What sort of art needs a new name? Either the brilliantly original - cubism, minimalism - or the utterly worn-out, such as the plastic assemblages, Ikea-like furnishings and droning documentaries - from Simon Starling's installation of three white desks to Spartacus Chetwynd's high-camp parody of a TV soap opera - that are currently transforming Tate Britain into a dysfunctional, outsized living room.
Altermodern , Tate's fourth and worst triennial of living British art, is a disappointment to anyone who cares about contemporary work. Following last year's dud Turner Prize and dismal Duveen Commission (Martin Creed's runners), this lacklustre offering raises questions about whether our leading museum still has any connection with how, why and what art is being made and shown up and down the country.
