Latest news with #Kummer
Yahoo
24-04-2025
- Entertainment
- Yahoo
The Critic Who Translated Jazz Into Plain English
This is an edition of Time-Travel Thursdays, a journey through The Atlantic's archives to contextualize the present. Sign up here. 'Jazz has absorbed whatever was around from the very beginning,' the writer Francis Davis told Wen Stephenson in a 1996 interview. The same might have been said of Davis, who died last week at 78. Nate Chinen, writing for NPR, called Davis 'an articulate and gimlet-eyed cultural critic who achieved an eminent stature in jazz.' Davis wrote for The Atlantic for more than three decades, from 1984 to 2016, and was a contributing editor for much of that time. He also had a high-profile stint at The Village Voice, where he originated an annual jazz critics' poll that continues today elsewhere and now bears his name. (His influence can also be detected on NPR's Fresh Air, which is hosted by his widow, Terry Gross, and where he served as the program's first jazz critic.) Corby Kummer, a longtime Atlantic staffer who edited Davis, told me that one thing that set Davis apart was how catholic his taste was. 'There were no avant-garde novels or musicians or art-house movies he didn't know, and he knew absolutely everything mainstream,' Kummer said. 'He was high-low before 'high-low' was a concept. He took everything into account.' You can see Davis's breadth in, for example, his 1992 rave review of Seinfeld, which doubles as an erudite history of popular television. 'So much in Seinfeld is new to TV, beginning with its acknowledgment of the absurdity in the ordinary, that you tend to forget that it's based on a premise as old as the medium,' he wrote. Twelve years later, he wrote a moving eulogy for Johnny Cash, 'a Christian who didn't cast stones, a patriot who didn't play the flag card.' But Davis's jazz writing stands out the most, and means the most to me. He came to The Atlantic under the direction of the editor William Whitworth. As my colleagues Cullen Murphy and Scott Stossel wrote in an obituary last year, Whitworth was a serious jazz fan who had also been, in his youth, a serious trumpeter; he eventually chose a journalist's life over a musician's. Davis 'might have been Bill's favorite writer,' Kummer told me. The two men would trade album reviews and listen to music together, and Whitworth gave Davis wide latitude to follow his interests. That might help explain how, in the same calendar year, Davis published deep and definitive profiles of Benny Carter, an alto saxophonist who had been recording since the 1920s, and John Zorn, an impish and sometimes earsplitting avant-garde composer who shared little with Carter save the alto sax and the imprecise label of jazz. 'Zorn, in short, is exactly the sort of rude, overgrown adolescent you would go out of your way to avoid, if only he weren't so … well, interesting, important, and influential (at least potentially),' Davis wrote. (Davis's prediction has borne out: Zorn remains a central and only slightly calmer figure today.) Davis lamented that the music he loved was viewed as elitist, but he wrote about it in terms that could reach both serious fans and casual listeners. His confiding but lightly sardonic presence on the page brought you in, and his ability to translate jazz into plain English brought you along. In 1988, he captured how the members of the trumpeter Wynton Marsalis's band 'sound as though they were playing in four different time signatures. But actually they are stretching a basic quadruple meter four different ways, accenting different beats in every measure, and trusting that the listener will feel the downbeat in his bones. The effect is mesmerizing.' Davis's fundamental interest, though, was less musicological than anthropological. 'What does music mean to people?' he wondered. 'What does it signify to them?' I've always loved his description of the deceptively relaxed guitarist Bill Frisell: 'Even at its most melodic and high-stepping, Frisell's music seems haunted and disquieted, more Edward Hopper than Grant Wood or Norman Rockwell, evocative not just of rivers and prairies and small-town parades but of lost highways, dead-end streets, and heartbreak hotels.' Although Davis could write an immaculate sentence, his goal was not flash or provocation. 'He wasn't interested in being a cultural authority,' Kummer told me. 'He was interested, as the best writers are, in understanding what he thought by writing it out.' This meant that when he did make a judgment, it carried a great deal of weight. His verdict on Marsalis's retrospective orientation feels as solid now as it did 37 years ago: 'Progress is frequently a myth in jazz, as in most other aspects of contemporary life. But it is a myth so central to the romance of jazz that the cost of relinquishing it might be giving up jazz altogether.' The sureness of Davis's judgments makes me hesitate to contradict him, but I must. What I believe was Davis's final published piece was an essay in January that accompanied his eponymous poll, in which he disclosed that he'd entered hospice. His outlook on jazz journalism was grim. 'Maybe I was the last to learn that criticism had outlived its usefulness as far as the arts and entertainment industry were concerned,' he wrote. 'Or maybe only I have outlived mine.' On the contrary, his criticism has and will outlive him, much to the benefit of the listeners and readers who do too. Article originally published at The Atlantic
Atlantic
24-04-2025
- Entertainment
- Atlantic
The Critic Who Translated Jazz Into Plain English
This is an edition of Time-Travel Thursdays, a journey through The Atlantic 's archives to contextualize the present. Sign up here. 'Jazz has absorbed whatever was around from the very beginning,' the writer Francis Davis told Wen Stephenson in a 1996 interview. The same might have been said of Davis, who died last week at 78. Nate Chinen, writing for NPR, called Davis 'an articulate and gimlet-eyed cultural critic who achieved an eminent stature in jazz.' Davis wrote for The Atlantic for more than three decades, from 1984 to 2016, and was a contributing editor for much of that time. He also had a high-profile stint at The Village Voice, where he originated an annual jazz critics' poll that continues today elsewhere and now bears his name. (His influence can also be detected on NPR's Fresh Air, which is hosted by his widow, Terry Gross, and where he served as the program's first jazz critic.) Corby Kummer, a longtime Atlantic staffer who edited Davis, told me that one thing that set Davis apart was how catholic his taste was. 'There were no avant-garde novels or musicians or art-house movies he didn't know, and he knew absolutely everything mainstream,' Kummer said. 'He was high-low before 'high-low' was a concept. He took everything into account.' You can see Davis's breadth in, for example, his 1992 rave review of Seinfeld, which doubles as an erudite history of popular television. 'So much in Seinfeld is new to TV, beginning with its acknowledgment of the absurdity in the ordinary, that you tend to forget that it's based on a premise as old as the medium,' he wrote. Twelve years later, he wrote a moving eulogy for Johnny Cash, 'a Christian who didn't cast stones, a patriot who didn't play the flag card.' But Davis's jazz writing stands out the most, and means the most to me. He came to The Atlantic under the direction of the editor William Whitworth. As my colleagues Cullen Murphy and Scott Stossel wrote in an obituary last year, Whitworth was a serious jazz fan who had also been, in his youth, a serious trumpeter; he eventually chose a journalist's life over a musician's. Davis 'might have been Bill's favorite writer,' Kummer told me. The two men would trade album reviews and listen to music together, and Whitworth gave Davis wide latitude to follow his interests. That might help explain how, in the same calendar year, Davis published deep and definitive profiles of Benny Carter, an alto saxophonist who had been recording since the 1920s, and John Zorn, an impish and sometimes earsplitting avant-garde composer who shared little with Carter save the alto sax and the imprecise label of jazz. 'Zorn, in short, is exactly the sort of rude, overgrown adolescent you would go out of your way to avoid, if only he weren't so … well, interesting, important, and influential (at least potentially),' Davis wrote. (Davis's prediction has borne out: Zorn remains a central and only slightly calmer figure today.) Davis lamented that the music he loved was viewed as elitist, but he wrote about it in terms that could reach both serious fans and casual listeners. His confiding but lightly sardonic presence on the page brought you in, and his ability to translate jazz into plain English brought you along. In 1988, he captured how the members of the trumpeter Wynton Marsalis's band 'sound as though they were playing in four different time signatures. But actually they are stretching a basic quadruple meter four different ways, accenting different beats in every measure, and trusting that the listener will feel the downbeat in his bones. The effect is mesmerizing.' Davis's fundamental interest, though, was less musicological than anthropological. 'What does music mean to people?' he wondered. 'What does it signify to them?' I've always loved his description of the deceptively relaxed guitarist Bill Frisell: 'Even at its most melodic and high-stepping, Frisell's music seems haunted and disquieted, more Edward Hopper than Grant Wood or Norman Rockwell, evocative not just of rivers and prairies and small-town parades but of lost highways, dead-end streets, and heartbreak hotels.' Although Davis could write an immaculate sentence, his goal was not flash or provocation. 'He wasn't interested in being a cultural authority,' Kummer told me. 'He was interested, as the best writers are, in understanding what he thought by writing it out.' This meant that when he did make a judgment, it carried a great deal of weight. His verdict on Marsalis's retrospective orientation feels as solid now as it did 37 years ago: 'Progress is frequently a myth in jazz, as in most other aspects of contemporary life. But it is a myth so central to the romance of jazz that the cost of relinquishing it might be giving up jazz altogether.' The sureness of Davis's judgments makes me hesitate to contradict him, but I must. What I believe was Davis's final published piece was an essay in January that accompanied his eponymous poll, in which he disclosed that he'd entered hospice. His outlook on jazz journalism was grim. 'Maybe I was the last to learn that criticism had outlived its usefulness as far as the arts and entertainment industry were concerned,' he wrote. 'Or maybe only I have outlived mine.' On the contrary, his criticism has and will outlive him, much to the benefit of the listeners and readers who do too.
Forbes
07-04-2025
- Business
- Forbes
Kitson Sells $2 Billion New Build And Brokerage Yachts In 4 Years
They're young. They're driven. And they're focused. Kitson Yachts was founded in 2021, just four years ago, but they're already ranked second among U.S. yacht brokerage firms in number of yachts over 164 feet sold between 2022 and 2024. They've sold half of all preowned Feadships that have come to market, 2015 or newer, since 2021. Kitson's sales made up 8 percent of the total number of yachts over 230 feet sold to U.S. clients between 2022 and 2024. There's more. Two of the three co-founders, Michael Tabor and Brandon Kummer, made five sales totaling over 240 feet in less than two years. Brandon was the first broker younger than 32 to sell three Feadships. Feadship Royal Dutch Shipyards is one of the leading superyacht shipbuilders. Kitson's average yacht charter transaction size is $1.3 million, with an average charter boat length of 228 feet. Their average sale transaction features yachts over 164 feet. In late February, Kitson announced the successful sale of the under-construction, 240-foot Admiral Yacht Project Il Primo, acting as the seller's representative. Adding to the strong resume for this young firm, Kitson recently signed a partnership with TISG, The Italian Sea Group, as the authorized sales agency for North, South, and Central America. TISG is the parent company for Admiral, Tecnomar, Perini Navi, Picchiotti, NCA Refit, and Celi yacht brands. TISG delivered more than $440 million in revenues for 2024 and has more than 700 employees working on seven European production sites. Kitson commented, 'Kitson Yachts is thrilled to partner with the largest shipbuilder in Italy, The Italian Sea Group. We look forward to elevating the presence of TISG craftsmanship across the vast geography of the Americas,' aligned with Giovanni Costantino's accord, "I am sure that Kitson Yachts will be the perfect ambassador for TISG in a free market.' Kitson also recently unveiled ultra-posh new digs in Miami's Sunset Harbour neighborhood, making it an inviting space for clients to embrace the yachting pursuits of their family business. Needless to say, with a growing list of billionaires in North America and the fact that Americans make up about 45 percent of the superyacht industry, they are busy. Tabor comes from an investment banking and shipbuilding background. Kummer, Tabor says, is a yacht broker through and through. Their business model approaches these large transactions in an institutional, business-like way, working hard to understand what makes each client tick. Approaching clients in a concierge, family office philosophy, they earn trust and build confidence as they educate an already very astute client list. Kitson makes the programs work for their clients, rather than making the programs work for the industry. Tabor refers to it as unwriting the rules. Kummer adds that the industry status quo for new yacht brokers expects them to take progressive steps leading up to the sales of bigger, more prestigious yachts. Kitson ignored the learning curve and went right to the top, calling Feadship with a client early on, saying, 'Let's do this!' That one sale turned into three, and their trajectory has gone nowhere but up. These guys get it. A sale is not always about price. The superyacht industry is pushing its own limits in terms of amenities, technology, and absolute luxury, and those shiny new details are often attractive to buyers. Kitson helps clients sort through the details to build the yacht they want, which is often quite different from the yacht clients thought they wanted earlier in the buying process. Tabor and Kummer spend many all-nighters analyzing and comparing vessels, ideas, designers, and shipyards. They often end up building something very different from what was discussed in early conversations. Tabor adds that their job is to help clients through the process safely, with consistency, while having fun throughout the process. The easiest part of it all is to buy the boat. The work that goes into taking a client from 'I want a yacht,' through the entire process, to delivery and beyond. Tabor explains that their approach gets them thinking three to five years out, having those hard discussions with the client and solving problems through discussions that shape the brief. Some of the realities explored in those discussions are awkward. Elephants in the room, if you will. Kummer adds, 'Addressing that head-on is where you create the bond with the client.' He also noted that's what they love about the yachting business. One minute they are challenged by new construction, acting as technical surveyors, and the next minute they may be fulfilling the role of a therapist, working to understand the nuances of client behavior. If they have a 5-minute elevator pitch, they delivered it to Feadship. The conversation went something like, 'Let's not overcomplicate this. Let's go build you a yacht. We'll put the right team in place. We'll have your best interests at heart, but we're going to make it really fun, pain-free, and not stressful.' Working with Admiral Yachts, Kitson announced the 288-foot Project Spyder, scheduled for delivery in 2027. Working closely with the owner, Kitson developed a brief, then began their process, selecting TISG for its 3D technology and integrated digital platforms, Espen Øino for his exceptional, sleek exteriors, and FM Architettura for their chic interior design perspective. What's different about Spyder? Amid the gracious indoor spaces and expansive outdoor lures, Spyder welcomes 18 guests in nine staterooms. The owner's bridge deck suite features a circular private deck with great views. An upper deck and a forward-facing observation lounge, a 10 by 30-foot pool overlooking a 1,000 square foot expandable beach club, and an exterior silhouette, all designed around the owner's desire to bring several generations of family together for memorable journeys. In the end, Tabor concludes, 'It's all about taking really, really good care of our clients.' Kummer adds, 'Your reputation is everything.' All of the pieces of creating a custom superyacht come together on the day that puts owners on board for their first voyage on the superyacht of their dreams. Kummer admits that some owners are so overcome by emotion that it prompts a teardrop or two as they realize the sheer number of workers it has taken to build this precious new addition to their family. Kummer notes, 'It's the best reward ever because you're sharing that moment with some of the more powerful people in the entire world … it's just raw emotion. It's pretty special.'
