As much as art criticism can be defined by rules, there is one rule that has proven fail-safe: Be skeptical of any exhibition that comes with a soundtrack taken from the haunted house attraction at an amusement park. Ambient drones, scattered voices (sometimes intelligible, often not), the generalized rustle of forces knocking about—leaven them with an underlay of rock music and imbue the proceedings with mood lighting, and you can wager that the resulting objet d’art is impossibly portentous. That it should also be of minimal aesthetic value is likely—or so one would think. But “Mike Kelley,” a thirty-year overview of the California-based artist’s work now on view in Queens at MOMA PS1, is the exception that proves the rule. That is, at least, the verdict of Holland Cotter at The New York Times. He writes that the exhibition is “a huge show that should be huge” and that the work is “great.” Cotter doesn’t mention the exhibition’s audio component. Given his track record as cheerleader for the temporarily outré, maybe Cotter is inured to such things. For some critics, spooky noises are par for the course.
Cotter’s “great” recommendation is prefaced by a description of Kelley’s art as “perfectly horrid.” This phrase isn’t a condemnation. It is high praise. Kelley is among the more notable purveyors of “abjection,” a school of art dedicated to exploring the furthest reaches of anomie. Add to this brew the disappointments of childhood, as well as obligatory homages to steamy sex