Saturday, January 30, 2010

Fine tunes, damn hot coffee, psychosexual moods - Adolph Pineland

A few minutes ago FUN CLUB's mailbox almost exploded when Professor Pineland's hail of words finally met their target. Still suffering from the collateral damage the elaborate and intense piece has brought to the Fun Club Burö, we're unable to decide if we should call it an essay, a review, a novel, a manifesto, a provocation of all senses that are still doing their job, a revelation perhaps or once again just a symptom of insanity incorporated in a poem that just got out of hand - won't meet the first and only criteria for poetry: its shortness. However, we are thrilled to publish Professor Pineland's discoveries:

"I would like to present a damn fine song that marked an era and had great influence on many great musicians and groups, such as The Wolfgang Press, Nick Cave, Smoker Jesus, Lydia Lunch, The Knife, ad nauseam. But I must profit from this casual suggestion to tackle some more pressing issues, however uncomfortable they may be. I must start by means of an anecdote steering as clear as possible from dithyrambic wanderings to whatever extent possible, lest this collective journey be made unpleasant. I also want to signal how cool one very particular and unique German artist actually became.

It all happened as I woke up to an unusually chilly morning of -30, somewhat shaken from a caustic dream. I urinated in the pot and it felt good and the sound of the stream hitting the water reminded me of my youth and of the girl with the flaxen hair. After shaking off the last drops that seemed to rid me of my dream I thought of coffee and walked over to the stove. I reflected on my life as I walked by means of manly, heavy steps (although I felt lighter after having relieved myself):

"it is hard to be cutting edge for a long time, yet my blade had not yet rusted or become blunt, yet blunt was my stride."

A little maxim for us revolutionaries of indifference. The coffee was ready. I sipped my damn hot and fine coffee and walked outside. It was summer. Not. It was only summer in my head as I imagined warm furs engulfing me. Summer by furs. So it went on this morning of minus thirty in all its psychosexual glory and it was these very small bursts of thought that brought my dream back to prominent consciousness.

My dream: I had dreamt of a fighter plane that after showering the land with fire collided into a mountain of hamburger meat and bone. The pilot was propelled out of his metallic husk of death-making and lay mangled and battered at a great distance from the once killing machine, near the base of the mountain. This all occurred in an exotic land somewhere between Russia and Germany even though it was most likely all in my head. The pilot was naked yet covered in fat, and as a moderately oversized, furry bunny attempted to sodomize the unconscious soldier, his body (the pilot) burst into many little boys at the moment the bunny's paws spread the ass cheeks hoping to facilitate penetration. It became clear to me as I sipped my damn hot coffee that the man of my dream was non other than Joseph Beuys (for those of you who may have trouble following my lightning fast and ultra sharp wit: boys = Beuys. That was quite obvious a giveaway; such are the workings of the unconscious. But there are other motifs that helped my epiphany).

I realized that I was going to tread dangerous grounds but with my caffeine high and the cold low and the stiff virility of my dream I decided to march along this line of reasoning. Joseph Beuys was a cute little Nazi in the Luftwaffe until he smacked into the ground and was wrapped in fat and fur by a Tartar (to avoid confusion with the popular sauce or some shitty college teams (pre 21st century) that have nothing to do with this anecdote, I will switch to the preferred spelling: Tatar). The Tatars, especially those of the Crimean Khanate (were Beuys smacked into the ground) were known for their prowess in gardening and good looks. If in any doubt, take a look at Charlie Bronson, albeit a Lipka or Polish variation of the fine Tatar clan, which does not affect looks but gardening, which may explain the inconspicuousness of Charlie Bronson's gardening skills. Anyway, the Crimean Tatars were a kind people, yet somewhat naïve, but they also enjoyed engagement in greasy activities such as playing with grease and cheesemaking. In all good will they decided to save this badly mangled pilot and also launch his artistic career, thus killing two birds with one stone. Two things are shown by this incident. Not all Nazis were necessarily rotten to the core and were often complex human beings (albeit all guilty but they have Jesus to answer to for that), and secondly, how could a former killing machine become an art machine? Just as my damn hot coffee scalded my tongue, the shock of the crash and the grease incubation that followed knocked some sense into the fine Joseph Beuys and he left dropping bombs on people for exploding onto the art scene.

After this politically correct and academically sound assessment of this dream and its connections to life, I can move on to presenting the song I had in mind to begin with. Ronald Regan is a character all too often left out of musical adventures, and we have Mr. Beuys to thank for not omitting him from a marvelous song that has inspired and proved most influential to many musicians, and still stands as a landmark of fine music, singability and just plain old killer groovin'."

Konkurrenz Belebt Das Geschäft - Calls For Submission


We also recommend media and video artists (with no interest in money) to apply at the Crosstalk Video Art Festival Budapest till February 26th. 

Well, we were about to present more calls for submission in this section. After signing up at all these "art" communities online (in order to promote the 19,99 € Award), we received many calls for submission via email. Now we reviewed them carefully and it turns out to be a bunch of crap. Then we googled around for a while and well, they all have submission and /or exhibition fees, you can barely win a thing and the vibe you get when reading these calls for submission is just so retarded, Susan even threw up on Murphy who's taking a nap on the floor as we speak. However, we just noticed that the world has been waiting for us. We don't have NO submission fee and you can still win 19,99 €. In addition we give you the exposure that our blog has to offer and will present you at an official award ceremony to the public as the genius you truely are. If enough people apply we might even get a small exhibition together, who knows. And in case we can sell your piece, we will definitely not take more than 10%, that's a promise.

Thursday, January 28, 2010

Fun Club's Who Is Who - Susan Blutch

In our ongoing series, the who is who of Fun Club, we proudly present Susan Blutch. Like any good secretary she suffers under a gosh darn sexist work environment. We make her sit in our tiny little Fun Club jacuzzi all day long, unhampered by clothes. There she transcribes fascinating interviews from Yiddish to English or just types on our Hermes Baby for the sake of the sound. Her hobbies are good low-calorie food, tango and men with a bit of a belly but a good sense of humor.

Wednesday, January 27, 2010

We Deny Everything But Good Art

It is about time to introduce our "creative tool" Peter Rings, also known as Peter Ringo. Right now he's sitting crossed-legged in the FUN CLUB studio working on a (hopefully) three-dimensional FUN CLUB logo. A few minutes ago he sent us the long expected 19,99 € Award slogan via text message: "We deny everything but good art - the 19,99 € Award." The brilliant slogan was followed by some rather unfriendly mumbling a bit later on the phone, I guess you all know how artists can be since you all consider yourself artists anyway, however, Ringo said that he didn't have the time to design the 19,99 € Award Logo/Flyer around the slogan, so we're now looking for another intern to do the job. Anyone? 1,2,3.

There's no reason to pronounce the first syllable of "weekend" since it in fact just ends. However, we're grateful for the chance to finally officially dislike something, the Fashion Week After Party at Warschauer Str. 34 was just insanely pale and all things considered dispensable. A bunch of dressed-up rowdies from the suburbs prancing around like they haven't been laid for too long and perhaps they played some music there, but I really don't remember. We feasted on the open bar till it closed, then we met friends and discussed  The Mystery Method.

How beautiful in comparison was our Saturday afternoon at the Heroes. We really have to review this unobtrusive gem more thoroughly, since it just always allures us to stay happily ever longer than our tight schedule commands. Perhaps it's the cuisine, aah, one sweet taste parade, on Saturday we went for the "cake rumble", tomorrow we'll attend the Cantine du Jeudi for the first time, this week they offer Lasagna.

The beautiful lamp you see above is designed by French designer, artist and wood master Romain Houssais and to be found at the Heroes.

Oh, it is almost time for our late night photo shoot with Susan, so we have to tell you about the spectacular robot performance at the Sunday Extraordinaire another day.

Tuesday, January 26, 2010

Trost Den Wartenden - Ein- & Ausblick & 12

History tells us that you don't have to shoot to get shot, however, we believe that you have to push hard to set certain things in motion. And indeed we see the broken machine rolling back on us, every day a bit faster, yet we don't fear a thing since we do believe in death to everyone.

1. Today I got critized for not writing enough. I first thought it was a very mean joke, but no, she seemed to mean it. And just to be clear on that matter, I will post a review on last weekend soon, I already wrote it inside of my head, which of course makes the effort of actual writing a bit pointless and boring.

2. Fun Club's expert on the history of ideas, philosophy and academic events just informed me that there is work in progress to be reviewed soon. I will keep you posted.

3. As it is raining 19,99 € Award jury members on our dry souls, if you allow me to be that "poetic", it seems more and more likely that the bombastic award ceremony we were pushing so hard is going down just as planned. I would like to thank everybody who sent a "Pro Fun Club" letter to Ms. Helluin.

4. A surprising letter was found in our still freshly painted mailbox. A person with a somewhat literary name sent us a poem. Suspicious as I am, I cannot help myself but assume that a friend of mine is trying to be nice, however, since the person asked me to stay anonymous; I cannot lay before you what seems to be a made-up name. Supposedly the artist in question wrote the poem the night she/he turned 12. The work is entitled "12", somewhat coherent I have to say, yet coherence has always played a bigger part in camouflage than in real life.

"It's time to condense
some water
inside your breath just fuck you
forever like the baby shampoo
he found in your indie magazine
that you ACCIDENTALLY forgot
at his place but if he is an invention or a less advanced lie
that grows hair in its nose
you would still be disgusted."

19,99 € Award - Jury Member Gusti Gould Korban

Once in a while everything just falls into place. As an acknowledgement of our gratitude we shall remain silent.

"Gusti Gould Korban studied art at the Hochschule für Angewandte Kunst in Vienna and the Academia de San Carlos in Mexico City many a fine year ago. Presently she is co-owner/director of Cumbre Centro de Inglés in Colima, Mexico and also translates from Spanish to English. Anyone interested can view some of her artwork on facebook. She considers it an honor and privilege to collaborate in this humble form with Tony Abstract."

19,99 € Award - Jury Member Cornelia Huth

Many years before students and other failures even thought about infiltrating Berlin's number one ghetto, Cornelia Huth opened a small, yet very charming gallery in an apartment somewhere in the depth of Neukölln. She still has the smell of the street in her nose as you might notice when you read her self-depreciating autodescription. We say "thank you" to our ordinary Joan for joining our international jury.

"Cornelia Huth (*13.06.1982) studies history of art/philosophy and is one part of 18ergold altogether in Berlin. Constantly searching and asking."

[Also see here and here.]

Saturday, January 23, 2010

Skinless and Cruddy - A Review

How we were surprised and excited when ingenious bilingual Heidelbergian writer, translator, art critic and theorist Nina Dentata finally replied to one of our many letters. Our chief executive Tony Abstract had been courageous, yes fearless enough to ask her for contributions to FUN CLUB, he had even sent her a detailed list of books, comics and tunes that he would love to have reviewed. Most of the works he listed would still be unknown to him if it weren't for the profound knowledge and peculiar taste of Nina Dentata, well-established connoisseur of the anglophone underground. On top of his list were Diane DiMassa's adorable superhero comics (with a particular mention of the behated as well as beloved "skinless and genderless man") as well as Lynda Barry's fascinating novel "Cruddy". We were speechless when we saw that Nina Dentata had answered two of our prayers at the same time and say thank you kind...

"If one of my favorite fellas in the world, a guy called The Skinless and Genderless Man, were to name his least favorite book, it would be Cruddy by Lynda Barry. Mind you, Skinless isn’t the brightest star in the universe. He’s more of a lovable but very dumb brother. What he wouldn’t like at all is all the gender-bending going on in the novel. “What’s all this Clyde-business about?”, he’d ask, eyes wide open as always. Skinless lacks in various departments of anatomy, not just skin and sexual organs; his eyelids and sockets are also missing. I’m not even sure if he has an actual skull. He just has a head. He’d definitely like the shootin’ and the swearin’. Most of the shootin’ and swearin’ in the book comes from the Father. The Father’s the kind of guy who likes to lay down the law to little Clyde, who is also and actually (maybe) Roberta. Roberta Rohbeson makes a very cruddy effort of telling the very fucked-up tale of her life, maps detailing her cruddy journey through a cruddy existence - which of course ends in her suicide - and including awesome illustrations so as not to leave you in doubt about the very cruddiness of things. Skinless isn’t into painting too much unless it involves his skinless heterosexual girlfriend undressed and draped on a chaise longue much like Kate Winslet in “Titanic”. Therefore he might get downright pissed at the quality of the images in Cruddy. “That shit is ugly”, he’d be likely to comment and put the book down. (There’s no way of knowing why he may have picked it up in the first place.) Skinless isn’t one to dig any deeper than he absolutely has to into questions such as “But when the thing that is scaring you is already Jesus, who are you supposed to pray to?”. There are moments of melancholy beauty in Cruddy that Skinless would simply not be aware of, even if you slapped them in his lipless face. Skinless isn’t only skinless to slip racial categorizing, he’s bereft of sentiment (or put in a more obvious manner: nothing gets under his skin because he has none). One could assume that he might get the broader message conveyed in the novel, but, alas, in vain. The message is “Truth plus Magical Love equals Freedom” and the Skinless and Genderless Man is a bonehead who will never get it but he’s a cuddly guy nonetheless. And if YOU read Cruddy AND wrap your head or your heart around it, you’re IN."

Friday, January 22, 2010

Stephan Fuhrpeltz Said... - Here Comes Ronny Silvano

Fuck words & show off. Mr. Fuhrpeltz asked for Ronny & team & here's our first gangster. The who is who of FUN CLUB will continue. Here I give you Ronny before:

And here you see him after we gave him what he deserved:

Announcements - Successful Outsourcing & Robots Robots Robots

1, 2, 3 FUN CLUB INITIATIVE is proud to inform you that the great outsourcing has begun. In only a few hours a book review will be released on 1, 2, 3 FUN CLUB that - for the first time in 1, 2, 3 FUN CLUB history - is not written by our chief executive Tony Abstract. (As you might have figured yourself, we're trying hard to be listed as google's favorite choice for "chief executive".) We will introduce the brilliant professional writer and her piece in extenso soon.

We would like to add a few recommendations for the weekend that is about to absorb us. Besides the aforementioned Tilt! Party, you might want to go to the AKA tonight to see the grand opening of Cy Wilson's exhibition. There are many more things to do, but let us concentrate on this weekend's "Sahnehäubchen", the heart of the beast or should we call it the machine's CPU? There are robots to be touched at the aforementioned Sunday Extraordinaire, for more information dive into this. Our chief executive Tony Abstract will be there himself, he promised to wear a tank top only and called it his way of showing the winter that he couldn't care less. On his right arm you will find the word ROBOT in nasty big letters, whether in washable ink or in form of a permanent tattoo mostly depends on how much money can be raised till Sunday.


On Saturday we'll meet at the solarium, when and where will be announced on 1, 2, 3 - FUN CLUB.

Puppy Love - Weave At West Germany

Shortly after I had moved to Berlin, one of my musical mentors draged me to the Volksbühne for the first time in history, the band we saw was little beknown to me at the time. As you might have figured yourself or read in one of my biographies, it was not the last time I went to the Volksbühne, much less the last time I found myself bewitched by Animal Collective. By now they are canonized for good, one of the undisputable members of the pantheon, it even seems hard to believe that someone didn't know them once. No matter how disgustingly famous they became, no one ever seemed to consider any passion towards them shameful in any sense, an exceptional status only to be shared by demigods such as Nick Cave, a pair of sharp black leather shoes or German defense-dwarf Philipp Lahm. Now, I don't want to recommend you something you already know, even though I once told a major German literary critic that I just had discovered a promising young talent by the name of Goethe, a little anecdote that still amuses me. However, I wanted to put before you the night that finds you with no expectations, yet overwhelms you with what you've been missing, perhaps without even knowing. It usually never happens to me with concerts, probably because I barely attend them without high expectations.

On wednesday night I found myself at ever beloved West Germany, worn down and high-strung, in a difficult mood to say the least. Weave immediately struck me as beautiful, I in fact I liked their tiny little concert so much that I'm still too chicken-hearted to listen to their tunes again online. I will leave my childish crush with you, join or attack my Weave movement, but be aware that there are things in life much greater than your daydreams. Many thoughts there are that I developed during the concert, thoughts that have been haunting my little existence ever since then, but today I will spare you my violent and pathetic spear. Love is a weapon or a cross, will you handle it with care...

Tuesday, January 19, 2010

19,99 € Award - Jury Member Martin Beck

Fun Club headhunters caught Mr. Fake or Feint. We welcome Martin Beck as the first accredited member of 19,99 € Award jury.

"Martin Beck has studied philosophy in Hamburg and Berlin. Besides that he is an author and curator who loves to cook. He has written for several art magazines and recently co-curated the ‚fake or feint‘ exhibition series at Berlin Carré. Currently he is participating in a project called ‚lobby‘ which, as a part of Forum Expanded, consists in a spatial setting and running the bar at Kino Arsenal during this year's Berlinale. Since the insane topic of 19.99 € award’s first edition is ‚bars‘, he will provide the selection process with his newly acquired profound metaphysical insight into that matter."

My Deer Darling - Christophe Coppens

Thou shalt not bribe your vibes nor agonize, wise men walk their walk betimes. Just a fistful of wisdom we need along with the beautiful dress our chief executive is planning to wear on the night he turns 30. We saw Christophe Coppens' "Deer Cape" from 2005 in Portuguese magazine "Zoot". Grateful we are... add some air as may best please you.

Monday, January 18, 2010

Meeting Jacques By Accident - Traffic Magazine

There I stood on the corner of Gormannstraße and some other street, wrapped in dirty white, just another animal stuffed in natural darm, trying to look like a venturous, yet unpretentious snowmonster. I would die to say that I was wondering how I got here, since it reads like the beginning of a book that would sell pretty well, but I remembered every single step from my trashed desk to the front-door, how I rolled my cigarette and how I almost dropped it because I thought I saw a snowmonster, but it was just my reflection in one of the gallery windows. At the time in question I wasn't really wondering about anything, I just held on to the thought that I would invest in spaceships as soon as I had made my fortune with AdSense, just in case one of Emmerich's visions should become true. And then out of nowhere Jacques appeared in front of me, a huge paper roll between left arm and torso, we shook hands.

He was on his way to the printing shop, the paper roll being the third issue of "Traffic", he seemed happy. I said: "Ah, traffic, saw something 'bout that on facebook, so that's your magazine?" He said "yes", I complimented him on the layout, he highlighted the content. Before we went separate ways, Jacques handed me a copy of the first issue, so I could find out for myself. Since the magazine is subheaded "news to go", it seemed like a good idea to read it in the subway, lucky as I am my train got stuck between Janowitzbridge and Heinrich-Heine-Street for a while, so I had enough time to get a first impression. The editorial stuff of "Traffic" proves to be impressive, there are quite a few figures whose background show the peaks of German Feuilleton. I'm not even sure if there's a proper word for what the Germans call "Feuilleton" in the English language and I think the French would rather address it as "rubrique littéraire", while associating "le feuilleton" with something that's on TV, I wonder what went wrong when the Germans conquered the word, or rather got stuffed with it like an adipohepatic goose, one shouldn't blame them for everything, they have enough shame to carry as it is. However, the names read big shot and the words seem to keep up, I don't speak German too well, but I didn't feel awkward reading it which doesn't happen too often. I was happy to find a section on man perfume, which is really encouraging, up and till now I always felt the need to hide it or to pretend that I bought it as an emergency liquor supply. I also learned how to adjust a bow tie, how embittered Daniel Richter really is and that I rather shouldn't write a novel on Dubai, well, the latter I already knew. However, these are all things that I like to read (for free).

Sunday, January 17, 2010

Remarks And Remarkable Events

At times you find a dog in your apartment, small and black, another piece of coal on four legs or three if the dog has been unlucky, he yells at you like bad dogs do for you've never met before, one should never circumscribe simple things, still I hate the work "barking" too much. There is always a rational explanation, but who really cares how the dog got in. I said "we" once too often, at the end of each day it is I who falls asleep, even without my awareness. And each morning it is I who opens the gates of the Fun Club Burö and I who writes these things, so Susan and Ronny and Murphy and whoever the fuck is feasting at my table can be proud of what "we" did. Not tonight. On a Sunday like this there ain't no space for generous gestures and this is why I brought before you as a gift the very story of the dog. Is he still in the kitchen eating my bones, yes I do sure think so.

Once again I spent my afternoon at HBC's Sunday Extraordinaire, an emerging tradition, a ritual perhaps and an obsession for those who need to crown the climax. I don't like it, but I am one of those, a drive-by confession, yet not an indictement to go, leave it where it belongs. Sunday Extraordinaire deserves better than the pictures I took, there were more sellers than in the weeks before, ever more colorful and inspiring, yet I was still drawn to the corners in which no breath was to be felt. My everyman's Sunday fever, stick your ostrich beak into the mud, but be greatful for all the pretty faces that smile around like they share a secret that you couldn't handle. Hell no, I'm not depressed, I'm just sensitively responding to the calendar, which for a hard boy like me is a virtue according to my encyclopedia of male role models.

I talked to Dr. Uwe Schneider for a quite a while there, he works as consultant for Fun Club in the field of Bermuda Triangle music, everything strained between hippie, gothic and violent noise. He's also an expert on Austrian literature, well-known for his Derrida inspired interpretation of Thomas Bernhard who by the way really shares my deep love for the theater. We exchanged opinions on money-making, Unica Zürn's drawings as well as on the band of the same name, last but not least, how could it be different, on Fun Club's 19,99 € Award. It struck me as a shock that Dr. Uwe Schneider saw elements of parody in my presentation of the 19,99 € Award. I hereby declare that the award in question is nothing less than a parody. If I hadn't spent most of my fortune on liquor and good causes such as the prevention of earthquakes in already poor countries, I would definitely offer more than 19,99 €, unfortunately 20 is all I have left. If it makes our call for submissions seem less cynical, I can change the name to 20 € Award. I will prove my pure intentions within the next days by presenting an impressive international jury.

Now that Sunday is almost over, things appear in a different light, so I let my mind travel to the Sunday to come. Extraordinaire like all my Sundays in 2010, this goes without saying, still special I'm convinced. According to Fleur Helluin, who hosts the weekly freak flea market, actual robots are to be expected on stage. Oh and I do love robots, but who doesn't. Unfortunately I got distracted by the beautiful dark green dress she wore, so this is all the intelligence I gathered, but I'm sure I will see you next Sunday. If you need more intel on the upcoming robotic outburst, I'll update you on Friday at the Maria where Tilt! Party is going down starring Jennifer Cardini.

Before I rest my weary bones, I would like to ask you for a favor. Please take a minute and send an email to Sunday Extraordinaire's hostess using "Pro Fun Club" as the subject. We briefly discussed the possibility of holding the 19,99 € Award Ceremony at Sunday Extraordinaire and I would like to see her that Fun Club has a strong basis eager to push it to the max.

Goodbye Glowing Sperm - Karol Slowik

A sad day for the city, Berlin says goodbye to Karol Slowik. Confused by the smell of new leather we find Polish sculptor Karol Slowik behind the steering wheel of a rental car, singing his favorite tune with an intensity only to be understood by those who are waving goodbye as we speak. Karol is accompanied by Polish photographer Ewa Kniaziak, the very same Ewa Kniaziak that left a comment below; one of many differences between both fellows being that she's coming back in a few days, while Karol is returning to his hometown Milanowek for good.

We were close to firing our oh so retarded intern Ronny when we found out that he forgot to ask Karol for some images of his literally enlightning work. We had to show mercy with the baboon mainly because his father-in-law (well-known patron of the arts Kasper da Punchinello) is one of our major stakeholders as well as the head of our board of managment. However, we curse him for forcing us to steal footage from Karol's website and his facebook profile. For those of you who haven't heard about facebook yet, it is a marvelous social network, please check here and convince yourself of the improvement of living conditions this network has to offer.

As you can see Karol works with photoluminescent materials, lion-heartedly exposing his hands and lungs to what might be highly poisonous. His advanced techniques and crafty tricks have to remain his secret, but we do think that everyone should have one of this oversized figurines swinging like a newly-laid alien maverick above their sleeping skulls. You shall not make for yourself an idol, whether in the form of anything that is in heaven above, or that is on the earth beneath, or that is in the water under the earth, tells us Exodus, but nature refuses to cooperate. Thus we see in Karol's work an answer to prayers that have yet to be spoken and addressed to the spirits and genies that farm and fructify our souls.

Saturday, January 16, 2010

Nuclear Sweat - Plateau Repas

Last night we sent our intern Ronny to the Schwuz (Berlin, Germany) to shoot us some maidens from hell. As you can see he is quite new in the business. The footage he retrieved is so raw that we don't want to embarrass ourselves by even trying to polish it. Ronny claims that the material he recovered is somewhat representative for the eruption of loins he experienced. We whipped him hard, but he couldn't care less, repeatedly exclaimed in delight that he finally had an idea of how it must feel to fuck your favorite book up the wall, feeling the thrill of its back being smirched with cheap ink, while the phone number someone had left on the very same wall fades away with increasing pleasure.

Ronny is a crazy cat, no doubt about that, however, we cannot help ourselves but believe that Plateau Repas once again set new patterns for whatever the hell it is they're doing to us. We hear that they introduced a new song, supposedly a song of crisis, in the most honest, yet optimistic sense. We will try to find out more and keep you posted.

Friday, January 15, 2010

19,99 € AWARD

1, 2, 3 - FUN CLUB INITIATIVE is proud to announce the 19,99 € AWARD. An international jury (Gusti Gould Korban, Cornelia Huth, Martin Beck and Lasse Lawrence) will carefully select the finest young talent within the fine arts. A scholarship of 19,99 € as a one-off payment is granted to the winner.


1. The 19,99 € AWARD is restricted to what's generally perceived as the visual arts.
2. Every artist can apply with one piece of art only, represented by one image.
3. The image should be attached as a digital file (preferably jpg) to the application.
4. Please send your application as an email to FUN CLUB or to our devoted download-boy Michel.
5. In addition to the competition entry, a portrait picture of the applicant as well as a brief vita should be attached to the application.
6. By sending the application, the artist assures that the copyright of the images sent along resides with her/him.
7. By sending the application, the artist grants FUN CLUB the right to publish all the information/material that is attached to the application here. The copyright will of course reside with the applicant.
8. Please be aware that applications that are sent in after February 13th, 2010 can not be considered for the 19,99 € AWARD. By choosing this date as a deadline, our chief executive Tony Abstract hopes to remember his little brother's birthday.


For one reason or another an award needs a (changing) theme/topic. We decided to choose BARS as the subject of the first rendition of the 19,99 € AWARD. We believe that the bar as such is underrepresented in the fine arts given its tremendous importance. Bukowski once said: "I don't like jail, they got the wrong kind of bars in there." And we also remember Lee Hazlewood praying them bars away. Now both hairy old men are not exactly representatives of the fine arts, but that might just be the point. We might add a sincere FUCK BARS at the end of our statement, expressing our hatred towards "the topic". Please feel free to send in whatever artwork imposes itself, if it shows a race car, it shows a race car, if it is good, it is good.


Although our international jury is eager to be highly selective, we might be forced to choose the most random crap. This is for sure an advantage as well as a disadvantage of the first rendition of the 19,99 € AWARD. It's highly possible that you're the only one sending in "something", so you really don't have to be an artist after all.

Thoughts On Houses - Robin Pineda Gould

TA: Mr. Pineda Gould, amongst many other things you have been labeled "avantgarde musician", "singer-songwriter", "movie director", "writer", "poet", "philosopher king", "religious leader" and "insane"? Despite the fact that some of these labels imply a bit of irony, which one of them feels like home to you?

RPG: I feel compelled to state that fist and foremost, a house is not (always) a home, but in all these constructions, or so called labels, a certain house has been constructed for those of us Dyonisians trapped in the nomadic path of creative dementia praecox. At many times I feel the necessity to find the hearth of this structure, load it with the dry, sensual wood of creation, and illuminate that very hearth and its surrounding construction in the flames of the tortured muses that at times are chained to me. I can make my home in any label, and I find the "singer-songwriter" in particular quite piquant.

TA: Now that we addressed the matter of different houses within the landscape of art, thought and religion, what is it exactly that makes them false fronts in a way? In regards to art, thought and religion as houses themselves, I might add the question if they are at least somehow stable and if yes in what sense?

RPG: They are false fronts to the extent that art is a false front. The word false itself has a pejorative connotation, but that is not the case here. It is an asset. Most artists have trouble being labeled, when this is the best thing in the world. If someone says to me: you are a singer-songwriter , I readily reply: yes. And so on. There is nothing more stable than the emptiness of words made solid in the instance of the utterance. Religion is a stable house, but not a stable home. And so it goes. Art is nothing but embracing the falsity of things, but that very good, beautiful falsity that needs at least two people to become. That is why many artists are quasi-pschizophrenics (another great label by the way).

TA: Love has always been a main theme within your work as well as in your life. Set aside the boring fact that I could say similar things to most other artists, I would like to ask how your (now not anymore so) private love life manifests in your work? Perhaps there is a certain development that occurred in both "realms" simultaneously? Asking this I do not necessarily assume that a woman guided/guides your ways through the creative process, it might just be as well the other way 'round.

RPG: Love is so prominent, because as you so well put it, I am often intoxicated by this phenomena. I am somewhat hungry at this point, so talking of love becomes complicated. So capricious is love. But for the past year I have been submerged in the glorious nasality of French; a serious trickster when it comes to love. In the baroque excess of the French language, many men fall captive, and cannot avoid becoming lost on the jagged rocks around our modern day Sirenum scopuli. Like Odysseus, we must find the wax to put in the ears of our friends and the ropes to tie ourselves to the phallic mast of love, and let the siren rape us. Is love an intoxication? It is indeed. Is it worth dying for? We do it every night. Birdwomen of the world, do not launch yourselves into the water just yet, as we must all sail by again. Did Jesus know what to do with love? No, he never wrote a song.

TA: You are half Mexican, half American, have strong bindings to the German artistic scene and now you're living in Montréal, Canada, where you share an apartment with two French twins. I hope you don't mind me asking if what other magazine's labeled your "inspiring neverending identity crisis" can be traced back to such simple facts of life? (I might add that Deleuze once said in regards to Kafka that the devil is the duplication itself.)

RPG: Simplicity would require finding a home. But this is more the case of a house. Yes, it is this simple. If that is what he (Deleuze) said of Kafka imagine what he would say of Wittgenstein. Symptomatology can be very poetic indeed, and satisfactory. But as we probe further we realize that the causes themselves break down into ever more complex elements. The fact that my father has origins traceable to Tangiers and the Ivory coast and my mothers Austrian heritage become significant with further probing. Whichever house you choose.

TA: Now that we addressed your girlfriend Séverine Lombardo and her twin sister Élodie Lombardo as entities first, I would like to dive back into real life. You're working on a dancing performance together with Séverine and Élodie right now, can you tell us a little more about that?

RPG: The name of the piece is Petites Pièces de Poche, choreographed and conceived by Séverine Lombardo. I like to call it by its anglophone eponymous name: little pocket pieces. I am collaborating with another musician in this work. Speaking for myself and what this work means to me I would say that my part is understanding the dynamic impetus in someone else's brilliant vision, and try to find a way to make the work live and come into being through its aural counterpoint. More than anything, it is a test and testament to my capacity to rid my work of all masturbatory elements (something that has been both criticized and celebrated in some of my work); it represents the creation of art that is functional in feeding and improving upon another individual's work. These are the serious moments in life, when what you do as a compulsion becomes organized and must submit/interact with the wills of others. That is the "work" aspect of it, what makes it exist in the world, where some money can come from these actions. I don't believe this is necessarily a good thing, but it definitely is pleasurable and leaving philosophical beliefs aside it is something I will defend. Especially when the work in question is so significant. The work plunges the audience into pitch black, where spasms of light, movement and music will overtake their sensory experience. It is a work of fragments and delicate abstraction, something that moves beyond trends and fads of any kind. From out of the darkness we reach out and assault, to fade back into the darkness once again and recommence the assail from another side. Highly recommended, if I may say so myself.

TA: Mr. Pineda Gould, thank you very much for this interview, it was a pleasure tasting some of your thoughts. Now as a last request, I would like to ask you for your retrospective on the year 2010. What will have been the most important things that you did and did not do in 2010?

RPG: Being that everything is what it is, there are no important actions. Once we attack that belief we realize that things are both important and not important at the same time, and to different degrees. The rhizome comes into being. In 2010, there will be much excitement. All acts of artistic creation are not important, albeit necessary (paradox included). Things to be considered truly important. Important: being a good man involving my family and friends and maybe even strangers. Detrimental: not learning German. Improving my French will be very important as well. Making music, film and poetry; those are only gifts.

Love is a Weapon, by Robin Pineda Gould from Robin Pineda Gould on Vimeo.

Thursday, January 14, 2010

See It Coming

I hereby proudly announce that I had the honnor to chit-chat with heavy-weight thinker and musician Robin Pineda Gould from Montréal, Canada. The interview is being transcribed from Yiddish to English by my secretary Susan as we speak.

As you're waiting fraught with the Prussian clickclack of Susan's typewriter, another nugget hits your attention. Plateau Repas's foufou koh recommends an air band contest at Sunday Extraordinaire:

teaser air band contest from foufou koh on Vimeo.

Wednesday, January 13, 2010

Anfang Jänner/Jenner

For oh so many years now, I've been asked to share my thoughts 'n' vibes in a blog. "Tony", my fans and friends would say, "you know so much about women and life and girls, weapons and religion, not to speak about society and politics, why don't you enlighten our humbled ways through this darkness that lays upon us like a rock too old to roll?" Well, I just never felt ready for that quest. Having a blog is different from most other ways of life, the ones you just indulge in for a while till something better comes up and those that you're doing on the side of whatever else you're up to. A blog is more than this, it's a choice, a promise to yourself, a secularized, yet still holy vow. You do it or you don't, there's no running away after you accepted the terms and conditions. So for me it always felt like asking the two-legged prostitute that you just paid in some darken corner with quite a slice of next month's salary if she wanted to conceive a redheaded child. Well, I have to admit that I've never seen a prostitute, which is a lie to the extent of the ambiguity of my statement, of course I've seen many prostitutes in my day, even talked to some, I just never consumed a prostitute in the orthodox manner. I might add that on my imaginary list of lower creatures that I always have at hand in case the world stops turning and the Infant asks me to carry out some justice for him by means of brutality and torture that he officially cannot agree with due to his general demand of love, the John as such is a high-ranking victim. I can spare you details since I believe that most people have had worse torture fantasies than me, yet are still pretty thin-skinned and anxious once they see them moving in waters that are not their own cerebrospinal fluids. In case you would like to hear more about my prostitute-opinions, you should familiarize yourself with the song "I won't sing a song with prostitues in it" that I recorded with my first band Smoker Jesus. The song is a playful, yet pretty sincere objection to the songs "Prostitute I" and "Prostitute II" by the otherwise much valued Wolfgang Press. Now that I think about it, I should perhaps fulfill my duties as a blogger and post a Wolfgang Press video below, there are just too many good people that are not acquainted with this climax of tune & character.