關於愛，我是個小學生。

TALKING MONEY WITH: ITZHAK PERLMAN

A Virtuoso Who Plays It Safe
By Geraldine Fabrikant
Sept. 22, 1996, NYT

IN 1959, Itzhak Perlman bought a high-quality Hill & Sons violin bow for $125. Today, he figures, it is worth about $7,000. ''Let's see, that means it has appreciated probably as much as the market,'' he said.

He's wrong. The bow is worth more than 50 times what it was then, while the Dow Jones industrial average has increased only eightfold.

But if Mr. Perlman has comparable acumen in picking stocks, he will probably never find out. When it comes to investing, Mr. Perlman, one of the world's great violinists, mainly turns a deaf ear. He knows what he knows about music, and knows what he does not know about the market. ''Stocks are for playing,'' he said emphatically in a recent interview at his sprawling summer home here. ''Stocks are not for serious people unless you do it full time.''

People who know Mr. Perlman and his music should not be surprised. His reputation rests on his extraordinarily polished playing of mainstream repertoire. His investing approach is equally conservative.

Mr. Perlman's biggest payoff may one day come from purchases that were not even meant as investments: his violins. He has traded up numerous times over the years and now owns a Stradivarius and a Guarneri, both of which he plays in public appearances. Each is probably now worth $1 million or more. Indeed, last year Mr. Perlman's mentor, Isaac Stern, sold one of his two Guarneris for $3.5 million, putting the money into a trust that will distribute the proceeds to charitable organizations after Mr. Stern's death.

Mr. Perlman's violins may well appreciate still more in the next few years. ''There are so few Cremona violins in existence to begin with, and the best ones are incredibly prized'' said Norman Lebrecht, author of ''When the Music Stops'' a new book on the classical music industry that has been published by Simon & Schuster in Britain. ''And the violins acquire a pedigree that arises from their owners. So a Heifitz Stradivarius or a Perlman Strad automatically increases in value by a six-figure amount.''

But if Mr. Perlman is knowledgeable about violins, he has little confidence in, or fascination with, the stock market.

''Betting on the stock market is as ludicrous as betting on the lottery, unless you are so independent financially that you can afford to give the money away,'' said Mr. Perlman, who has occasionally dabbled in stocks. ''To rely on it to make a living is foolishness. It's fine for people who know what they are doing.''

And it is clear that the great violinist will never spend the time necessary to master the market. Each year he performs 100 concerts and releases an average of two albums, leaving little time to read the financial pages, even if he were interested.

If he had the inclination, Mr. Perlman, who is 51, could certainly afford to take the risks. He has been a star since his early 20's, and Mr. Lebrecht says the violinist commands as much as $45,000 a concert. Between concerts and royalties, he would seem to be earning about $5.5 million a year.

But Mr. Perlman dismisses such calculations. ''Only in my dreams is that true,'' he said. ''It is absolutely not so. They don't know what they are talking about. I pay taxes. I have kids at school.''

Still, Mr. Lebrecht contends that Mr. Perlman is the fifth-highest-paid classical musician in the world, after Luciano Pavarotti, Placido Domingo, Jose Carreras and Zubin Mehta.

''Being wealthy and living well are two different things,'' Mr. Perlman said. If I wanted to stop playing next year and take a year to go around the world, I couldn't do it. I have to play.''

Indeed, despite Mr. Perlman's success, he said he was acutely aware that ''if I don't play, there is no money.''

''And playing helps sell the records,'' he added. ''Don't get me wrong, I am not sobbing, but that is true.''

And though Mr. Perlman is that rare celebrity, a classical music superstar, his cachet does not automatically command the payoff one might expect. Years ago, he agreed to do an American Express commercial that made him recognizable to millions. Remember the ad: ''Do you know me? I'm Itzhak Perlman . . . ''

One might guess that American Express paid Mr. Perlman a small fortune. ''That's not true,'' he virtually bellows. Though stars can receive as much as $100,000 these days for endorsements, he said: ''I got $10,000. Everybody got the same: me, Luciano, the others . . . But I was happy to do it. It was great publicity for the records.'' He has since done television commercials for Sara Lee in the United States and Fuji Xerox in Japan and a radio commercial for Paine Webber. But he concedes that classical musicians are not at the top of the list of celebrities.

''And I will only do commercials that relate to quality,'' Mr. Perlman added.

His investing rules are equally strict. When he does invest, it is with small amounts that he is fully prepared to lose. ''If somebody says put up a couple of thousand dollars in a stock, if I do it, I feel like kissing the money goodbye,'' Mr. Perlman said.

HE had just that experience years ago, and he never forgot it. He can recall a time when he and his wife, Toby, decided to take the plunge. ''We put some money into Penn Central,'' he said. ''At that time, the money was very, very important to us. It was hard-earned money. We actually did it because we felt it was the right thing to do. After all, you are talking about a company that was then a blue-chip company. We are not crying about it. We put up maybe $1,000 and even at that time, we had the attitude that with stocks you never know. It is roulette.

''And do you remember what happened to Penn Central? Penn Central went pfft,'' he said, waving his hands in the air dismissively. (The huge railroad company declared bankruptcy in 1970.) ''Now I guess you would call it a gray-chip company.''

Today Mr. Perlman rarely takes such chances. He invests in Treasury bills, certificates of deposit and bonds. ''Whatever investment is safe, insured, conservative -- that is fine with me,'' he said emphatically.

Stephen Cohn, a senior partner at Sage Financial Group, a financial planning company, said Mr. Perlman might have that attitude because ''he has enough money that he doesn't want any kind of risk, or because he doesn't feel that he can control the productivity of that money, and it is being handed over to other people.''

Though many analysts say bonds are a poor choice for people in their 50's because they offer little hedge against inflation, Mr. Perlman, who has five children, doesn't care one bit. ''They give you 3, 4, 5 percent,'' he said. ''Maybe that is not as good as the stock market, but at least you don't lose it.''

Mr. Perlman said that a single associate whom he trusts chooses the investments, and that he was not even sure whether his money was primarily in Treasury issues, other bonds or certificates of deposit. ''I leave that stuff to the professionals and someone I trust,'' he explained. ''I put the money so that it is safe for my kids.''

Gesturing expansively around the spacious green and white living room of his country home, he added, ''We have mortgages to pay.''

The traditional white clapboard house, which the family bought a decade ago, is large and inviting but unpretentious, though a local realtor estimated that because of its size and location it would fetch $3 million to $4 million today. The living room has oversized flowered sofas, a grand piano and the requisite summer books, like Joe Klein's ''Primary Colors.'' The only signs that its owner is a musician are a copy of the complete Beethoven string quartets tucked underneath a coffee-table book on English roses, a framed copy of a violin concerto by Henri Vieuxtemps and a copy of the Chaconne by Johann Sebastian Bach, written on a single page.

Having contracted polio at age 4, Mr. Perlman moves about on an electric tricycle, dressed in slacks, a sports shirt and plaid slippers. Two dogs, Latke and Muni, both soft-coated wheaten terriers, follow him around the house.

Mr. Perlman was born in 1945 in Israel of parents who had fled Poland in the early 1930's. He became infatuated with the violin after he heard it on the radio when he was three and a half, and began practicing in earnest after his illness. His earliest sessions were on a toy fiddle.

A big break came when Ed Sullivan visited Israel searching for new talent and included Mr. Perlman, who was just 13, in a program featuring Israelis. Soon after, Mr. Perlman and his parents moved to New York. He studied at Juilliard with the renowned instructor Dorothy DeLay, and continued his academic studies at home with tutors so he would have more time for the violin. By the late 1960's, Mr. Perlman was already building his reputation.

But despite his success, Mr. Perlman said he had never felt rich. ''I always worry -- I worry about $100 here and $300 there,'' he said, adding good-naturedly, ''We had colleges and tuitions and blah, blah blah.''

The family's approach has always been to be open about money and what things cost. ''We always discussed whether we could afford something or not,'' he recalled of the days when the children were younger. Toby, his wife of 31 years, a petite woman with gray hair and an extraordinarily warm smile, gave up her own career as a violinist after she married. She proposed to him the first time she heard him play, but ''it didn't work right away,'' she recalled.

For Mr. Perlman it was easy to teach his children a down-to-earth approach to money, because ''Toby and I were both born poor.''

''We were very compatible,'' he added, laughing. ''Even now, when Toby sees a blouse that she thinks is too expensive, she will say, 'Forget about it.' She loves to buy things on sale.''

Not only have they passed on to the children a conservative approach to spending, but with the exception of Noah, 27, who is studying to become an entertainment lawyer, the children all have an interest in performing: Navah, 26, is a concert pianist; Leora, 22, is studying voice; Rami, 17, has studied trumpet and drums, and Ariella, 12, plays the flute.

Like most people, Mr. Perlman grumbles about income taxes. ''They kill you,'' he said. Mr. Perlman, who performs around the world, could of course be living in countries with lower tax rates. And inevitably some advisers have suggested that he would be better off financially by doing so. ''Yes, yes,'' he says impatiently. But he shows little interest in such ideas, and a vague distaste for wheeling and dealing.

''I know a lot of people do that,'' he said. ''And people tell me I could too. But you live in a place that you have been living in for so many years, and it's comfortable. The schools are here. It's good for the kids. Some conductors have a job offer in a different country. That's good for two or three years. But my wife and I like to stay where we are.''

Even now Mr. Perlman would like to spend more time at home, particularly in the country. (The family also owns a town house in Manhattan.) But the Long Island home seems to be his current favorite. ''I call this house my Catch-24,'' he said -- presumably a higher-level quandary than a 22. ''If I want to spend more time here, I can't spend time here,'' he said -- he needs to travel and perform to keep paying for it.

TRAVEL demands, coupled with his desire to be at home, led Mr. Perlman to make one extravagant investment. In 1980, advised by business managers, he bought a Cessna jet, which he christened ''On Wings of Song,'' to make all the flying less exhausting.

''Ha! That plane is a perfect example of what happens with investing,'' Mr. Perlman recalled, his voice rising. ''Let me tell you about that plane. It was supposed to be a good tax shelter. They told me I could rent the plane out when I wasn't using it to help pay the mortgage price. I thought it would be a great way to avoid those regular flights.''

He grinned mischievously. ''And you don't lose your luggage,'' he said.

It didn't work out quite as he had hoped. ''The market for plane rentals collapsed,'' he said. ''So I couldn't rent the plane, and I had a big mortgage. I flew in it maybe twice and then I sold it. It was a terribly ill-conceived idea. There was no glamour. It was a pain in the neck. Now when people say to me, 'How would you like to invest in a plane,' I say: 'Are you kidding me? You must be crazy.' ''

THE only area of finance in which he has an intense interest involves his recording agreements. Mr. Perlman, who now oversees his own deals, recalled that years ago he had a concert manager who negotiated a recording deal for him. Mr. Perlman won't name names, but he says the terms were so onerous that they still rankle.

He doesn't believe artists talk enough among themselves about dealing with record companies. ''The record companies talk among themselves, and I think it would be better if we did, too,'' he said. ''Few people know what each other are doing. For example, do you get approval of your photo or of the biography written about you?''

He said artists should also have some say as to whether companies package their recordings into releases that include the work of others.

''I have been accused of being shrewd,'' Mr. Perlman said. ''But I always read the release forms. And I read the fine print. These contracts can be works of art,'' he added, only half-kiddingly. ''I think it is good to be in control of your own destiny. Sometimes if I say I don't like something because it is in perpetuity or whatever, then they say O.K. and they back off.

''I have long thought that music schools should give students a little bit of an idea about how the business works, so that artists don't just say, 'Where do I sign?' ''

But beyond contracts, Mr. Perlman is likely to continue shying away from finances even as his fortune grows.

Later that evening, he prepared to conduct a concert played by young students at Toby Perlman's new summer school in the Hamptons for musically gifted children. He told a friend, the composer Lukas Foss, a joke about a violinist who, in the midst of a concert, is informed that he has a call from his stockbroker. The violinist puts down his instrument, picks up the phone, listens intently and commands the broker to ''sell,'' then picks up his violin and continues playing.

Both men found the joke silly, and as Mr. Perlman began conducting a Bach piano concerto, it was clear that no telephone call would bring profits half as sweet as the sounds he was eliciting from his young students.