Let's all chill out and let Courtney Love do her thing
Courtney Love’s ta-tas are back in the news this week. It seems a Hole concert in Sao Paulo was all it took for the 47-year-old to peel off her over the shoulder boulder holders and expose her boobies yet again. Just a glimpse of those nips and the gossip rags snap to attention, all too happy to ridicule Kurt Cobain’s wild widow. But isn’t it time we gave this train wreck of a woman a hall pass? When it comes to Nirvana’s Yoko Ono, we’ve slagged and sneered enough—Love learned long ago that she’d never be America’s sweetheart.
Her “kinderwhore” days may be long gone—the itsy-bitsy baby doll dresses balled up with Cobain’s flannel in some long-forgotten storage locker—but that doesn’t mean Love will ever slip into a power suit and play the part of old maid. There’s no reforming this rock star; she’s as controversial as they come. But after the umpteenth public-relations disaster, you’d think we’d be over the mud-slinging and cut Courtney Michelle Harrison some slack.
When it comes to first-world problems, Love has enough to warrant that OxyContin addiction—and the need to show off her suspiciously perky 34Bs to a stadium of bamboozled Brazilians. Long before Love was shamed for canoodling with Michael Pitt (her late husband’s doppelganger and star of the Cobain biopic Last Days), or traumatizing a New York Times writer by shimmying out of her skivvies mid-interview, she had a whole host of other sorrows to bring her down.
Having horny businessmen fork over dollar bills for a whiff of her lady bits had to be a great confidence-booster when she stripped as a pro. As were those years riddled with drug addiction and debauchery—no doubt helped along by accusations from ruthless Nirvana fans that she murdered the Sid to her Nancy. Then there’s that whole business of being on Social Services’ hit list for her WTF parenting skills with Frances Bean Cobain. This psychological roller coaster is bound to send anyone off the rails now and again. So if that means a little areola served up with Hole’s greatest hits, then we should be able to awkwardly laugh it off—just as David Letterman did when Love re-enacted Drew Barrymore’s infamous on-air tit flash.
Really, aside from a few instances when she emerged with a shiny new gown (and Frankenstein face, courtesy of Dr. McBotox), the California native has been true to her cause. She’s been sloppy and strung-out, sure. Naked and nasty, absolutely. But she’s also been a constant in the canon of rock. We count on her onstage stripteases the same way we expect Ronnie Wood’s love torpedo to be gobbled up by some barely legal blonde the moment the Stones walk off-stage.
It’s not fair to expect Love to pull a June Cleaver revamp just because she’ll be ringing in 5-0 soon. So enough with the sensational headlines, enough with the Kurt Cobain shout-outs at Hole concerts (according to Love’s outburst at the Brazil gig, she’s “going to beat the fuck out of you if you do it again”), and enough with picking on a chick who just likes to hang out topless and strum on her guitar.
Now if she starts brandishing her beaver on-stage, then we can talk about boycotting her bush. In the meantime, though, if Hole’s fearless leader wants to share her fun bags with the world, we should all chill the fuck out and show the lady some, ahem, love.