It doesn’t matter whether the cat is black or white, as long as it catches mice.
Deng Xiaoping

The Chinese clearly consider Steve Schwarzman, the founder of Blackstone, as a cat who can catch mice: the People’s Republic has committed $3 billion to take a 10 per cent stake in Mr Schwarzman’s firm.

This is a huge stride, even by the standards of China’s quick march to western-style capitalism. Not only does it signal Beijing’s appetite for new kinds of investment in the West, it will help to change the dynamics of China’s relationship with America, not to mention Blackstone’s opportunities in China.

Doing deals in the “workers’ paradise” used to require patience. These days, the mandarins in Beijing look as swift and nimble as a troupe of Chinese acrobats: China put together its Blackstone investment in three weeks, creating a special vehicle to do so because China’s state investment company does not formally exist yet. Even Mr Schwarzman, the notoriously impatient and aggressive founder of Blackstone, was impressed: “I doubt that there is any government in the world that could have done it more efficiently or more professionally.”

The speed with which China has bought into the Blackstone flotation reveals Beijing’s eagerness to improve the returns on its $1.2 trillion in foreign exchange reserves. It also hints at the torrent of Chinese capital that now promises to swell the coffers of other western businesses. This was just the first $3 billion. There is another $200 billion earmarked for investment in hedge funds, venture capital groups, fund managers, listed companies and other private equity groups.

But the signal importance of this investment is political – both for China and for Blackstone. For China, this outflow of capital signals Beijing’s willingness to be a strategic investor in the success of US capitalism. Over time, this will make it more difficult for critics of China to stand in the way of other Chinese purchases in corporate America: what will happen next time a Chinese state company tries to acquire a business like Unocal?

Blackstone, meanwhile, has not just got an investor, it has a prize relationship. The firm is now China’s favoured private equity group, giving it a clear advantage over the likes of rivals TPG and KKR in the still underdeveloped Chinese market for leveraged buyouts. Private equity firms are used to cutting their fellow investors in on club deals. Blackstone has sold China a stake at a modest discount. It will hope to be repaid in full.

After all, Beijing has signalled that Blackstone, if not its pet, is certainly its favourite cat.

Mars may get sweet ending

Ben Bradlee, the Watergate-era Editor of The Washington Post, has long been a collector of that exquisite artform: the newspaper correction. For people in business, of course, there is an equivalent pleasure: the corporate apology. Over the years, Chuck Prince, the Citigroup chief executive, has bowed before the people of Japan, Warren Buffett has abased himself for his “foolish” insurance investments, and Coors has taken out ads that simply said “We goofed” after selling a batch of bad beer.

Yesterday, Mars made a public apology, saying sorry for its decision to switch from using vegetarian whey to animal whey in products such as Snickers, Maltesers, Galaxy and Mars bars. The plan incensed vegetarians and vegans, who inundated the company with 6,000 complaints. Forty MPs signed a protest. “We have listened,” Mars said. “We made a mistake. We apologise.” Mars is to be applauded for avoiding the mealy-mouthed climbdown and confronting its mistake head-on. It reacted as if it were a political crisis that needed to be dealt with quickly and publicly. (It should be no surprise that one of Mars’s advisers is Philip Gould, pollster and political strategist for Tony Blair.)

When Coca-Cola launched New Coke in 1985 and met an avalanche of complaint from Americans who likened the launch of the new product to “spitting on the flag”, it performed a similar about-turn. By the end of the year, it had not simply regained the market share that it had lost, but increased its lead over Pepsi because it had shown its customers that it listened to them. Mars yesterday followed the New Coke playbook. While its competitors may revel in Schadenfreude over Mars’s corporate apology, the company may yet find it has pulled off a marketing coup.

EMI’s misery

The EMI board’s eagerness to sell at 265 pence per share is a damning judgment on the outlook of the recorded music industry. This is the sixth time that Eric Nicoli, the chief executive, has sought to engineer an exit for the company and, on almost every occasion, he has put a lower value on the business. It was just six months ago, after all, that Mr Nicoli was wrangling with Permira to squeeze 325 pence per share out of the private equity firm. Permira pulled out at the last minute, spooked by the collapse in the recorded music business.

Guy Hands, the Terra Firma financier who has secured a recommendation from EMI, has bid more than the other private equity firms who were given a chance to review the business. Nonetheless, this is hardly a full price: EMI signalled earlier this year that it could securitise the revenue streams off the music publishing business and reduce its debt by about £1 billion. Mr Hands will, no doubt, pursue the same plan, meaning that he is, in effect, buying the recorded music business for little over a billion pounds. In the Nicoli years, the music business has been a dog. It has gone from bad to worse to leaving music executives humming the words to Heaven Knows I’m Miserable Now. Mr Nicoli has not always made the best of a bad job, but now, at least, he and his chairman, John Gildersleeve, seem to have set in motion an auction for the company. The Terra Firma bid sets a floor. It is now up to Warner Music to decide whether it wants to trump Terra Firma and take on the regulatory risk of an offer, or pay a lot more in a few years’ time to take the business off Mr Hands’s hands.

The National Consumer Council says that 46 per cent of people’s biggest gripe is being held in a queue listening to canned messages and taped music. But spare a thought for the composers, who have created beautiful music only for it to be played on a loop at a company call centre. The Flower Duet from the opera Lakme by Delibes used to be so uplifting, until it became the hold music for British Airways and the fuel of phone rage.

james.harding@thetimes.co.uk

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