I feel as if my formal review style is reminiscent to Patrick Bateman reviewing Huey Lewis and The News. So, here goes some informality.
The similarities between the Tate Liverpool and its older sibling in London is they both reside by water and house something that I just cant bring myself to oscillate my chin at — no matter how long I stare (it’s not like I’ve tried). Although, unlike it’s London counterpart, I didn’t have the privilege of a Burger King within a five-minute walking distance. I suppose the etchings by William Blake will more than suffice. As I imagine scoffing an overpriced chicken filet and observing decor carrying more artistic integrity in it’s shameless plugging of the ‘Burger King’ on a food tray.
‘Hip to be Square’