The dull piety of the new Tate Modern

I happen to like the new Tate Modern building. The content’s the problem. The art currently on show there sums up some of the worst defects of the art world. Just when it should be exuberant and joyous it is pious, timid, cold – like a sparky young woman who goes all bluestocking on you.

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Morrisons turns on Rachel Reeves

This isn’t a whinge about modern art – I love the stuff most of the time. But it can be overtaken by nervous self-consciousness. Called to boldness, it plays it safe. The new space currently focuses on performance. But there was no performance – no little burst of arty theatre to amuse or challenge us. Just lots of video, and lots of reports of past performances (many of which had an earnest political feel). It’s as if the wackiness and risk of performance art must be balanced by academic coldness.