Clarence Avant and the Necessity of Networks: ‘I Don’t Have Problems, I Have Friends’

Clarence Avant by Charley Gallay©Getty Images for NAACP

‘Say Clarence Avant’s name, and the doors open and the seas part.’
LA Reid

I recently watched a Netflix documentary relating the compelling life story of Clarence Avant (‘The Black Godfather’). 

In a long and illustrious career Avant has been a salesman, agent, manager and producer. He has been a successful entrepreneur, owning record companies and a radio station. He has been a gatekeeper, an orchestrator, a mediator and a negotiator. He has been the mentor and mastermind of countless careers in the music and entertainment industry. To many he is known simply as The Black Godfather.

Avant teaches us a great deal about the critical role of relationships and networks in work and life. He represents a particular style of leadership, one that exerts influence through human connections and emotional intelligence; and one that doesn’t seek the spotlight.

‘You either join the country club or you remain a goddamned caddy. I’m not a f***ing caddy. Period.’

Avant was born in 1931 in Greensboro, North Carolina, and raised in poverty in nearby Climax. He was the oldest of eight children. Not getting on with his stepfather, he put rat poison in the abusive man’s food. He left home soon after.

Avant moved to New Jersey and eventually found work as a manager at Teddy Powell's Lounge. Louis Armstrong’s representative at the time, Joseph G Glaser, took a shine to Avant, and hired him to manage R&B and jazz acts like Little Willie John and Jimmy Smith. 

Avant moved to LA and helped Argentine pianist-composer Lalo Schifrin get into the movie soundtrack business, in which capacity he wrote the theme tune for ‘Mission: Impossible.’ In 1969 Avant founded Sussex Records, and his signings included singer-songwriters Sixto Rodriguez (later celebrated in the documentary ‘Searching for Sugar Man’) and the great (recently departed) Bill Withers. 

'Lean on me, when you're not strong
And I'll be your friend,
I'll help you carry on.
For it won't be long
'Til I'm gonna need
Somebody to lean on.’

Bill Withers, ‘Lean on Me'

Avant’s career inevitably had its ups and downs. In 1973 he bought an LA radio station, thereby becoming one of the first black station owners in America. However, he was overstretched and KAGB folded, taking his record company with it.

But Avant was rarely out of work. He helped major labels recruit and develop African American talent. And in 1977 he launched Tabu Records, which - fuelled by the production genius of Jimmy Jam and Terry Lewis - had success with the SOS Band, Alexander O’Neal and Cherrelle.  He subsequently became Chairman of Motown and the first African American board member at PolyGram. 

This may sound like a conventional music business success story.

What’s fascinating about Avant is the relationships he was forging and the deals he was making throughout his career. He seems always to have been on the phone, in one-to-one meetings, making suggestions, offering advice, negotiating agreements. He was equally comfortable talking to heads of studios, politicians and Mafia dons; equally at home at charity fundraisers, in the offices of the President of Coca-Cola and at the White House.

When Cleveland Browns football star Jim Brown was approaching the end of his athletic career, Avant helped him transition into the movie business, a path that included roles in ‘The Dirty Dozen’ and ‘Ice Station Zebra.’ When Atlanta Braves baseball legend Hank Aaron broke Babe Ruth’s record of 714 home runs, Avant helped him realise the true commercial value of his achievement. 

‘Making the money is the creative side. Keeping the money is the Clarence side.’
Lionel Richie

Although not the type of person to go on marches, Avant contributed to the Civil Rights struggle in his own particular way. When Don Cornelius’ TV music vehicle ‘Soul Train’ – of iconic importance within the African American community - was threatened by Dick Clark’s competing dance show, Avant persuaded the ABC network to drop the pretender.

‘My job is to move us forward.’

The "Soul Train" Line, circa 1980.Credit...Soul Train Holdings LLC

In his role as executive producer of major entertainment events - like the 1973 ‘Save the Children’ concert and the 1975 TV tribute to Muhammad Ali - Avant insisted that black talent work behind as well as in front of the cameras.

When Civil Rights leader Andrew Young ran for Congress, Avant helped get his campaign off the ground by organising an Isaac Hayes concert. 

‘If you’re crazy enough to run, I’m crazy enough to try to help you.’

Avant is not given to smooth talk and rhetoric. He doesn’t articulate grand visions. Rather his manner is direct, his tone is gruff and his vocabulary is colourful. And much to friend Quincy Jones’ annoyance, he insists on putting ice in his Chateau Petrus.

‘I can’t make speeches. That’s not my life. I make deals.’

Avant claims to be unemotional, suggesting that life is fundamentally an exercise in accounting.

‘If you don’t ask, you don’t get. Life is about one thing – numbers – nothing else. What did Tina Turner say? ‘What’s love got to do with it?’ Not a f***ing thing, man. That’s why I tell people ‘Life begins with a number and ends with a number.’ Love ain’t got nothing to do with shit. It’s all about numbers and nothing else.’

But the more you listen to the beneficiaries of Avant’s wisdom, the more you realise that his skills extend far beyond raw mathematics. He is warm-hearted and trustworthy. He is a natural negotiator and counsellor.

‘He finds a common ground between people who are different.’ 
Andrew Young

Avant reminds us that the ability to develop and sustain relationships is critical to personal and commercial success. We talk a good deal about networking as if it were a wretched obligation, a cynical skill. Avant demonstrates that networking is a necessary, fundamentally human talent - one that overcomes problems, resolves differences, creates opportunities and builds communities.

‘I don’t have problems, I have friends’

As he grew older, Avant continued to exercise a huge influence on the careers of music and entertainment talent behind the scenes. He mentored Kenneth ‘Babyface’ Edmonds and LA Reid; Sean Combs, Snoop Dogg and Jamie Foxx. In 2004 he helped introduce Barack Obama to the American public by securing him a prime time slot at the Democratic National Convention.

Obama sums Avant’s expertise thus:

‘There are different kinds of power. There’s the power that needs the spotlight. But there’s also the power that comes from being behind the scenes… Clarence exemplifies a certain cool, a certain level of street smarts and savvy that allowed him to move into worlds that nobody had prepared him for - and say: ‘I can figure this out.’’

Avant expresses his approach in more direct terms.

‘Alright motherf***er. Let’s get paid.’

'Friends tell me I am crazy,
And I'm wasting time with you.
You'll never be mine.
It's not the way I see it,
'Cause I feel you're already mine.
Whenever you're with me
People always talkin' about
Your reputation.
I don't care about your other girls,
Just be good to me.’

The SOS Band, ‘Just Be Good To Me’ (J Harris / T Lewis)

No. 292

Shaving in the Dark: No Worker Is an Island

Man Shaving by Thomas Setton

'No man is an island entire of itself; every man 
is a piece of the continent, a part of the main.’
John Donne

In the early nineties I decided to focus on my work. I determined to reduce my socialising and increase my industry. I would rise early and return late. I would put my nose to the grindstone and my foot to the floor. 

I was living on my own in a one bedroom flat on Peckham Rye. It had no pictures adorning the magnolia walls, no lampshades to soften the harsh electric light, no curtains to shut out curious eyes. But I had everything I needed for the limited time I planned to spend there: a big floral sofa and a modest TV; a rudimentary hi-fi and a substantial record collection arrayed in cardboard boxes across the floor.

At night I dined on cream crackers and cheese, or takeaway curry washed down with cans of Breaker. I became obsessed with domestic efficiency. In a bid to cut down on washing-up, I took to using paper plates and plastic cutlery. I’m not sure I was too environmentally conscious in those days.

Sometimes, late at night, the number 12 would pause at the junction outside my flat, and the occupants of the top deck would look in on me, isolated and alone with a tray on my lap.

Every day I got up at an ungodly hour to catch that same bus into work. The early bird catches the worm. However, at length I was confronted by my downstairs neighbour, Jerry. My dawn rising had been waking him and his wife, and he wasn’t happy. In particular he found the extractor fan in my bathroom thoroughly irritating.

The offending fan was synchronized with the bathroom light, and it’s fair to say it did make something of an industrial racket. However, rather than getting it fixed, silenced or disconnected, I determined that it would be best to conduct my ablutions on tiptoes without illumination - anything to avoid another awkward encounter with an irate Jerry. After a few attempts it seemed perfectly possible to shower and brush my teeth in the gloom. But shaving in the dark proved particularly challenging.

As I slumped into my seat on the top deck of the number 12, with tissue paper stuck to my wounded neck, I reflected that maybe I was spending too much time on my own.

'A great fire burns within me, but no one stops to warm themselves at it, and passers-by only see a wisp of smoke.'
Vincent Van Gogh

I read recently about research into longevity carried out by science journalist Marta Zaraska ('Growing Young: How Friendship, Optimism and Kindness Can Help You Live to 100’, featured in The Guardian, 22 June 2020).

Zaraska, having reviewed the many academic papers on the subject, has learned that how long we live is only 20% to 25% determined by our genes. Of course, food and nutrition also play their part in prolonging life - a Mediterranean diet (rich in fruit and vegetables; using olive oil instead of butter) reduces the risk of premature death by 21%. But, significantly, having a large network of friends cuts that risk by 45%. Indeed one study claims that each extra person in one’s social circle lowers the chance of dying within five years by 2%. 

In short, happy sociable extroverts tend to live longer than unhappy antisocial introverts. 

'So many people are shut up tight inside themselves like boxes, yet they would open up, unfolding quite wonderfully, if only you were interested in them.'
Sylvia Plath

The particular importance of sociability in determining longevity is illustrated by the case of Roseto, Pennsylvania. In the early ‘60s the inhabitants of this small district were found to have very low rates of heart disease. Researchers discovered that the population of predominantly Italian immigrants had, since arriving in the States, largely given up their traditional Mediterranean diet. But they had retained their sociable community lifestyle, and this was the critical factor in their superior health. 

As Zaraska observes:

‘Maybe the life-prolonging aspect of the Mediterranean diet is not the amount of vegetables and olive oil it contains, but the way these foods are eaten: together with others.’

I was considering Zaraska’s insights in the light of our recently enforced embrace of Working From Home. 

Many argue that the new model should be sustained beyond lockdown. There’s no doubt that technology now enables more fluid, more efficient work practices. Individuals are rejoicing at the prospect of an end to commuting, to mundane water cooler conversations and tiresome sandwich lunches; at the opportunity for a superior work-life balance. And industry is jumping at the chance of reduced rents.

But businesses may find that they still need some social glue to transfer corporate knowledge and culture, to sustain brand loyalty and coherence. And individuals may yet yearn for physical interaction - to progress their careers, to preserve their sanity, and indeed to prolong their lives. A company is as much a community as it is a means of creating wealth.

'It is important for us to know if we are alone in the dark.'
Stephen Hawking

By the end of the ‘70s, many Rosetans had moved on to more spacious, more remote homes, and were travelling around by car rather than on foot. Sadly, as their sociability diminished, their mortality rate fell into line with the rest of the United States.

I’m pleased to say my own period of solitary confinement was ended - before I went completely off the rails - by the arrival of my now wife.

'Mother I tried please believe me,
I'm doing the best that I can.
I'm ashamed of the things I've been put through,
I'm ashamed of the person I am.
Isolation, isolation, isolation.’
Joy Division, ‘Isolation’ (B Sumner / I Curtis / P Hook / S Morris)

No. 291

‘Bringing Up Baby’: Recognising the Rules of Attraction

‘Now it isn't that I don't like you, Susan, because, after all, in moments of quiet, I'm strangely drawn toward you, but - well, there haven't been any quiet moments.’
David Huxley, ‘Bringing Up Baby’

‘Bringing Up Baby’ is a sparkling 1938 romantic comedy directed by Howard Hawks. 

The film places charming but eccentric characters in absurd situations, and ensnares them in misunderstandings and misadventures. There’s fast-paced verbal fencing interwoven with farcical physical comedy. There’s an unlikely romance, a whiff of danger and a race against time. There’s a Brontosaurus skeleton missing just one bone, a leading man in a negligee and a leopard that can only be calmed by a refrain from 'I Can't Give You Anything But Love, Baby.' Many consider it the definitive screwball comedy.

A bespectacled Cary Grant plays David Huxley, a mild mannered palaeontologist who is planning to marry his serious minded colleague the next day. While playing a round of golf, he meets free spirited Susan Vance, played by Katharine Hepburn. They quarrel over a missing ball and she dents his car. At a smart restaurant that evening he slips over on an olive she has dropped, lands on his top hat and gets accused of stealing a purse. She has a wardrobe malfunction.

Susan concludes that David is most definitely the man for her.

'I know that I'm gonna marry him. He doesn't know it, but I am.’

After such a challenging set of encounters, David doesn’t seem so sure.

Susan: Well, don't you worry, David, because if there's anything that I can do to help you, just let me know and I'll do it.
David: Well, er … Don't do it until I let you know.

Susan has just been in receipt of a tame leopard named Baby. Giving David the impression that she is in peril, she lures him to her apartment. He pleads with her to make her escape.

David: Susan, you have to get out of this apartment!
Susan: I can't, I have a lease.

Next Susan persuades David to accompany her with Baby to her farm in Connecticut. There follows a series of scenes in which Baby goes missing; Susan’s dog runs off with David’s precious Brontosaurus bone; and another more dangerous leopard escapes from a nearby circus. Ultimately everyone ends up in jail.

Susan: Anyway, David, when they find out who we are, they'll let us out.
David: When they find out who you are, they'll pad the cell.

In the midst of all these madcap adventures Susan encounters a psychologist.

Susan: What would you say about a man who follows a girl around... And then, when she talks to him, he fights with her?
Psychologist: Well, the love impulse in men very frequently reveals itself in terms of conflict…Without my knowing anything about it, my rough guess would be that he has a fixation on you.

This exchange seems to be at the heart of the movie’s characterisation of romance. True love, it suggests, involves internal tension: instinctive attraction encountering rational resistance and emotional uncertainty. It requires conflict to be resolved and struggle to be overcome. To this end Hawks cut several scenes in the middle of the film in which David and Susan declare their love for each other, and he resisted the studio’s request to remove Grant’s glasses.

I read in The Times (6 June 2020) about a study into the nature of human attraction conducted by Professor Gurit Birnbaum from Israel’s Interdisciplinary Center Herzliya.

In previous research Birnbaum has shown that you can increase a potential partner’s interest in you by demonstrating to them that you like them.

'We found that when people feel greater certainty that a prospective romantic partner reciprocates their interest, they will put more effort into seeing that person again, and even rate the possible date as more sexually attractive than they would if they were less certain about the prospective date’s romantic intentions.’

Birnbaum’s more recent study adds a fresh and somewhat contrary perspective. Considering the online conversations of 130 single students, she found that if the object of the students’ affection underplayed their reciprocal interest, then the students were even more likely to desire them; and they would sign off in a way that indicated they would like to meet again. 

'Being hard to get signals that potential partners are worth pursuing because they have other mating alternatives and therefore can limit their availability… Potential partners who use this strategy give the impression that they can afford to do so because of their high market value.’

The research concluded that to be successful in the dating game requires a delicate balancing act.
 
'Daters would be advised to show initial interest in potential partners so as not to alienate them. However, they should keep some cards to themselves. For example, reciprocal and gradual opening up is desirable, spewing one’s emotions without control is not.'

This may all seem rather obvious and to chime with one’s own personal experiences. But how well do we apply the rules of attraction to our own work challenges and to the management of our careers?

Having been employed for many years in a service industry, I found that businesses often do a great deal to signal to Clients that they find them attractive. They fall over themselves in their eagerness to express their availability and enthusiasm for an assignment. But they do very little to suggest that they will be hard to get. 

By Birnbaum’s analysis, such behaviour indicates an inferior market value and almost certainly leads to lower levels of commercial success.

As it turned out there was also something a little hard to get about ‘Bringing Up Baby.’ Neither critics nor consumers were initially enamoured of the film, and Katherine Hepburn ended up having to buy herself out of her contract with the disappointed studio. Of course, in time love prevailed: audiences fell for the movie’s sophisticated charms and it became one of the world’s favourite comedies.

David: Now don't lose your head, Susan.
Susan: I've got my head, I've lost my leopard!

'I couldn't bear to be special,
I couldn't bear, couldn't bear.
So don't look at me and say
That I'm the very one
Who makes the cornball things occur,
The shiver of the fur.
Don't expect so much of me.
I'm just an also-ran.
There's a mile between
The way you see me and the way I am.
So, don't stare at me that way.
Of course it gives me pride,
But I won't take on the risk
Of letting down the sweet sweet side.’

Prefab Sprout, ‘Couldn’t Bear to Be Special’ (P Mcaloon)

No. 290

The Rhythm of Change: Linocut, The Democratic Medium

Wet Afternoon by Ethel Spowers

‘An art of the people for their homes.’
Claude Flight

One of my favourite exhibitions of 2019 considered the art of the linocut. (‘Cutting Edge: Modernist British Printmaking’ was at the Dulwich Picture Gallery some while ago, but you can still buy the excellent book that accompanied the exhibition.)

Linoleum, or lino, is a cheap, hardwearing and easily cleaned floor covering invented in the 1860s by the Englishman Frederick Walton. It is made by fixing a mixture of cork and linseed oil onto a canvas backing. In the early twentieth century German printmakers developed the technique of the linocut: a design is cut into a linoleum sheet with a sharp knife or V-shaped chisel; the lino is inked with a roller and then pressed onto paper or fabric. 

Between 1925 and the start of the Second World War the Grosvenor School of Modern Art in Pimlico was the centre of a pioneering movement in British printmaking. The group was led by visionary teacher and artist Claude Flight, who believed that the linocut, with its affordable materials and accessible techniques, was a truly democratic medium. 

‘The linocut is different to the other printing mediums. It has no tradition of technique behind it, so that the student can go forward without thinking of what Bewick and Rembrandt did before. He can make his own tradition, and coming at a time like the present when new ideas and ideals are shaping themselves out of apparent chaos, he can do his share in building up a new and more vital art of tomorrow.’ 
Claude Flight, 1934

Whence and Wither by Cyril Power

The particular nature of the linocut demanded strong lines and a reduced colour palette. It predisposed printmakers to convey patterns, rhythms and movement. And Flight’s modernist, egalitarian ideals prompted his students to articulate themes of contemporary urban life.

And so we see the serried ranks of rush hour commuters descending into the underground gloom, all hatted with hunched shoulders. The tube carriages are cramped and grim faced. The red buses crowd down Regent Street, past the policeman and the Bovril advert. Umbrellas are held like legionary shields to the wind and rain. There are flat-capped workers digging the road, laying cable, sticking up posters. Porters bustle past us, flower girls stoop under their heavy panniers. 

Time to relax and put our feet up. Deckchairs in the park, parasols, newspapers and sweet tea. Let’s sit back and watch the horse guards. And then the city turns to play. There’s tennis, rugby and hockey; skiing, skating and sledging. The speedway riders lean into the corner, the footballers lean into the tackle. The merry-go-round spins faster, the rumba band kicks in. And so at last the dancers hit the stage. 

Do you remember?

The linocuts of the Grosvenor School capture the dynamism of the industrial age, the pulsating tempo of city streets, the teeming life of the public transport system, the vibrant leisure pursuits of working people. This is the modern world, thrilling and vigorous; buzzing, humming and fizzing. It’s the rhythm of change.

Speedway by Sybil Andrews

These were fresh themes for British art. Since linocuts came from such humble origins, they were not taken seriously by the art establishment And so their creators felt free from conventional definitions of what constituted appropriate subject matter. 

What’s more, because the linocut printmakers were unencumbered by traditional art school training, they were liberated to explore contemporary styles of expression: Futurism, Vorticism and Cubism.

Flight ensured that the doors to the linocut medium were open as wide as possible. He published manuals and lectured extensively. And you needed no qualifications to attend his classes.

‘Sometimes in his classes it is hard to remember that he is teaching, so complete is the camaraderie between him and his students. He treats them as fellow-artists rather than pupils, discusses with them and suggests to them, never dictates or enforces. At the same time he is so full of enthusiasm for his subject, and his ideas are so clear and reasoned, that it is impossible for his students not to be influenced by them.’
Artist Eveline Syme on Claude Flight

Flight teaches us that we can transform any artform by placing it in the hands of ordinary people: Create a medium that is affordable and available. Consider subjects that are real and relevant. Communicate in a style that is contemporary and current. 

Simple.

Flight had imagined that the linocut would be accessible not just to ordinary artists, but also to ordinary buyers. However, the Grosvenor House prints were so popular that on average they sold for 2 guineas apiece - which was about the average weekly wage at the time. Flight was a victim of his own success.

‘What was wrong with me was that I had to see
All of the changes I’d put you through.
So now I’m changing for you.
Changing.
Really, really, really, really
Changing, girl.’

The Chi Lites, ‘Changing for You’ (A Calvard, A Reynolds, E Davis, F Reynolds, L Simon, Jr.)

No. 289

My Rugby Tour of New Zealand: What To Do When You’re On the Horns of a Dilemma

William Wollen, The Battle of the Roses

I don’t really have the body for sport. I’m not agile, fast or flexible. My vision is weak, my reactions are poor and I have only moderate coordination. I’m not tall enough for basketball, tough enough for boxing, or tolerant enough for golf. 

So I was fortunate to find rugby. Here was a sport that seemed happy to accommodate my limited abilities. Playing as a Flanker I could push and shove, grip and grapple, ruck and maul. I could lean in and bind on; leap up and scrum down. Above all I could tackle. When the ball left the breakdown I would aim like an Exocet missile at the opposition Centre, timing my flight to hit him just as he received the pass. Crash! It was in its own way rather poetic.

There was of course a good deal of sprinting and passing to be done as well, which in my case translated into trundling and fumbling. But I managed to get by. And I’d say rugby was the only sport at which I ever really excelled.

One year the school decided that it would organise a tour of New Zealand, the home of the finest rugby playing institutions in the world. It was a mouth-watering prospect. And so we embarked on an extensive round of fundraising. There were raffles, tombolas and quizzes. There were sponsored runs, jumble sales and chicken-in-a-basket suppers. 

It all got too much to tell the truth: too much rallying and tub-thumping; too much chivvying and chasing. One day a number of the disgruntled players called a team meeting and told the authorities that we’d had enough.

I was naturally a conformist child, generally happy to toe the line. I didn’t want to disappoint the sports teachers who had given me so much. But, equally, something about this obsessive, unremitting focus on a singular goal rubbed me up the wrong way. I was also conscious that Dad was in and out of work, and my family was short of money. I found myself on the horns of a dilemma.

I lost quite a lot of sleep over it. Waking up in the middle of the night, tossing and turning. Weighing up the pros and cons, thinking through the fors and againsts. Should I stay or should I go?

Over the weeks that followed the crisis meeting, most of my fellow refuseniks were talked round. But I surprised myself and held the line. And the tour went ahead without me.

When they returned I realised that I had missed a phenomenal experience. The team had seen the world and played against the best. But I had profited in my own way from the New Zealand Rugby Tour. I had learned that I didn’t have to run with the pack; that I could make my own decisions and could be resolute. I had learned that I could change. And I was happy with this outcome.

'Our dilemma is that we hate change and love it at the same time; what we really want is for things to remain the same but get better.'
Sydney J. Harris, Journalist

I read in The Times recently (18 May 2020) about an experiment conducted by Steven Levitt, professor of economics at the University of Chicago. 22,000 people who found themselves in a life quandary submitted themselves to a virtual coin toss to determine which path they should take. Questions ranged from the major to the minor: Should I quit my job? Should I propose? Should I get a tattoo? Should I try online dating? Whatever the dilemma, Levitt’s virtual coin toss gave the respondent a simple ‘yes’ or ‘no’ answer.

According to the research, published in the Review of Economic Studies, nearly two thirds of participants followed the recommendation of the coin toss. 

Two themes emerged. 

Firstly, people tend to resist change: only about 50 % of those told to make a change did so, while 75 % of those told to maintain the status quo followed the coin’s recommendation.

Secondly, people that make a change tend to end up more content: after six months those who had opted to change course saw a significant increase in their personal happiness.

Levitt concluded:

'The data from my experiment suggests we would all be better off if we did more quitting… A good rule of thumb in decision-making is, whenever you cannot decide what you should do, choose the action that represents a change, rather than continuing the status quo.'

A compelling provocation and one that rings true.

When I left school and went to College, I chose football as my sport. In time I became proud captain of the Pembroke 3rd XI and subsequently manager of the legendary South Indies. Over the years the game gave me a great deal of pleasure. 

But it’s fair to say I was never very good at football. I was a slow, ponderous Central Defender, partial to muscular shoulder charges and late tackles. I always played football like a rugby player.

'Darling, you got to let me know,
Should I stay or should I go?
If you say that you are mine
I'll be here 'til the end of time.
So you got to let me know,
Should I stay or should I go?

Should I stay or should I go now?
Should I stay or should I go now?
If I go, there will be trouble.
And if I stay it will be double.’

The Clash, ‘Should I Stay or Should I Go?’ (J Strummer / M Jones)

No. 288

‘The Third Man’: The Singular of Data is Anecdote

'A person doesn't change just because you find out more.’
Anna Schmidt, ‘The Third Man’

Vienna after the war is worn out, struggling to pull itself together. It’s a city of desperate poverty, bleak bombsites and crumbling baroque architecture. The Military Police search the seedy clubs and dank bedrooms for forged papers and contraband. Elderly men in homburgs and fur-collared overcoats scurry across damp, cobbled streets. Querulous landladies shout up spiral staircases with tatty walls. Nervous tenants exchange furtive glances and slam their shutters to the world. Children play in the rubble.

It’s the middle of the night and someone’s hiding in the darkness - in a doorway, with a cat at his feet.

‘Come out, come out, whoever you are.’

A light is turned on in a nearby apartment building and the mysterious figure is briefly revealed. He stares straight back at us, silent, knowing. He permits himself a smile. It’s Harry Lime, a dead man. 

‘The Third Man’ is a 1949 British thriller written by Graham Greene and directed by Carol Reed. The film is a magical confection of shadows and light, shot at woozy, disorientating angles that suggest a world out of kilter. It is accompanied by the zither music of Anton Karas - mischievous and menacing.

‘It’s better not to get mixed up in things like this… I saw nothing. I said nothing.’

Joseph Cotten in “The Third Man.”

Joseph Cotten stars as Holly Martins, an author investigating the death of his old friend Harry Lime, played by Orson Welles.

Martins learns that Lime had a reputation as ‘the worst racketeer that ever made a living in this city.’ He stole penicillin from military hospitals, diluting it, and selling it on the black market. Many innocent people have died. 

Eventually Martins discovers that Lime has faked his own death and he tracks the criminal down to the Prater Amusement Park. They take a ride together on the famous ferris wheel. Challenged to defend his actions, Lime offers a chillingly cynical perspective. 

'Nobody thinks in terms of human beings. Governments don't. Why should we? They talk about the people and the proletariat, I talk about the suckers and the mugs. It's the same thing. They have their five-year plans, so have I.’

Lime draws Martins’ attention to the distant figures in the Amusement Park down below.

‘Victims? Don't be melodramatic. Look down there. Tell me. Would you really feel any pity if one of those dots stopped moving forever? If I offered you twenty thousand pounds for every dot that stopped, would you really, old man, tell me to keep my money? Or would you calculate how many dots you could afford to spare?’

Lime is of course a dark, amoral character. There is something disturbing about the way he objectifies and distances human beings in order to justify his actions. It still resonates today.

When we freely refer to people as consumers, cases and categories; as users, markets and ethnicities, are we not denying them their individuality, identity, personality and character? When we analyse them as data on a chart, as dots on a matrix, do we not strip them of their essential humanity?

It’s an easy mistake to make.

You may be familiar with the aphorism: ‘The plural of anecdote is not data.’ This is a helpful admonishment in the world of marketing, where we are often tempted to extrapolate grand themes and significant cultural change from a few isolated events. The heart sinks when a report begins:

‘We have a good deal of anecdotal evidence…’ 

But it’s equally important to look through the other end of the telescope. The singular of data is an individual’s experience. It is an incident in one person’s life. It is his or her particular story. The singular of data is anecdote.

The best strategists are capable of seeing the big picture and the small. They can join the dots to observe the contours of social change. But they can also look behind the dots to consider particular people’s lives with humility and insight. 

Perhaps Harry Lime has one opinion that should give us some encouragement. He suggests that good things can come of bad experiences; that culture emerges stronger and richer from times of crisis and upheaval.

'Don't be so gloomy. After all it's not that awful. Like the fella says, in Italy for 30 years under the Borgias they had warfare, terror, murder, and bloodshed, but they produced Michelangelo, Leonardo da Vinci and the Renaissance. In Switzerland they had brotherly love - they had 500 years of democracy and peace, and what did that produce? The cuckoo clock.’

 
'We walked in the cold air.
Freezing breath on a window pane,
Lying and waiting.
A man in the dark in a picture frame,
So mystic and soulful.
A voice reaching out in a piercing cry,
It stays with you until
The feeling has gone, only you and I.
It means nothing to me.
This means nothing to me.
Oh, Vienna.’

Ultravox, ‘Vienna’ (W Currie / M Ure / C Allen / W Cann)

No. 287

Q Tips: The Wise Counsel of Quincy Jones

photo: © Chuck Stewart Photography, LLC

‘I listen to the orchestra like an X-ray machine - because I’ve been around it all my life. It’s what I do.’
Quincy Jones

I recently watched the Netflix documentary ‘Quincy’ which chronicles the life and career of the great Quincy Jones.

Jones is a multi-instrumentalist, a hugely gifted songwriter, composer and arranger. He has produced world famous music, film and television. Jones is richly textured orchestration, moody soundtracks and smooth soulful jazz. He is ‘Fly Me to the Moon’ and ‘Sinatra at the Sands.’ He is ‘The Quintessence’, ‘Soul Bossa Nova’ and ‘Killer Joe’; ‘The Italian Job’ and ‘Ironside.’ He is ‘Give Me the Night,’ ‘Off the Wall’ and ‘Thriller.’ He is a pioneer, an entrepreneur, a raconteur. He is ‘The Dude.’

Let us consider some of the lessons that Jones can teach us.

1. ‘Know What You Come From’

Jones was born on the South Side of Chicago in 1933.

He had a tough childhood. The neighbourhood was poor and gang-ridden. A local youth pinned his hand to a fence with a switchblade. On another occasion he was attacked with an ice pick. At 7 he had to look on as his mother, who suffered from schizophrenia, was taken away in a straitjacket. 

‘You wanna be what you see, and that’s all we saw.’

His father, a carpenter, took him away from it all, first to stay in rural Kentucky with his grandmother, a former slave, and then to Seattle, where Jones Snr got a job in the Naval Shipyard. 

When he was 11 Jones broke into a military store and discovered an upright piano. 

‘The first time I touched it, it’s like every drop of blood, my heart and soul, and every cell in my body, said: ‘This is what you’re going to do for the rest of your life.’’

Jones learned percussion, French horn, tuba, trombone and sousaphone.  He became particularly adept at the trumpet. He hung out in nightclubs and by 14 he was playing in the Bumps Blackwell Band. Around this time he also met 16-year-old Ray Charles and they became lifelong friends.

In 1951 Jones earned a scholarship to Seattle University, and he subsequently transferred to the Berklee College of Music in Boston.

Jones was now on his way up, but he never forgot his roots.

‘To know what you come from, it makes it easier to get where you’re going.’

Quincy Jones conducts his all-star orchestra during a studio rehearsal in 1959.

2. Find the Thing You Can Control

‘Music was the one thing I could control. It was the one thing that offered me my freedom.’

Jones joined the Lionel Hampton Band and embarked on tours of the US that entailed 70 straight nights of performance. In the South he encountered the grim realities of segregation. He took solace in his music.

‘Not one drop of my self worth depends on your acceptance of me.’

3. ‘Learn to Deal with the Valleys’

Jones settled in New York where he made a living taking freelance commissions, writing, performing and arranging. His big break came when Dinah Washington hired him to arrange her next album. He subsequently worked with Louie Armstrong, Sarah Vaughan, Count Basie, Duke Ellington and Ray Charles.

All was going well. And yet Jones was mortified when his sick mother, having tracked him down performing in Birdland, admonished him for playing the devil’s music. Count Basie offered consolation:

‘Learn to deal with the valleys. The hills will take care of themselves.’

4. ‘You Can’t Know if You Don’t Go’

Jones toured Europe with Lionel Hampton, and the Middle East and South America with Dizzy Gillespie. He developed a lifelong taste for travel, for meeting local people and experiencing different cultures. 

‘Get into the lifestyle of the real people in the country...You can’t know if you don’t go.’

5. Study Your Craft

In 1957 Jones moved to Paris, where he studied with Nadia Boulanger, the renowned composer and teacher of contemporary music. 

‘The more restrictions you place on your music, the more freedom you have.’

Boulanger encouraged him to think outside his jazz upbringing and to consider the history of all kinds of music.

‘There are only 12 notes and you should really investigate what everybody did with those 12 notes.’

6. Study the Business

In 1959 Jones took his own 18-piece orchestra on the road across North America and Europe with the musical ‘Free and Easy.’ Though the concerts met enthusiastic audiences and rave reviews, the earnings failed to support a band of that size. 

'We had the best jazz band on the planet, and yet we were literally starving. That's when I discovered that there was music, and there was the music business. If I were to survive, I would have to learn the difference between the two.'

To ease his financial problems Jones took a job back in New York working for Mercury Records. At the age of 28 he became the first African American Vice-President of a major label. Working for the first time in the pop sphere, he produced million-selling singles for Lesley Gore, including 'It's My Party' and ‘You Don’t Own Me.’

7. Trust Your Partners

In 1964 Frank Sinatra hired Jones to arrange and conduct an album with Count Basie, ‘It Might as Well Be Swing.’ Jones went on to oversee the singer's classic live album, ‘Sinatra at the Sands.’ 

Jones’ relationship with Sinatra was a fertile one. It was sustained by mutual respect and good faith. 

‘No contract, just a handshake.’

8. Don’t Put Yourself in a Box

Throughout his career Jones resisted traditional categorisation.

‘In order for music to grow, the critics must stop categorising and let the musicians get involved in all different facets of music. We will die if we get stuck in one area of music.’

In 1964 Jones was invited by film director Sidney Lumet to compose the soundtrack for ‘The Pawnbroker.’ He relocated to Los Angeles and over subsequent years his film credits included ‘In Cold Blood’, ‘In the Heat of the Night’ and ‘The Italian Job.’ He also turned his hand to TV themes, among which were ‘Ironside,’ ‘The Cosby Show’ and ‘Roots.’

9. ‘Do It Well or Not at All’
In the 1960s Jones continued to work as an arranger for a galaxy of jazz stars. In the 1970s he went on to produce the Brothers Johnson, Rufus and Chaka Khan, and George Benson. He was also releasing a series of his own smooth jazz and soul albums. He had a phenomenal work ethic that he’d picked up from his father.

'Once a task is just begun, never leave until it's done. Be the labor great or small, do it well or not at all.'

In fact Jones was pushing himself too hard. In 1974 he suffered a brain aneurism from which he was lucky to recover.

10. Be Underestimated

In 1978, when Jones was working on the soundtrack for movie musical ‘The Wiz’, Michael Jackson asked him to produce his upcoming solo album. This was something of a challenge: many critics were sceptical of Jackson’s ability to evolve beyond a child-star; and the record company was not convinced that jazz-steeped Jones fitted the brief. Jackson and Jones pressed on.

‘The best position to be in is to be underestimated. Because if you’re underestimated no one expects anything.’

The resulting record, ‘Off the Wall,’ was a pop-soul classic and sold 20 million copies. 

11.  ‘Leave Room for the Magic’

In 1982 Jones produced Jackson’s next album, ‘Thriller.’ Jones was a perfectionist, obsessed with detail, but he was always careful to leave room for creative flair and spontaneity.

 ‘Always leave 20-30% of room for the Lord to walk through the room. Because then you’re leaving room for the magic, and records are about capturing the magic - real magic moments - on tape. That’s what communicates: the magic of the moment.’

When Jones asked Eddie Van Halen to play his famous solo on 'Beat It,’ he avoided giving him specific instructions.

‘I’m not gonna sit here to try and tell you what to play. The reason you’re here is because of what you do play.’

12. Don’t Allow Time for Paralysis from Analysis

Jones worked on ‘Thriller’ with his crack team of engineer Bruce Swedien and Cleethorpes-born songwriter Rod Temperton. They didn’t have the luxury of time, but sometimes that can be a blessing.

‘We didn’t have time for paralysis from analysis. We made ‘Thriller’ in 8 weeks.’

The resultant record sold 60 million copies and became the bestselling album in history.

13. ‘Be Humble with Your Creativity and Grateful for Your Success’

Despite his phenomenal career, Jones was always alert to the fine line between confidence and arrogance.

‘You need confidence, but an ego is just an overdressed insecurity.’

In 1985 Jones coaxed a stunning array of talent into the studio to record ‘We Are the World’ and raise money for the victims of famine in Ethiopia. He had a sign taped on the entrance:

‘Check Your Ego at the Door’. 

14.  ‘Keep On Keepin’ On’

‘You only live 26,000 days. And so I’m gonna wear all of them out…They gonna know we came through here.’

As the years rolled on Jones sustained his tireless activity across a number of fields. He co-produced ‘The Color Purple’ and ‘The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air.’ He helped start Vibe magazine which became a hip-hop bible. His career spans over 60 years in the entertainment industry.

Jones comes across as a man, not just of phenomenal talent, but also of great charm.  

‘I can party all the time. Never had a problem with that.’

He’s also capable of self-reflection. Conscious of the impact that his mother’s illness and absence had on him in later life, he gives a compelling explanation for his eternal restlessness.

‘I realised from the time I was a little boy to that moment I was always running, always trying to fill that black hole in my soul. I ran because there was nothing behind me to hold me up. I ran because I thought that was all there was to do. I thought that to stay in one place was to die.’

Jones acknowledges that his industry, perfectionism and lust for life may have come at a cost to his home life. He has been married three times and has had seven children with five different women. At the end of the Netflix documentary, his daughter Rashida Jones, who directed the film, asks her father:

‘Is there anything that you think that you’ve tried to do that you didn’t succeed at?’

Jones pauses for a moment and smiles back at her:

‘Marriage.’

'Remember the days when we never had a dime
And our dreams seemed a million miles away.
But we made it baby
Facin' the bad times with a smile.
Here we are and we're growin' stronger day by day,
Cause we got love times love.
It's always there for us to share.
And girl it sure feels good to know
You're by my side.
Cause we're just two high hearts
That beat as one forever on,
With love times love to keep us satisfied every night.’

George Benson, ‘Love X Love’ (R Temperton) 

No. 286

Perilous Prizes: Do Awards Impede Progress?

Faye Dunaway by Terry O’Neill

'I don't deserve this award, but I have arthritis and I don't deserve that either.’
Jack Benny

I won my first prize at St Mary’s Primary School. 

Our teacher Mrs Hughes was an elderly Irish lady enamoured of times tables and using every inch of the exercise book. A strict disciplinarian, she was not afraid to issue reprimands with a wooden ruler to the rear. But I respected her for her fierce enthusiasms and academic ambition. She once had us 9-year-olds estimating the height of the church tower by measuring its shadow - a re-enactment of the experiment carried out on the pyramid at Giza by Thales of Miletus in the 6thcentury BC. 

One day Mrs Hughes invited us to participate in a speech competition. We would have to compose a short address about any subject that took our interest, and then deliver it to our assembled classmates.

The first challenge was to find a suitable topic. Football and telly were bound to be popular, and so I determined to expound on a more esoteric theme. I had always been interested in medieval history and had recently been given a colourful book about heraldry. It was a magical world of arms and armour; of argent, azure, mottoes and mantling. My book outlined the key terms and traditions, and explained that having a distinctive coat of arms emblazoned on your tunic or shield made tidying up after a battle much more efficient.

So I decided to share my new enthusiasm for heraldry. And to amuse my classmates I would draft my own coat of arms. True to the spirit of the ancient craft I needed to design something that summarised the things that most mattered to me. This took a certain amount of unaccustomed self-reflection. Eventually within a shield device I drew some crossed ping pong bats and a lump of bread pudding. Since most coats of arms also had some animal participation, I introduced Granddad’s bull terrier Chips supporting my shield on one side, and the Carroll family guinea pig Bubbles on the other. 

On the allotted day I delivered my oration with the confidence of youth, and Mrs Hughes awarded me first prize - as much I suspect for the abstruse subject matter as anything else. I confess I was rather pleased with myself.

My classmates, however, were less impressed, and mocked me unsparingly for weeks to come. Winning the competition had certainly not made me more popular. Nobody likes a smartarse.

I had learned for the first time that prizes have pitfalls. 

'Shoot a few scenes out of focus. I want to win the foreign film award.’
Billy Wilder

A recent analysis of Nobel Prize winners, published in the Journal of the Royal Society Interface (The Times, 22 April 2020), suggests that winning this most prestigious award can handicap scientists’ subsequent pioneering efforts. In the two years after receiving the Nobel Prize, winners’ research output, measured in citations, dropped by an average of 11 per cent, and took four years to recover. This phenomenon has been dubbed ‘the curse of the Nobel.’

'The Nobel prize has often been described as the kiss of death… You constantly get invited to all sorts of events, and even if you say no to 99 per cent of them, it can be very distracting.’
Venki Ramakrishnan, President of the Royal Society, winner of the 2009 Nobel prize in Chemistry

It seems that Nobel winners are befuddled by all the attention they receive. They can become complacent. And sometimes they are emboldened to explore esoteric areas of research that are of particular personal interest, rather than pursuing answers to the most pressing problems in their field.

‘Competitions are for horses, not artists.’
Bela Bartok

We may recognise ‘the curse of the Nobel’ in our own commercial world. We all love to award prizes, to celebrate success, to recognise and reward excellence. We like to think that accolades encourage healthy competition and worthwhile endeavour; that they set standards and educate the young.

But in my experience trophies can also prompt complacency, arrogance and affectation; and some of the awards events are sadly just festivals of conceit. Winners often develop a tendency to believe their own PR, ascribing success to their individual genius rather than to team collaboration. And some subsequently are less attentive to criticism, demanding to work only on the best briefs or their own pet projects. 

I wonder: Are prizes perilous? Would we win more if we awarded less? Would we just be better off without them?

'In the light of his love,
In the light of reflection.
What a world this world
Sometimes oh so it seems.
Eyes to the sky in the silver gift friendship.
Glittering prize
Is the price of lost love.’

Simple Minds, ‘Glittering Prize’ (C Burchill / J Kerr / M MacNeil / D Forbes)

 No. 285

‘His Girl Friday’: The Easy Life or the Difficult Job?

Cary Grant and Rosalind Russell in His Girl Friday. Photograph: Cine Text/Allstar

'You've got an old fashioned idea divorce is something that lasts forever, 'til death do us part.' Why divorce doesn't mean anything nowadays, Hildy, just a few words mumbled over you by a judge.’
Walter Burns, ‘His Girl Friday’

'His Girl Friday' is a magnificent 1940 screwball comedy that takes satirical pops at conventional family life, corrupt city leadership and cynical journalism.

The film co-stars Cary Grant as Walter Burns, the hard-boiled editor of the Morning Post, and Rosalind Russell as Hildy Johnson, Walter's ex-wife and the Post’s star reporter. 

In the play on which the movie was based (‘The Front Page’ by Ben Hecht and Charles MacArthur) the two lead roles were male. But after hearing his female secretary read the part of Hildy in rehearsal, director Howard Hawks decided that the character should be played by a woman. The switch, with appropriate re-writes, added a compelling extra dimension.

Walter: Sorta wish you hadn't done that, Hildy.
Hildy : Done what?
Walter: Divorced me. Makes a fella lose all faith in himself... Almost gives him a feeling he wasn't wanted.

The film is stylish, funny and quick-paced. Hawks was determined to break the record for the fastest film dialogue: the delivery of the lines has been measured at 240 words a minute, compared with a norm of 140. He encouraged his actors to be spontaneous, to talk over each other, to make ‘in’ jokes and sarcastic asides. Multiple microphones were employed rather than the usual single boom mike, so that every word could be captured, and a sound technician had to switch from mike to mike on cue. Concerned that Grant had been allocated better lines, Russell hired an advertising copywriter to script her ‘ad libs.’

The movie begins with Hildy informing Walter that she is engaged to be re-married. She plans to pack in her career as a journalist and settle down to a quiet life in Albany with a dependable insurance man. 

Hildy: He's kind and he's sweet and he's considerate. He wants a home and children.
Walter: Sounds more like a guy I ought to marry.

Walter will have none of it and is determined to win Hildy back.

Walter: I'd know you anytime...Any place...
Hildy: Anywhere. Aw, you're repeating yourself, Walter. That's the speech you made the night you proposed.
Walter: Yes, I notice you still remember.
Hildy: Of course, I remember it. If I didn't remember it, I wouldn't have divorced you.

Walter is particularly concerned about losing his star reporter. Her departure would, he says, make her 'a traitor to journalism.' Hildy is not convinced.

'A journalist? Now, what does that mean? Peeking through keyholes, chasing after fire engines, waking people up in the middle of the night and asking them if Hitler's gonna start another war, stealing pictures off old ladies? I know all about reporters, Walter. A lot of daffy buttinskies runnin' around without a nickel in their pocket. And for what? So a million hired girls and motorman's wives will know what's going on?’

Walter determines to sabotage Hildy’s plans, tempting her to cover one last story: the execution of Earl Williams, a bashful bookkeeper convicted of murdering a policeman. Hildy initially resists the offer.

'I wouldn't cover the burning of Rome for you if they were just lighting it up.’

Walter employs all manner of deceit and trickery to persuade Hildy to take the brief. Eventually she agrees.

The action shifts to the pressroom of the criminal court, where we meet the veteran journalists: gum chewing, poker playing, cigar smoking, visor wearing. They are to a man cynical and unprincipled.

Hildy bribes the warden of the jail to let her interview Williams in his cell. Having written an eloquent and sympathetic piece in double-quick time, she bids farewell to her former colleagues and competitors.

'And that my friends is my farewell to the newspaper game! I'm going to be a woman; not a news-getting machine. I'm gonna have babies and take care of them and give them cod liver oil and watch their teeth grow and - and, oh dear, if I ever see one of them look at a newspaper again, I'm going to brain ‘em!’

However, at this point Williams escapes, and with everyone out searching the city for him, the convict presents himself to Hildy in the pressroom. Sensing the possibility of a scoop, she hides Williams in a roll-top desk. She is now torn between securing her story and leaving with her fiancé on the train to Albany. Walter, who in pursuit of his objective has had Hildy’s fiancé arrested and her future mother-in-law abducted, arrives to press his case.

'There are 365 days in a year one can get mad. How many times have you got a murderer locked up in a desk? Once in a lifetime! Hildy, you got the whole city by the seat of the pants... This isn't just a story you're covering - it's a revolution. This is the greatest yarn in journalism since Livingstone discovered Stanley.’

In the end Hildy decides to stay on at the Post and to remarry Walter. But this is not a conventional romantic ending. There are no hugs and kisses. There is no emotional embrace. One senses that she is not really choosing Walter. She is choosing the work she excels at and the career she loves; a difficult job over an easy life.

‘His Girl Friday’ portrays journalism as unscrupulous and underhand; as arduous and poorly paid. But ultimately it suggests that it is a worthwhile profession. It is challenging and rewarding, intellectually compelling and socially important. It is a proper job done by real people.

'You can get married all you want, Hildy, but you can't quit the newspaper business...I know you, Hildy. I know what quitting would mean to you!... It would kill ya!’

We all have cause to complain about work: about our pay and conditions; about long hours and short tempers; about cantankerous Clients, eccentric colleagues and egotistical bosses. We may perhaps get offers of more lucrative positions in less arduous sectors. But ‘His Girl Friday’ prompts us to ask ourselves some fundamental questions: Do I like my colleagues and my work culture? Am I good at this? Am I learning and being challenged? Am I realising my potential? Am I doing something worthwhile?  Do I really love my job?

'Look at the pictures taken by the cameras, they cannot lie.
The truth is in what you see, not what you read.
Little men tapping things out, points of view.
Remember their views are not the gospel truth.
Don't believe it all.
Find out for yourself.
Check before you spread
News of the world.’
The Jam, ’News of the World’ (B Foxton)

No. 284

Thinking Bauhaus: 'The Mind is Like an Umbrella. It’s Most Useful When Open’

Poster for the Bauhausaustellung (1923)

The Bauhaus was a radical German art school that was based in three different locations between 1919 and 1933. Formed in the aftermath of World War I, it sought to reorder the world for the modern age, breaking down traditional barriers between disciplines, rewriting the fundamentals of creative theory and practice, celebrating functionalism and the social value of design.

'Our guiding principle was that design is neither an intellectual nor a material affair, but simply an integral part of the stuff of life, necessary for everyone in a civilized society.’
Walter Gropius

Bauhaus had its own style: sans-serif fonts, bold geometric shapes, primary colours; blue circles, red squares and yellow triangles. Bauhaus was tubular steel furniture, metal tea infusers, graphic wallpaper and industrial lamps. It was practical materials, block-based architectural designs; steel, glass and concrete. It was flat roofs, ribbon windows and cantilevered balconies; light and airy open interiors. Bauhaus was elegant simplicity; no frills or ornamentation, no gimmicks or jokes. 

Portrait of Walter Gropius, photo: E. Bieber, c. 1928

‘An object is defined by its nature. In order, then, to design it to function correctly – a container, a chair, or a house – one must first of all study its nature: for it must serve its purpose perfectly, that is, it must fulfil its function usefully, be durable, economical, and 'beautiful.''
Walter Gropius

Bauhaus became a free-thinking international movement, a powerful force in 20th century modernism. Let us consider some of the factors that made it so influential.

1. Set Out to Create Something Completely New

The school was founded by architect Walter Gropius in Weimar in 1919.  

Gropius had been a modernist from the outset. He subscribed to the principle that architecture and design should look forward, not back; that ‘form follows function.’  In 1910 he co-designed the seminal Fagus Werk shoe factory, with its large glass façade that flooded the workspaces with light.

Gropius’ career was interrupted by service in World War I, in which he was awarded two Iron Crosses. He emerged with an absolute conviction that everything in society had to change.

‘I still remember when I came out of the First World War I thought everything would snap back as it has been before. But all of a sudden I became aware that I would have to take part in something completely new which would change the conditions I have been living in before.’
Walter Gropius

2. Break Down the Walls

'One of the outstanding achievements of the new constructional technique has been the abolition of the separating function of the wall.'
Walter Gropius

Inspired by the concept of the Gesamtkunstwerk ( the total work of art) and intent on demolishing the division between the artisan and the artist, Gropius began his new school by merging Weimar’s Colleges of Fine Art and Applied Art, putting all the creative disciplines under one roof. 

‘This was just the idea of the Bauhaus to mix up these things – to see there was no barrier of any real meaning between a painting or the other things of our environment.’
Walter Gropius

3. Write a Manifesto

In order to attract students and teachers, Gropius published a Manifesto setting out his bold ambition for the project.

'Together let us desire, conceive, and create the new structure of the future, which will embrace architecture and sculpture and painting in one unity and which will one day rise toward Heaven from the hands of a million workers like the crystal symbol of a new faith.’

The Manifesto was a clarion call to radical thinkers all over Germany and beyond. Gropius dispensed with academic entry requirements, so that talented young people could study at the Bauhaus irrespective of their educational background, gender or nationality. Between 150 and 200 students were registered, including 18 year olds and ex-soldiers. Up to half of students were women (radical for the time) and nearly a third were foreign.

4. Build a Team

Gropius could not draw and was dependent on partners throughout his career. Consequently his school encouraged collaboration across disciplines and with each other. He determined that he could make a bigger impact on society by establishing a collective of diverse talents with its own unique culture and values.

‘I was aware after what I had done already as an architect that in order to really penetrate – that couldn’t be done by one person alone. You have to build a whole school which follows certain principals out of which it may develop – and that gave me the idea for organising the Bauhaus.’ 
Walter Gropius

In the first few years of the school Gropius recruited Swiss painters Johannes Itten and Paul Klee, Russian painter Wassily Kandinsky, German painter, sculptor and designer Oskar Schlemmer, and Hungarian designer László Moholy-Nagy. It was an extraordinary line-up of creative talent.

Bauhaus curriculum

5. Teach Everyone the Fundamentals 

'Specialists are people who always repeat the same mistakes.’
Walter Gropius

From 1919 to 1922 the primary syllabus was shaped by Johannes Itten. Traditionally art students had begun their studies by copying the works of the Old Masters. Itten designed the Vorkurs or ‘preliminary course’ to enable all students to explore the fundamental principles of design, considering the characteristics of basic shapes (the line, the plane, the circle, the spiral); of materials, composition, colour and movement.

‘A line is a dot that went for a walk.’
Paul Klee

This foundation course remains the basis for art education all over the world today.

6. Let Work Become Play

'Before you draw a tiger, you have to roar like a tiger.’
Johannes Itten

Itten was a strict vegetarian who taught meditation and relaxation techniques in order to create self-awareness and to gain access to one’s intuition. His students were encouraged to feel the resonances of different objects, to dance the colour blue, to draw a thistle as if one had just been pricked by it. He was interested in the creative potential of play.

'Play becomes joy - joy becomes work - work becomes play.'
Johannes Itten

7. Teach a Trade

After the six month foundation course, students were allocated to craft-specific workshops: sculpture, joinery, metalwork, ceramics, stained glass, graphic design, stagecraft, weaving. Training in the craft workshops was complemented by lectures in the arts, sciences and professional practice. 

'Art itself cannot be taught, but craftsmanship can. Architects, painters, sculptors are all craftsmen in the original sense of the word.’
Walter Gropius

Director’s office, Weimar

8. Create an Alliance Between Art and Technology

Itten became a dedicated follower of Mazdaznan, a fire cult derived from Zoroastrianism. He shaved his head, printed star shapes on his scalp and wore voluminous smocks. Many of his students followed suit and developed a cultish loyalty to him. Gradually his vision diverged from that of Gropius.

Gropius wanted to align the school with the machine age and with the broader needs of society: creating affordable functional homes; embracing mass production, standardisation and uniformity.

‘We want an architecture adapted to our world of machines, radios and fast cars.'
Walter Gropius

In 1923 Moholy-Nagy took over Itten's preliminary course.  Setting aside the spirituality and mysticism, he made the education more rational and technical.

At the Weimar exhibition that same year, Bauhaus proclaimed: ‘Art and technology. A new unity.’

9. Learn by Doing

Tea Infuser and Strainerca. 1924 Marianne Brandt

Bauhaus students honed their skills working on real projects. They were taught to start from scratch; to learn by doing. As the head of the metal workshop, Moholy-Nagy advocated the development of prototypes and thereby the transition from manual craftsmanship to industrial technologies. 

‘Architecture begins where engineering ends.’
Walter Gropius

The shift towards functionality was also reflected in student fashion: increasingly the men wore close-fitting suits, and the women cut their hair in a bob and wore trousers or knee-length skirts.

10. Promote from Within

Gropius created such a strong, distinctive culture at the Bauhaus that the best way to sustain the institution’s identity was to promote from within.

‘The first generation of young people educated in the Bauhaus were now ready to be head of the workshop, and that’s what I did.’
Walter Gropius

Hungarian architect and furniture designer Marcel Breuer and German artist Josef Albers, two of the first students, were promoted to Master in 1925.

11. Seriously Party 

Despite the Bauhaus’ high ideals and intellectual rigour, it was seriously committed to revelry.

Bauhaus parties were large-scale affairs. Sets were designed by Oskar Schlemmer’s stage workshop and dance teachers were hired to teach the latest moves. Students created their own costumes, vying with each other to be the most inventive. 

Each jamboree had a theme. There was The Kite Festival, The Beard, Nose and Heart Party, and The White Festival - for which guests were required to come ‘2/3 white, 1/3 coloured; stippled, diced and striped.’ The metal-themed event in 1929 was subtitled the ‘bells, jingling, tinkling party.’ Guests wore costumes made from tin foil, frying pans, and spoons, and entered by sliding down a chute into one of several rooms filled with silver balls.

‘Tell me how you party and I’ll tell you who you are.’
Oskar Schlemmer

Gropius appreciated the strategic value of parties: they stimulate creativity and embody interdisciplinary practice; they form memories and build community.

A 1920s Bauhaus costume party, featuring designs by Oskar Schlemmer

12. Don’t Stay Where You Are Not Appreciated

‘Limitation makes the creative mind inventive.’
Walter Gropius

The Bauhaus was inevitably caught up in the maelstrom of German politics between the wars. Weimar, a relatively conservative town, became suspicious of the students’ eccentricities, and ascendant right wing politicians dismissed the school as utopian and Bolshevist. When the nationalists took over the state legislature in 1924, the Bauhaus budget was cut by half.

Rather than moderate the school’s culture, Gropius decided to up sticks and leave. In 1925 he relocated the Bauhaus to Dessau, which had a liberal government and a Junkers engineering factory. There he designed a new school building that opened in 1926. Constructed from reinforced concrete and glass, and with a white-plastered façade, ‘it floated with a sparkling insubstantiality.’

But Gropius had had enough of political meddling, and in 1928 he resigned. Swiss architect Hannes Meyer took over as Director, and the focus shifted still further from aesthetics towards functionality. 

Bauhaus School, built by Walter Gropius (1925-1926) in Dessau, Germany

13. Put People First

'The people's needs instead of the need for luxury!’
Hannes Meyer

Meyer's approach was to research people’s needs and scientifically develop the appropriate design solution. He favoured measurements and calculations, along with the use of off-the-shelf architectural components to reduce costs.

‘These are the only motives when building a house. 1. sex life, 2. sleeping habits, 3. pets, 4. gardening, 5. personal hygiene, 6. weather protection, 7. hygiene in the home, 8. car maintenance, 9. cooking, 10. heating, 11. exposure to the sun, 12. services.’
Hannes Meyer

Meyer brought the Bauhaus its two most significant building commissions: a set of apartment blocks in Dessau and the ADGB Trade Union School in Bernau-by-Berlin. Under his Directorship the school started making a profit. However his committed socialism put him at odds with an increasingly right wing local government, and in 1930 he was fired by the city council. 

14. Leave a Legacy

When German architect Ludwig Mies van der Rohe was appointed the next Director he endeavoured to take a non-political stance. 

'I don't want to be interesting. I want to be good.'
Ludwig Mies van der Rohe 

Nonetheless in 1931 the Nazi Party gained control of Dessau city council and so the Bauhaus moved on again. In late 1932 Mies rented a derelict factory in Berlin as the new Bauhaus home. However the political storm was closing in here too, and the school shut for good in 1933. 

'If your contribution has been vital there will always be somebody to pick up where you left off, and that will be your claim to immortality.’
Walter Gropius

Fleeing the Nazis, oppression and imminent war, the Bauhaus group emigrated far and wide.

Gropius came to Britain, but he found it ‘a land of fog and emotional nightmares.’ After three years, and having designed just one building - the Isokon apartment complex in Hampstead - he moved on to the USA and took a job as professor for architecture at Harvard.

Moholy-Nagy and Mies settled in Chicago where the former became the founding director of the New Bauhaus Graduate School and the latter took a role as director of the School of Architecture at the Armour Institute. Albers landed at the hugely influential Black Mountain College in North Carolina. Others relocated to Israel, Sweden, Canada and the USSR. 

Although the school lasted only 14 years, through teaching posts and private practice, the former students and Masters sustained the spirit of Bauhaus long into the 20th century. Bauhaus remains an inspiration to anyone who believes in the power of architecture and design to improve lives and shape a better society.

When Gropius died aged 86 in 1969 a spectacular metal-themed costume party was held in his memory in Cambridge, Massachusetts. To eerie electronic music a shimmering 30‐foot dragon weaved its way through the guests. They were painted head-to-toe in silver, wearing floor-length metallic gowns, and wrapped in metal boxes, colanders and air conditioning ducts. 

In his will Gropius had called, not for mourning, but for 'a fiesta - a la Bauhaus - drinking, laughing, loving.'

The Bauhaus story is told in the fascinating BBC documentary Bauhaus 100.

'Seventy-five, the same old jive.
Christ, won't you tell me why we're still alive?
Seventy-six, no kicks, you bet.
But no, no way we ain't dead yet.
But now it's here,
Our new year.
Gonna be seventy-eight
Revolutions a minute, seventy-eight
Revolutions a minute, seventy-eight
Revolutions a minute, now.’

Stiff Little Fingers, ’78 RPM’ (J Burns / G Ogilvie)

No. 283