First Reviews of “Commissions 2”

From “The Electric Club”


(c) Elina Giounanli

Dat Tuxedomoon-kopstuk Blaine L. Reininger wel meer op zijn strijkstok heeft dan de Tuxedomoonnummers, weten we al langer. Zo schrijft hij ook muziek voor theater- en dansproducties. Op zijn nieuwe album Commissions 2 krijgen we dat deeltje van zijn oeuvre te horen, dat hij tussen 2015 en 2019 produceerde. Eerder werk uit dat genre kregen we in 2014 op de eerste Comissions.

“Since 2015,” legt Blaine zelf uit, “I have played a ukulele-weilding Satan in The Master and Margarita, been a one-man band to accompany Caliglua’s evil antics six times a week, and – most recently – played and sung at sunset with a ten-piece choir before the very wall of the Mauthause*-n concentration camp in Austria.”

Het album is digitaal en op dubbel-cd verkrijgbaar bij het label Les Disques du Crépuscule.

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Now the process has started. Packing to move. Our building has been sold out from under us for hotel conversion and we have to move by the end of November. Here we go.

Luckily, we have somewhere to go, unlike many. But I, moon child in the extreme fear having to move, even to the extent that I hate having to change hotel rooms once I have opened my suitcase and will tolerate a substandard room because of it.

We must vacate this building which has been our home for over 15 years. This building with its Acropolis and mountain view, 5th floor penthouse, housing the best studio facilities I have ever had, helping usher in one of the most productive periods in my creative life. This house which has been home to our love, this sustaining boon, my best, my final love.

This Air BnB gentrification has taken off in Athens in a big and depressing way, as it has, I guess, in many cities around the world. With the current tourist boom, groups and consortia and other slime mold type organisms have banded together to buy up all of the rental properties in central Athens and convert them to lofts, studio apartments, hotels, to serve those tourists.

The streets of the center are now choked, as never before, with hoards of white people, wearing shorts and flip-flops well into winter, zipping around on the electric scooters that now litter the landscape, chowing down in one of the countless new restaurants, snack bars, grills, boozing up in one of the countless new bars and clubs

This is the fundamental injustice of the landlord/tenant relationship, the knowledge that one is not the owner of one’s shelter and that access may one day be suddenly revoked in the service of material gain not one’s own. Fie, fie on thee. No wonder Marx called property theft.

Note the forlorn empty look