Michael
Allen Potter:
December, 2004

Courtney Love
Live at The Fillmore

October 26th, 2004

courtneylove.com

Standing in line on a recent chilly San Francisco evening, waiting to buy a ticket to Courtney Love's solo show at The Fillmore, the guy standing behind me said, "We're gonna be close enough to catch pills that fall out of her mouth!" I turned around, arms crossed and brow furrowed, and implored him to "be nice" despite the fact that my own morbid curiosity had partially influenced the decision to attend at the last minute. The trash talker and his diminutive female companion both stared at me as I explained that I, too, had certain reservations about Ms. Love's impending performance. "I just hope that she doesn't show up three hours late, refuse to play anything but stuff from her new album, and then give us the finger before she passes out onstage." Diminutive Female Companion exhaled laboriously and replied, "Yeah, me too. That is EXACTLY what happened when I saw Zwan…"

Twenty minutes later, in the second of three lines, I turned again to say, "God, I feel like I'm flying internationally," but my new friends were apparently already inside. I glared openly at a surly blond boy in a wool sweater (with matching cap and hobo gloves on hands wrapped around a cup of herbal tea) who said listlessly from the top of the steps, "Welcome to The Fillmore…" because I wondered if he was actually in some sort of sardonic grunge Halloween costume. After wandering around aimlessly upstairs for a bit I found myself standing underneath a portrait of Courtney clad in her signature kinderwhore uniform taken during a November 1994 performance and kicked myself again for not making the extra effort to see Hole when I had the chance. I heard Pretty on the Inside for the first time in college while under the influence of copious amounts of LSD and THC and I thought "Teenage Whore" was the most brilliant thing I had ever heard (to date). After graduation, Live Through This provided the soundtrack to endless nights spent drinking, smoking, and arguing the finer points of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness in a rented house full of artists, writers, and mathematicians in upstate New York.

"Punk Is Dead" read a stupid, silver, spray painted something on the stage at the beginning of the show and rather than becoming a resonant anti-slogan as the decibel levels rose, it became just a sad fact. Punk IS dead and has been for quite some time. Like any volatile artistic movement, it imploded when it became self-aware and monetized. The Ramones were piped in between sets as if to hammer home the point that what we were witnessing at The Fillmore was totally punk rock by drawing attention to the fact that Courtney was actually quoting the band on "But Julian" (from America's Sweetheart) when she shouted, "Hey gabba gabba baby!" Punk, however, is not $32.50 a pop (courtesy of Ticketmaster). Punk is also not sponsored by Budweiser "True" Music. Punk is not extra security stationed at the four corners of the auditorium for fear of the potential legal repercussions stemming from an overly spirited performance by the headliner. Punk is not one beer per person with proper documentation and the requisite stamp on the back of the hand. Punk has no strict non-smoking policy and punk rockers, themselves, do not own cell phones outfitted with GPS units and do not work in offices 9-to-5. (Even if they do wear black clothing 24/7, scowl perpetually on sunny days, or occasionally try to fuck shit up on the weekends.)

Courtney attempted to walk this fine line between corporate and countercultural, but it didn't quite work out the way anyone really wanted it to in the end. Yes, she swore like a trucker. Yes, she berated members of the audience and flipped them off when she felt like it, but she also smiled and posed for cameras that weren't necessarily there. She whipped the modest crowd into a frenzy with "Violet" and "Miss World," but The Chelsea (or, Rent-A-Hole as I started to think of them) sounded like they had just stuffed the sheet music for these Live Through This classics into their collective panties before taking the stage. There was something distinctly Spinal Tapish about this all-girl band that made me do double-takes and think thoughts like, "Is that Michelle Branch on guitar?" and "Is Lita Ford playing drums?" Their Animatronic antics were most evident when Courtney & Co. attempted some of the surf-infused material off of 1998's Celebrity Skin. As the band tried to put a countrified spin on the intro to "Malibu" it was truly like watching The Pussycats (of Saturday morning cartoon fame) fronted, not by Josie, but by the love child of Sally Struthers and Anna Nicole Smith (before all of the TRIMSPA® nonsense).

Courtney Love did, however, get to flash her brilliant fangs on "All The Drugs" (one of the most coherent tracks on America's Sweetheart) which she prefaced by declaring that "they fucking rehabbed my ass!" as The Chelsea finally (finally!) clicked behind her and she wailed at god for condemning her to a life without substances. This was the highlight of the night for me as the show did a total 180 after the first encore, a battle-of-the-bands caliber "House of the Rising Son," was (randomly) introduced by Robin Williams. While I did not get to hear "Drown Soda," "Beautiful Son," "Burn Black," or "Retard Girl," I did get to hear the snarl and growl of a voice that continues to incite and inspire despite the drama (real, imagined, and fabricated) that Courtney Love continues to cultivate in her personal life.

______________________________________________________________

To reach any other page contained in this month's update on Fufkin.com, read the home page for the appropriate link and click on it. You can also search the site from any page using the search box located at the top of each page. Merely type in the word, phrase, name of the band, recording, name of the Fufkin writer that you are looking for or Whatever in the search box, and then click on "Search". If you would like to e-mail us, go to the About Us page for a list of e-mail addresses.

Go back to the home page by clicking here

___________________________________________________________