
Portland's State Theatre building for sale
The six-story building, which has more than 120 tenants, has a listing price of $10.9 million, according to the Porta & Co. Commercial Real Estate website. The building has been owned since 2015 by Burlington, Vermont-based Crostone Portland LLC, according to city property records. That company bought the building for $4.2 million.
The building's largest and best-known tenant is the 1,900-seat State Theatre, which opened in 1929 as a movie palace and has operated since the 1990s as a concert venue, bringing hundreds of national acts to Portland each year. The theater has "several years left" on its current lease, said Erik J. Hoekstra, a managing partner in the company that owns the building.
Hoekstra said his company may also try to negotiate a longer lease with the theater, to help ensure its future. He said that the theater's success and status as a focal point of Portland's music and entertainment scene is a big reason why "we've been able to be successful as the building's owners."
"The current operators have done a phenomenal job, and our goal is for them to continue to operate for a very long time," said Hoekstra. "We couldn't have been successful without them."
The State Theatre is leased and run by Crobo LLC/State Theatre Presents. It had been closed between 2006 and 2010, but then was reopened by the current management after a $1.5 million renovation. The State Theatre also books outdoor summer concerts at Thompson's Point in Portland.
The theater's online calendar lists shows booked into October. Shows scheduled in coming days and weeks include Clutch on Friday, The Big Gay Dance Party on June 21, Sleep Theory on June 22 and Disco Biscuits on July 12.
Hoekstra said his company put the building up for sale because its focus is shifting toward industrial properties and hotels. The listing for the Congress Street property says that because current tenants are paying below-market rents, "a buyer should have the ability to quickly add 12%-15% to the gross rents." The listing says the building contains "entrepreneurial workspaces and creator-driven suites" and that the diversity of tenants reduces investment risk.
The Arts District along Congress Street, where the State Theatre building is located, has seen a number of business closings and vacant storefronts in recent years. The owners of the Renys department store, just a couple blocks from the theater building on Congress Street, announced this week they will be closing that location, largely because sales have not rebounded since the pandemic.
After its early life as a movie palace showing Hollywood fare, the State Theatre had become a pornographic film venue by the late 1960s and remained one until the late 1980s. It was renovated and restored in the early 1990s for use as a performing arts space, but a series of operators could not make a go of the place, leading to its closing in 2006. The theater has been run continuously as a performing arts venue since 2010.
City records show the building was sold three times in the past 26 years, before the present owners bought it: for $5.2 million in 2003, for $5.1 million in 2002 and for nearly $2.6 million in 1999.
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4 hours ago
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16 hours ago
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But it is in music where Greenland's overlapping identities are perhaps most directly observable. Varna Marianne Nielsen, 44, is a Greenlandic filmmaker, music producer and practitioner of traditional drum dancing and drum singing. The latter involves performing with a stick made of bone or wood that is rhythmically struck against a frame drum or qilaat to make an echoing beat. Distorted maps have misled you: Greenland isn't as big as you think. Nielsen descends from a long line of drum dancers, but grew up listening to American blues, jazz and rock music. "I have both of these traditions in me," she said. Nielsen described her music as "sweeping from the ice and the land." In 2014, she had a role in an episode of the TV series "True Detective," for which she co-produced multiple original scores. Nielsen said that, as a child, she was proud of her Greenlandic heritage but didn't necessarily understand how her identity had been shaped and influenced by Denmark. As an adult, Nielsen said, she has felt compelled to help revive the drum dancing and drum singing tradition that was neglected by earlier generations. Her work includes field recordings and electronically-composed beats. Nielsen was surprised to learn recently, while doing research in Denmark, that her grandfather's drum was exhibited in the National Museum in Copenhagen. She found this discovery upsetting because it illustrated how, even now, Greenland's culture is being expropriated by Denmark. "It is still difficult to access our treasures when they are in a different country and not home where they belong," she said, adding that she hoped Danish authorities would repatriate Greenland's drums. Like Pani Enequist from Sound of the Damned, Nielsen's fingers are encircled by tattoos. Their meaning connects to Sassuma Arnaa, or "Mother of the Sea," an Inuit creation myth about the goddess Sedna. Versions of the myth vary. But the story tells how Sedna came to rule over the Inuit underworld. In one version, Sassuma was a woman who was mistreated by her family and thrown into the sea by her father, when her fingers were severed and became seals, whales and other marine life for which the Arctic is known. Sound of the Damned is spending several weeks this summer touring Danish schools, where band members will talk to children about Greenland's Inuit culture. On stage, they wear "corpse paint"– a style of makeup that gives them a macabre look. Enequist said this has little to do with Greenland and everything to do with music from Metallica to Slipknot that shaped the band's sound and formed the backdrop to her courtship with her husband. "There is no contradiction in that," she said. Keeping it Greenlandic Elsner, whose family owns Atlantic Music, is also a musician. He plays in Nanook, perhaps Greenland's most successful band of the modern era. The group's name refers to Greenland's mythological polar bear, which is on the territory's coat of arms and symbolizes Greenland's wildness. Since the band formed in 2008, Nanook's brand of melancholic folk-pop has sold around 5,000 records in Greenland − meaning that about 1 in 10 Greenlanders, 1 in 4 or 5 households, could own one. Nanook refused an offer to sign with the Sony record label early on in the band's career because it wanted them to sing in English. Elsner said he and his brother, also a vocalist in Nanook, found the idea "too awkward and unnatural." They also worried it would be a kind of betrayal of their Greenlandic inheritance. Not many international music artists travel to Greenland, Elsner said. Distance and expense are factors. Also, there are no roads connecting Greenland's settlements. Nanook has toured Greenland by boat, plane, helicopter, dog sled and snowmobile. Never a tour bus. Elsner said that even though the American metal band Metallica has a Danish drummer in Lars Ulrich, the California-based group has never made the trip. But in the late 1990s, a British band called Blur did show up in Greenland. They played to about 1,000 people in a now-defunct Nuuk bowling alley. And Damon Albarn, Blur's lead singer, endeared himself to Greenlanders, Elsner said, because he did an interview that featured in a documentary saying it was hypocritical for Westerners to criticize Greenlanders for eating seals, whales and other Arctic marine life when there wasn't any major livestock industry in Greenland. "Seals," Albarn said, were "the cows of Greenland" and they had much better lives – and deaths − than Western industrial livestock, which are often raised in intense confinement in pens and cages. Elsner said Greenland is a paradox. "It's this crazy beautiful place where there is a dark side," he said, referring to high rates of alcoholism, suicide and incest in some communities. He said Greenland's good and bad, old and new, seeps into its music. Socially conscious rappers talk about colonization. Metal bands like Sound of the Damned sing about "how they want their culture back." Other musicians address the idea of independence from Denmark. And others still, like Elsner's own band, write songs about nature and "stuff that happens to us" and deliberately avoid writing political songs. And if they do, couch them in metaphors "so it doesn't affect some people the wrong way," he said. Greenland's music, Elsner said, is, like the place, staying true to its origins yet also evolving. There are signs, beyond music, of Greenland on the move. A reporter saw one Tesla hum and whir by in Nuuk. There's rumored to be a second one among Greenland's approximately 6,500 cars for an island that's about half the size of the Indian subcontinent and has fewer than 60 miles of road and just three traffic lights. A local boat captain who sails with tourists in Nuuk and elsewhere said that he'd seen only one polar bear in his entire life. It was in a zoo in Copenhagen.