Lolapoloza is a nice little space, and since you can't fit very much in it, it helps when the work is of a high quality. The response of my companion to the collage pieces in this exhibition ('I think the artist could consider learning Photoshop') summed them up neatly on a superficial level: potentially interesting ideas, roughly executed (though in some very stylish perspex frames). If the roughness (right down to some of the photos not being glued down properly) is part of the plan, I'm not sure this comes across effectively enough. Considering the work on its own, one doesn't get much of the 'longing', 'melancholy' or 'mysterious cool' promised by the publicity - more a sense of disinterested detachment accompanied by a feeling that the artist could possibly try harder.
The video installations (featuring bottoms, willies and a juddering sex doll) were more interesting, though the looped sections were rather brief, and left one wanting to know more. Again, maybe this was the point - but rather than making the viewer feel like a voracious voyeur, I felt more like I'd been good-humouredly flashed at by an overenthusiastic aquaintance. Considered in isolation, these pieces wouldn't stand up to much. But oddly enough, here's the funny thing: the juxtaposition of the two artists' pieces somehow works. The faintly comic video work, with real human wobbly bits, offsets the coldness of the still photography in which parts of the same pink-nightie-clad body are inserted into impersonal architectural settings. Both still and moving images exclude the human face, which enhances the feeling of being held oddly at arm's length, but the video retains the voice, pulling you in closer than the collages can.
Make what you will of this. The shop downstairs has some very nice (expensive) jewellery, bags and other accessories to ogle if you need a break from trying to work it out, and there's a seat upstairs too.