Date: 30 October 2001
On a crispy autumn day my head was in a mess and I ended up at the Southbank thinking it to be the home of the Barbican. They share an overpopulation of bourgeoiss filling up on dry white wine and lattes, as well as the stench of public architecture and arts complexry, but are most definitely geographically dislocated. The Barbican is looking a bit post-nuclear now the Tate Modern is the belle of the ball.
An hour and a half to get there, ten minutes to see these lame Young Americans. Just Jonathan Horowitz standing out by his clever mix of politics and hollywood musical sequences, for once really engaging with popular culture, not just painting a dull old picture of something cool retro. Photos, videos,paintings, sculptures, a wet patch, you wander by disbelieving that these are the next best thing, Brian Calvin's crummily painted Katz/Maloney rip-offs epitomizing the third-rateness and lack of any shock or beauty value in all these middle aged aMercans' work. Back to Kindergarten fatsos.
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