Post by Dylan on Nov 2, 2004 9:26:05 GMT -5
Look out below -- a 'rehabbed' Courtney Love takes the stage
Aidin Vaziri, San Francisco Chronicle Pop Music Critic
Thursday, October 28, 2004
Last seen getting carted off to Bellevue Hospital, rock's one-woman hurricane attempted to kick back into gear what's left of her career at the Fillmore on Tuesday. Having been through hell over the past few years -- the arrests, overdoses and custody battles -- it would seem Courtney Love, who turned 40 in July, would have finally shaken off the desire to make like a train plowing straight into an 18-wheeler. Except, no, she hasn't.
Backed by the Chelsea, an all-girl band that basically looks like the Runaways on crank, she arrived on stage just one minute late -- a good sign -- and, in the next minute, proceeded to hike her sheer black dress up to reveal black panties and bark out the first of countless, "F -- . F -- . F -- . " Not a good sign.
This pretty much set the pace for the next hour. The band would thunder through some dusty old song from Love's back catalog they barely knew how to play. The bedraggled singer would spend half the time revealing her fleshy thighs, flicking lit cigarettes into the audience, and, if she got around to it, growling whatever lyrics she actually remembered.
By the second song, "But Julian I'm a Little Bit Older Than You," she skipped straight to the part where she wails, "Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!" For "Malibu," she absentmindedly dropped the microphone at her side and puffed away during the chorus. "You're seeing a fabulous show," she shrugged when people forgot to applaud. "F -- feel lucky!"
Sensing danger early on, one of her roadies leapt onstage to remove an idle microphone stand. And still, the show was a mess, even by Love's liberal standards. "I'm sorry I'm not playing guitar tonight," the singer said, leaping onto a shaky monitor. "But I feel like a rock singer." She then took off her shoes and sparkly knee-high socks to perform the rest of the show barefoot, occasionally sticking a pudgy foot out for some brave soul in the audience to grab. "I'm all rehabbed," she hacked. "It's so f -- embarrassing."
She sounded horse. Not hoarse, but like an actual horse after it had been run through the glue factory. On top of that she kept clutching at her crotch. But, again, not in the boastful manner that someone such as Nelly normally does; more like someone who might be suffering from a raging case of something nasty.
The band pressed on, bludgeoning through random Hole hits such as "Asking For It" and "Awful," most of which were rendered completely unrecognizable. Love met audience requests with antipathy. "That's really sad that you ask for the biggest hit," she barked at one point. "Don't do that."
During a torrential "Violet," she skipped over the security barrier and into the audience where she was promptly felt up by the first three rows before an enormous bodyguard pulled her back onstage. She spent a good portion of the rest of the night in the horizontal position, croaking, "They just rehabbed I disagree."
Then, as if things couldn't get any more unreal, Robin Williams walked out in a camouflage vest to announce the encore, a burlesque version of "House of the Rising Sun."
It's a pity no one was there to see it. The Fillmore was more than half empty, even with extra tables scattered on the floor to make the crowd look thicker. Earlier in the day, the promoters had offered 150 free tickets for giveaway on Live 105.3 FM. The radio station respectfully refused, confirming that Love has successfully driven away even her most sympathetic supporters.
After running around the stage grabbing her boobs and doing bad Jazzercise moves for a few more minutes, she closed the show with a shambling version of one of Hole's biggest hits, "Miss World," singing the kicker over and over, "Now I've made my bed, I'll lie in it/ I've made my bed, I'll die in it."
What a show.
Aidin Vaziri, San Francisco Chronicle Pop Music Critic
Thursday, October 28, 2004
Last seen getting carted off to Bellevue Hospital, rock's one-woman hurricane attempted to kick back into gear what's left of her career at the Fillmore on Tuesday. Having been through hell over the past few years -- the arrests, overdoses and custody battles -- it would seem Courtney Love, who turned 40 in July, would have finally shaken off the desire to make like a train plowing straight into an 18-wheeler. Except, no, she hasn't.
Backed by the Chelsea, an all-girl band that basically looks like the Runaways on crank, she arrived on stage just one minute late -- a good sign -- and, in the next minute, proceeded to hike her sheer black dress up to reveal black panties and bark out the first of countless, "F -- . F -- . F -- . " Not a good sign.
This pretty much set the pace for the next hour. The band would thunder through some dusty old song from Love's back catalog they barely knew how to play. The bedraggled singer would spend half the time revealing her fleshy thighs, flicking lit cigarettes into the audience, and, if she got around to it, growling whatever lyrics she actually remembered.
By the second song, "But Julian I'm a Little Bit Older Than You," she skipped straight to the part where she wails, "Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!" For "Malibu," she absentmindedly dropped the microphone at her side and puffed away during the chorus. "You're seeing a fabulous show," she shrugged when people forgot to applaud. "F -- feel lucky!"
Sensing danger early on, one of her roadies leapt onstage to remove an idle microphone stand. And still, the show was a mess, even by Love's liberal standards. "I'm sorry I'm not playing guitar tonight," the singer said, leaping onto a shaky monitor. "But I feel like a rock singer." She then took off her shoes and sparkly knee-high socks to perform the rest of the show barefoot, occasionally sticking a pudgy foot out for some brave soul in the audience to grab. "I'm all rehabbed," she hacked. "It's so f -- embarrassing."
She sounded horse. Not hoarse, but like an actual horse after it had been run through the glue factory. On top of that she kept clutching at her crotch. But, again, not in the boastful manner that someone such as Nelly normally does; more like someone who might be suffering from a raging case of something nasty.
The band pressed on, bludgeoning through random Hole hits such as "Asking For It" and "Awful," most of which were rendered completely unrecognizable. Love met audience requests with antipathy. "That's really sad that you ask for the biggest hit," she barked at one point. "Don't do that."
During a torrential "Violet," she skipped over the security barrier and into the audience where she was promptly felt up by the first three rows before an enormous bodyguard pulled her back onstage. She spent a good portion of the rest of the night in the horizontal position, croaking, "They just rehabbed I disagree."
Then, as if things couldn't get any more unreal, Robin Williams walked out in a camouflage vest to announce the encore, a burlesque version of "House of the Rising Sun."
It's a pity no one was there to see it. The Fillmore was more than half empty, even with extra tables scattered on the floor to make the crowd look thicker. Earlier in the day, the promoters had offered 150 free tickets for giveaway on Live 105.3 FM. The radio station respectfully refused, confirming that Love has successfully driven away even her most sympathetic supporters.
After running around the stage grabbing her boobs and doing bad Jazzercise moves for a few more minutes, she closed the show with a shambling version of one of Hole's biggest hits, "Miss World," singing the kicker over and over, "Now I've made my bed, I'll lie in it/ I've made my bed, I'll die in it."
What a show.
