An open letter to Courtney Love:
Ah Courtney Love how I um, loved, no! admired you! You’re marriage to Kurt Cobain coupled with your celebratized dislocation from society, angst at the world and general tumultuous emotions. At thirteen I felt I embodied everything that you were, you wanted and didn’t want to be an listened to where you poured your earnest emoticon into – your music, and where your partner did too, and where a few less critically accepted grunge-era heartthrobs(?) poured theirs into (Temple of the Dog anyone?). ‘Celebrity Skin’ and Live Through This spoke to me as clearly as if I lived on the West Coast wore petticoats and smudged lipstick (which I did, stolen from my mother), and they spoke to a generation of teen girls and beyond (bear in mind that my generation didn’t experience Courtney Love first time round) who idolized Hole, Garbage and The Cardigans with a vigor akin (and before the proper internet!) to Justin Beiber-mania, and we felt empowered!
Unfortunately, I think the time where your eloquence has power is over. Your scowling vocal is the same, yes, but so is your guitar, so is everything! And there’s no Melissa Auf der Maur to back you up. Your high heels aren’t as prickly, your lyrical couplets not as biting, and your general vibe less aggressive and more aggregate. You’ve had another twenty years to figure things out! Why are you still so messed up! You’re a mother! Maybe stick to that these days? Im sorry Courtney, I wanted to like it, I wanted to cry with it, I wanted to call pals and discuss how the lyrics related exactly to my situation. But I think I’m beyond it. And I think you should be too.
