URSABLOG: Clichés and Love Songs

Why is it that some truisms, clichés (hoary or otherwise) and rules of thumb stick in the mind more than others? I don’t mean those statements like “Japanese owners always sell at the best price they can get” or when a certain Greek owner buyers – or sells – a ship then it must be the right time to but – or sell – when even a little investigation will provide ample evidence that to the contrary. A recent, updated, example was “when the Koreans are buying you should be selling.” To condemn an entire nationality to the crime of stupid investment when the opposite can be proven quite easily when taken on a case-by-case basis seems a little, well, unsophisticated.

No, I mean statements like “be careful of catching a falling knife”, “sell at the top and buy at the bottom” and “shipping is a cyclical industry” which are so general, common place and difficult to argue against, or even expand on meaningfully, but stick in our brains because they contain an element of wisdom, of universality, that whilst we know we should be careful when the devil is in the detail, we use such sayings as the ultimate justification of what we are about to do, even when the data, or our gut feeling is telling us that this is all folly.

I think on one level, there is an element – at least for me – that there is so much information out there (market fluctuations, geopolitical developments, conflicting economic data for example) that we need to have a simple handle to hold on to, to push ourselves into action, justify or excuse our mistakes, or promote our successes. This perhaps explains the proliferation of memes and posts – particularly on LinkedIn I notice – that take quotes completely out of context to make a point, or say something ‘wise’ about where we may happen to be in our lives at that time. This is particularly irritating when the quote in question is incorrectly attributed or simply wrong.

But I am as guilty of the tendency to quote as the next owner of a smartphone: I like to show off my reading, knowledge, and apparent wisdom. I am trying to wean myself off the habit. But it seems that this habit may not entirely be our own fault, as it may actually be one of those many things that are hardwired into us, an evolutionary gift from a time when quick, instinctive action enabled us, and our species, to survive, procreate and live to fight another day.

Ted Gioia, who writes a blog called The Honest Broker (which may have attracted me in the first place) spent ten years researching and writing a book about love songs. He found two things that stood out:

–           Everybody knows hundreds of romantic love songs, and can even sing along to a lot of them, because the words are deeply embedded in our memories;

–           Most people are extremely embarrassed about this, and don’t want anyone to know.

This is perhaps because we like to think we are more sophisticated than we are. As Gioia points out:

“Music critics are especially ashamed of love songs. Ninety percent of pop songs are about love, as critic Dave Hickey pointed out, but critics prefer to write about the other ten percent… of course, they know [the love] songs, too—and can also sing along with all the words.”

I agree with Gioia when he says that one of the biggest reasons for this is that love songs remind us of our vulnerability, especially sad love songs. I am a sucker for them, especially ones dealing with loss, and hopelessness. When you listen to these songs you connect with a very real part of yourself, and when you sing them, you expose your vulnerability to others. But if when you are singing these songs and don’t feel that vulnerability, you will not be singing them well. You may have the perfect voice, and may be signing them perfectly, but unless you are connected to the emotion and showing it, you will not be listened to.

Gioia believes that love songs are the toughest, most battle-hardened music in the history of the world because the love song itself is inherently disruptive. He goes on to discuss the works of Sappho, a much-slandered poet which have nonetheless withstood the test of time,. He believes that the reason for this, and the reason that her works were not considered ‘serious’ at the time is because of the expression of a loss of control, a vulnerability that is common to all of us, and is discouraged because an admission of vulnerability, in relationships, in society, in life is seen as a weakness.

But Sappho’s admission to a “strange confusion” when she is tormented by a “tender pain” of love (at least in one translation) is an admission to something that is beyond her control, caused by something outside herself, but happening inside herself, which is pleasurable and uncomfortable at the same time.

I will leave the discussion of the works of Sappho to Gioia and others, but when I am at a taverna when Greek love songs – amongst the most tragically beautiful in the world – are being played it always impresses me the passion that everyone that knows the songs are singing with, which is usually almost everyone, which speaks of a universality and a sharing of the “tender pain” made witness by the singing of the song. The sentiments maybe corny, and commonplace, and unhip, but they are in all of use nonetheless.

The reason, I suspect, that truisms and clichés persist is because they provide a protection against the loss of control frequently experienced in the marketplace, the classroom, life in general. Stumbling upon and repeating quotes that help us make sense of our lives is a natural defence to the chaos we may be feeling at the time. However I am not sure if this is entirely wise, in business, in shipping or in life.

I was very fortunate a year or two ago to have a conversation with a Greek owner who is one of those whose actions and words are very much noted in the shipping world, particularly in the matter of buying and selling ships. I admire him for his success, but this man is also humble, hardworking and if you didn’t know him, you could walk past him in the street and pay him no notice, so unassuming and, well normal, he appears. He is not a superhero, nor does he want the world to view him as one.

What I noticed as the conversation went on, as I grilled him on his attitudes to investment and divestment was the frequency he said “I don’t know”. Don’t get me wrong, he knew a lot, and in detail, but he was vulnerable enough to admit that he didn’t have great insights into how the world works, or what the future held, or when would be the right time to buy or sell. He just acted when the time was right, based on the information he had to hand. He avoided big statements and did not expound on his philosophies; I suspect he didn’t have any. He also, refreshingly, admitted to the mistakes he had made more than the successes he had achieved. It was as if the mistakes were more important because they held more lessons to learn. I left the conversation impressed, thoughtful, and humbled.

I think it is dangerous to be swept up in market orthodoxy – there are so many stories of contrarians being more successful than those that follow the herd, that it is almost a business literary genre in itself – but very difficult to avoid. One place to start, maybe, is to question the truth of the statements made at any time. These statements, with their vague ring of wisdom, are dangerous because they keep us connected with the society around us, and we can fit in by speaking the same language. But by saying this, am I like one of those trendy music critics who want to appear different, but still are in thrall to what brings me comfort?

I could argue that of course business and emotional life is different, and we need different tools to navigate these different worlds. But this, for me, is not entirely satisfying, not the least because I know that emotion – or sentiment if you like – is as important factor in the markets as anything else. It is this that amplifies the peaks and troughs, and creates more profit for those that go against the sentiment at the top of the cycle and take advantage of opportunities at the bottom. I would also add that some of the most successful people in shipping are anything but humble or have any doubts whatsoever about what they know or don’t know.

But if there is a fundamental difference between these truisms and love songs, however valuable we find both of them. The truisms are necessary stabilisers in conversation, silence fillers, even if we act or otherwise in accordance with them. Love songs are a necessary expression of who and what we are. If you tell me you have never been truly in love where you have lost your mind and all control of your actions, and behave in a way that is alien to you and to those who know you best, I will look on you with pity: you have not really lived.

Even the most hard-hearted and successful shipowners and shipbrokers – not necessarily the same thing of course – are human, even if their humanity pops up in strange and unexpected – and unwelcome – ways. Truisms are commonplace and hard to live by, or up to but persist nonetheless. Love songs are equally as commonplace, but speak to a part of us that sometimes we would not care to admit exists. But being aware of both of these necessary elements of our very human nature, and acting authentically, in shipping and in life, is surely of some value in a world that seems to constantly undervalue both.

“Play it, Sam. Play ‘As Time Goes By.’”

Simon Ward