure, they issued their strongest guidance in many quarters. So it came as an enormous shock to the informed that for Q2, they did a 180 on the previous quarter’s 180. In fact, they did a 180+ — demanding that the markets recognize the folly of extrapolating into the future the firm’s extraordinary growth in revenues, sales and user engagement.

Unfortunately, however, this context only adds to the mystery. It would’ve been entirely logical for Team Zuck to take a 2×4 to their valuation back in April; late July, not so much. The most direct inference to draw here is that with respect to a company where > 70% is owned by insiders, where Zuck himself has a majority of the voting rights, the public is informed of its doings on a “need to know” basis. And Zuck doesn’t think we need to know – except what and when he chooses to tell us. A connection of the dots suggests that undisclosed problems continue to lurk beneath a still-shiny surface. And, while we certainly don’t need to know, what lies beneath may be more problematic for the markets in general than is generally assumed. I expect the Menlo Park (or is it Cupertino?) crowd to lay low on all of this, but to me, what happens down the road bears watching and is worrisome, come what may.

However, as the Augustine portion of the Julian Calendar unfolds in earnest, perhaps we can turn our attention to happier tidings. The Gallant 500 recorded its 5th straight week of gains, and is now 113 skinny basis points from its all-time highs. Good Captain Naz recovered his sea legs – albeit modestly, and nasty Viscount VIX retreated back into his shell. He now sports an obsequious 11 handle, and it wouldn’t take too much more complacency and giddiness to push him down to even lower depths.

Because, ladies and gentlemen, much of the news that has hit the tape over the last several sessions can be interpreted constructively. More than 80% of the way through the earnings cycle, reporting companies are exceeding even unambiguously lofty expectations, and projecting out to a plus 24%. Investors are taking notice, and, if that ain’t enough for y’all, feast your eyes on the following two charts:

 

So earnings are strong and investors are reacting favorably. Conversely, and as anticipated in this space, Q3 guidance shades to the negative. 65 intrepid CEOs have shared their associated near-term clairvoyance, and of these 2/3rds are defying both deer and antelope by uttering discouraging words. But hey, it’s early, so let’s not hang our collective heads just yet, OK?

I’d also be remiss if I didn’t share my elation at the positive reversal of fortune in the Grains, particularly Corn, which is showing some A.M. perkiness:

Morning Corn: The Blues Ain’t Gonna Get It

Those sneaky ag traders are attributing some of this to sizzling weather conditions – particularly on The Continent. But I’d be a little careful here. Corn is nothing if not a resilient crop, and if the Good Lord does indeed decide to dial down his heavenly thermostat in realms such as the Grand Republic (France, for the uninitiated), then perhaps it will be yet another sequence of “lookout below”.

But far away from fertile fields from Iowa to Alsace Lorraine, the focus was on very fancy macro events, and the results were, as could have been foretold by the Gods, lacking in clarity.

The Bank of Japan kicked off the festivities early in the week, taking no action and managing to confuse everyone interested in their strategy or associated timelines. Its country’s 10-year rate remains elevated to levels seldom seen outside the Gambino Family’s Jersey City money lending operation, at 0.102% basis points. The Fed did nothing. Finally, the Bank of England maintained its trademark stiff upper lip and raised its overnight rates from 0.5% to 0.75%. This, however, didn’t do much to stem, much less reverse, the gravitational forces currently descending upon the Pound Sterling.

All of this set up for a nominally dramatic July Jobs Report release Friday morning, but this, in retrospect, was something of a non-event. Private Payrolls were a little light at 157K, but the base rate dropped a titch to 3.9%. The much-anticipated Average Hourly Earnings component came in exactly as expected, and precisely in line with the GDP report at 2.7%.

All of the above merits, even by the harshest reasonable assessment, a Gentlemen’s B. But the macro situation is arguably more complicated than meets the eye – mostly due to the ubiquitous but unknowable overhangs of trade wars, and (increasingly as the calendar moves forward) a potential calculus changing election, now a skinny three months away. Of these matters I have little insightful to convey.

By contrast, the related trade action has been worth a gander, as evidenced, first, by a continuing build-up of short interest in U.S. long-term treasury instruments:

Certainly, we’ve seen this movie before. Lots of smart guys and gals have been, for years, anticipating both a rise in longer-term interest rates, and even, for the fully fanciful, a steepening of the yield curve. Maybe someday they’ll be right. Maybe even soon. But the perpetual bid on long-term Treasuries has been perhaps the toughest nut to crack across my market career, which (I remind you) began during the administration of Millard Fillmore. So I reckon we’ll have to see.

On a partially related note, I observe with interest that the self-same smart crowd has thrown in the towel on their long Crude Oil positions.

There are a lot of moving parts here, as Crude Oil is at least theoretically impacted not only by trade wars with the Chinese, but also various cajoling in the Middle East, where a dizzying matrix of production quotas and import/export protocols with utopias like Iran are creating mind-numbing crosswinds. I suspect that in many cases, rather than reversing their investment hypotheses here, crude speculators may be simply capitulating.

It’s all too beautiful, now, isn’t it? But one way or another, it won’t last. The Almighty did not intend us to spend all our days resting our eyes in fields of green, so, perhaps soon, we’ll be forced to bid farewell to Itchykoo Park. The Small Faces had its innings there, as did the (not so small) Faces afterward. Facebook has been the object of our desire for several years, but now we may be forsaking her in favor of our old flame: Apple.

And wouldn’t you know, after Friday’s $1T close, the Cupertino (or is it Menlo Park?) crowd was forced to contend with a shutdown of a major components supplier’s – Taiwan Semi – production plant, so it’s entirely possible that the lofty-but-menacing 13-figure valuation may disappear as early as the Sunday night session.

But here, having violated Paragraph 3’s solemn pledge, I will rest my keyboard, wishing everyone who receives this note a sincere (if redundant) Ooh La La.

TIMSHEL

Here’s the Story

I read, with mixed regret and a great deal of interest, that a certain residence: 11222 Dilling Street in Studio City, CA, is up for sale. More pertinently, this 2,500 square foot, 2 bedroom/3 bath dwelling, has been since time immemorial, the home of the Bradys.

My first reaction (a logical one I feel) was to scream “Fake News!” After all, everyone knows that whatever else its appeal (sliding doors, eat in kitchen, etc.), 11222 Dill contains NO bathrooms. I think there was a closet with a mirror and a sink, where those whacky kids used to fight from time to time for sufficient space to brush their unilaterally, impossibly white teeth. But a bathroom? No.

However, I’ve checked and it’s true, Casa Brady is indeed on the market, and for the bargain price of $1.85 mil. And part of me feels that we’re all worse off for the prospective transaction. I developed an early fascination with the Bradys, perhaps in part because the Bunch are my chronological peers. I’m a little younger than Jan; a little older than and Bobby.

So when the series was in Prime Time, I never missed an episode, realizing even at a young age, that it offered a perfect caricature of life in 1970s America at its campiest and blandest. That it did so in contemporaneous time, and without any intended irony, is a marvel for the ages. It ran for about 6 seasons, but was eventually cancelled because the kids got too old. And neither Mike and Bobby’s dubious perms, nor the arrival of the ill-matched, misanthropic Cousin Oliver, could salvage it. But as the saying goes, Old Bradys die hard. A couple of years later, the cast convened through a variety series, which, somehow, and against all odds, managed to outdo even the Brady Bunch in Brady-ness. The same could be said of a spinoff called The Brady Brides, in which newly betrothed Marcia and Jan seek to economize by moving in together with husbands that hated each other. Trust me on this one: hilarity did indeed ensue.

Lingering, still, is the Marcia/Jan debate, and, to me, despite having a soft spot for Jan (easily the most unhinged of the Brady scions), in terms of romantic appeal, it’s no contest. It’s Marcia, Marcia, Marcia. Even with her banged up nose. But I do have one further matter to get off my chest: once, in a fit of sheer boredom, I took a BuzzFeed quiz to determine whether I was more Marcia or Jan, and I came up unambiguously as Jan. I posted the results Facebook.

But as Mick once sang (on a record that was released, as it happens, about the time that the Bradys kids hit their aggregate hormonal peak) “Time waits for no one”. Not even a Brady. Mike and Carol are both dead. Alice is dead, as is Sam the Butcher. Mangy mutt Tiger disappeared with no explanation after Season 1, and, nearly 5 decades later, we can perhaps safely conclude that he too has gathered to the dust of his forebears. Greg rocks a weave/dye job, and croons the borscht belt circuit. Marcia is born again, and no longer speaks to Jan. Peter turns up on the telly here and there. Cindy, I believe, is a radio DJ with pretty solid rock sensibilities. Bobby, improbably, sells decorative concrete on his home turf near Salt Lake City.

So maybe it was indeed time to sacrifice 11222 Dill, but I felt it my responsibility to not allow this milestone to pass unremarked.

So that’s the story. At least that story. But meanwhile, what’s ours?

Well, I’ve nothing to relate that rises to the dignity of the Johnny Bravo episode (or the one where Marcia resorts to cross-dressing, in her hot pursuit of the adorable Davy Jones), but it’s not like we don’t have some ground to cover, so let’s get to it, shall we?

In simpler times (say, suburban L.A. – circa 1972), market participants might’ve casted their collective focus on the many salient data points coming our way,: the acceleration of the earnings calendar, Fed Chair Powell’s testimony on Capitol Hill, and other information flows directly tied to the fortunes of the global capital economy. However, these are anything but simple times, because among other things, our fearless leader accomplished the nigh-impossible, drawing incremental attention to himself – at a point when his face had already become more ubiquitous than that of Orwell’s Big Brother.

More specifically, he’s fighting with everyone, and in doing so, is channeling his inner Jan: always at risk of descending into phantasmagoric delusion (the wig episode, the made up boyfriend, etc.) One time, she even decided, and was accommodated in this wish, to disown the entire Brady crew. And Trump is acting out in similar fashion. He’s brawling, of course, with China, with Europe, and even with Canada for God’s Sake. In his own way (though the superficial narrative runs in the other direction), he’s circling in menacing fashion around Russia. Moreover,, in addition to his longstanding beefs with the FBI, CIA and Justice Department, he’s now picking bones with the supposed-to-be-independent Federal Reserve Bank of the United States.

These are serious matters, but the markets, like the Bradys did to Jan in the aforementioned episode, have chosen to to pretend he’s not there. Thus, just as Jan’s brothers and sisters simply hopped around her when she tried to disrupt a backyard sack race, investors ignored such matters as threats to up the Chinese tariff ante to a cool $500B, and shade throwing at our Central Bank, and went about their business.

They didn’t have much to show for their efforts, but they did manage to gather themselves sufficiently to push the Gallant 500 up about 9 handles for the week (0.27%), and a similar tale can be told about our other favorite indices. Treasuries sold off a bit, pushing yields from ~2.82 to ~2.89, but continue to trade in the narrowest ranges witnessed for more than a decade. The Bloomberg Commodity Index was able to register a pulse, with my victimized grains catching a small bid, but other components – particularly the whole metals complex – continuing their descent into the netherworld. Thus, if nowhere else, we see the trade war risk premium rising in the mundane world of commodities.

Earnings, thus far, have been a mixed bag, with winners such as Bank of America, Morgan Stanley and Microsoft being offset by disappointers including eBay, NetFlix (improbably) and (of course) General Electric. Howver, with 17% of the SPX clocking in, the market is still on pace to reach its socialized target of >20% earnings growth, and if the trend continues, no one should complain.

Casting our eyes towards the VIX, we note benign volatility conditions, but again, that’s not the whole story on vol. As we’ve discussed, the VIX is a rolling measure of at-the-money SPX implied volatility, and it is indeed low by any relative/historical standard. But if one looks out at the tails of the volatility plain – i.e. the realms where investors actually purchase portfolio protection, we see that they are evidencing a willingness to pay up – substantially:

Now, just like the rest of you, having always been a bit leery of the VIX, my inclination is to evaluate an index of skew thereto with a particularly jaundiced eye. But the way this thing is calculated, a value of 100 implies that investors expect a normal distribution of SPX returns, and now we’re at 160 (record levels by a wide margin), which suggests an increase in the options-projected probability of a multi standard deviation crash to statistically meaningful levels.

On the other hand, I mentioned this to a couple of clients and they usefully pointed out to me that all of the implied overpayment for portfolio protection is as strong an indicator that this here bull market has yet to run its course as any we’re likely to find in these troubled times.

I reckon we’ll see. Next week, after all, brings another big series of earnings, including the Googlers and Facebook. Beyond this, on Friday morning, we’ll get our first glimpse at Q2 GDP, and, for what it’s worth, those crazy cats at the Atlanta Fed are up to their old tricks again, turbo-charging their projections back up to a big, fat 4.5%.

Part of me wishes that they’d just make up their minds, but then again, this would be a futile gesture. The Commerce Department will make minds up for them on Friday, and that is the number that will go into the history books.

Until, of course, it is revised. And then revised again. But pretty much everyone who’s cared to look into these matters expects an exceedingly rich quarter, and here it bears remembering, because > 4% prints on GDP don’t last forever.

On the other hand, nothing does. Last forever that is. And if you doubt this, just ask the Bradys. Given that for many of us (myself included of course) they will forever remain the perpetually perky, wellscrubbed teens and pre-teens that they always have been, it must be very upsetting for them to have their childhood home sold right out from underneath their feet. Here’s hoping that the buyer(s) whoever they may be, understand that they are not purchasing a house, but rather, a shrine.

And yes, I’ve considered bidding myself. But it’s a stretch. I can probably scrape together the 1.85 large asking price, but with little margin for error. More importantly, this would leave me with almost no financial resources to undertake certain structural adjustments that I feel are just nigh essential.

I probably don’t need to elaborate here other than to state that, at my advanced age, an upgrade in the plumbing arrangements at 11222 Dilling Street, Studio City, CA is among the most effective risk management actions of which I possibly can conceive.

If I were to take this step, it would be important for me to remind myself that my life in Studio City would not fit into tidy 22 minute segments, resolving themselves in crescendos of happy endings and lessons learnt. This is particularly true 45 years after the demise of the Brady Bunch, and even moreso in today’s markets. It’s tricky out there; not much edge to be found anywhere. Be forewarned.

TIMSHEL