BRIEF THOUGHT--Why so much hate for Love?

By JON HOCHSCHARTNER--

People adore hating Courtney Love.

My favorite story about the former Hole front-woman took place before she was famous. She was 12 and trying out for the wholesome Mickey Mouse Club. For her audition, she read the suicidal poet Sylvia Plath’s “Daddy.” Can you imagine the looks on the faces of those Disney representatives as this little girl, this future punk princess, recited, “Daddy, I have had to kill you. You died before I had time…Daddy, Daddy, you bastard, I’m through”? Priceless.

In high school, I used to hate Courtney too. Brash, washed up, she seemed to be constantly flashing her aged breasts at unappreciative audiences and fighting for custody of her daughter from a drug-induced coma. More than that, I was a fan of Kurt Cobain, Courtney’s late husband. Among Nirvana lovers, she’s regarded as a grunge Yoko Ono: taking Cobain away from his music while he was alive, and hijacking his legacy after his death. It wasn’t until the past few years that I actually listened to her band Hole’s music. Listening to “Live Through This,” their 1994 album, completely changed my perspective. It’s a beautifully raw record that should have earned Courtney a place in the (regrettably small) pantheon of the greatest female rockers ever. When she sings, “Kill me pills, no one cares, my friends,” you can feel that she means it; it’s not the manufactured teen angst of say, Linkin Park. It’s the kind of music that makes you feel, even at your loneliest and most self-loathing, there’s someone who understands. Not to sound too pretentious, but that’s art, to paraphrase a definition that Meg Ryan, of all people, offered. So shove it, haters.