Courtney Love at House of Blues
Originally written for UNRATED Magazine. Published 07/19/2013
I went to a cabin this weekend in Michigan. I spent evenings drinking and talking with some interesting people that have spent many years in Chicago, and their experiences as long time locals verses my own as a short term transplant.
Summer events, fairs and festivals came up and we discussed Lolapalooza. The only positive conversation around the event focused on how much money it brings to the city.
So there you have it. The 90s are a brand.
Just in case you didn't get the memo, Grunge is bought and sold in your Local Urban Outfitter along side that compact disk.
Entering the House of Blues Chicago smacked me in the face with Music bringing in the money.
There is a guy in the bathroom reading an iPad waiting for tips. Everything in the restaurant is calibrated to take your money. Either through the Blues Brothers or some false sense of proximity to some vestigial memory of authentic music.
You can't help but fear a raw performance like what made Courtney love and Hole famous will feel Like another musician looking to cash in on their youthful rebellion thanks to years of mismanaged finances.
Decay and commercialism taint my first impressions. It's Punk rebranded as a catchphrase on a gas station shot glass.
Welcome to Illinois, now buy something to prove the experience existed.
The real question is whether or not this is a show full of Gen X and Y burnouts seeking some revival of lost youth, or if Courtney Love's star power has successfully bridged the generation gap to a new audience looking at her with fresh eyes removed from 20 years of context and controversy.
Tonight already feels like a greatest hits album no one wants to hear. It's up to Ms. Love and Starred to prove me wrong.
Starred has just begun. The empty haunting guitar is fascinating to watch in the crowd. The audience is divided between complete captivation and drunken indifference. Yet you can tell this unassuming opening guitar melody with only half te band and no proper lighting is on the brink of exploding into a memorable performance.
Elements of the Stop Making sense concert film have clearly influenced these performers as they sneak their show into the space. Genuine applause and cheering erupt as the rest of this young band fill out onto the stage.
With a sound that sometimes reeks of tuning guitars and full throated vocals, you're never sure if you like the sound or are completely blown away. The reductive simplicity of the music is refreshing in the over marketed world of beds and loops to insert into a Pepsi Ad.
It has been a long time since we've been exposed to good music that forces you to actually listen, and those in the crowd listening are being rewarded with a truly memorable experience in an in memorable venue.
As Starred works through their first song, it becomes clear who is here for the music and who is here because of a teenage relationship with Courtney Love and The music of Hole. All you have to do is look around at the people listening vs talking through an incredible opening act.
The criticism comes in the stage performance. These are capital A Artists so engrossed in their instruments and fine tuning of the soundscape it's completely unnecessary to actually observe the stage. And perhaps that's as it should be with music as fulfilling as their exploration, yet a good show is not just about good music, but a good performance as well, and if you're more focused on tuning a pedal than playing to a crowd you have not come into your full as a band. As musicians they understand their craft, and showmen they're as green as a high school bad that hasn't practiced playing in front of a mirror.
Some complaint must be directed at House of Blues and their complete lack of responsible lighting. Failing to even provide enough mood lighting to communicate the lead members of the band is an inexcusable technical failure. You know there is a problem when the band ends a song with a request for better lighting.
Once again I am reminded the venue cares more about taking your money than cultivating an establishment known for great performances.
With segregated seating between general admission and front row standing room House of Blues has done nothing but let their space feel empty and expensive.
Paired with bar tables that come with their own ticket price it makes one wonder why you should ever bother to see a band live in the first place. No. The times for music have changed, and instead of adapting House of Blues is just cashing out.
As the songs move on for Starred their performance gets better and more lively but you still keep hoping for a true rock performance, but their inexperience shows as a fear of confident presentation. I can only hope over the course of the night Courtney Love picks up the slack or I will be asleep and sober (24oz of beer = $11) before midnight.
Starred keeps trying to bring you to a full throated rock song, but holds back from the crescendo. You cannot discount their talent or nuance with instrumentation, but if an opening act is supposed to prepare an audience for the headliner one is left questioning the pairing. Like being served a PBR in a high-end fusion restaurant, you're willing to trust the chef but you trust your instincts more. I would rather see Starred opening for a Sigur Ros or even an indie pop flavor of the week, but Courtney Love is a very specific performer with a certain expectation. One that doesn't match with the intellectual performance of Starred.
Jesus. There's still sand in my ear from the beach, and someone's cell phone flashlight just did a better job lighting Starred than the built in spots.
Something makes me think they're rationing all the light for Courtney Love like it impacts the venue margins. Corporate cynicism permeates the space as bouncers and suits swim the crowds making sure people are sinking enough, spending enough. Daddy has a boat to buy, and I could pick up a hot dog for $4. We are all the 99%.
And as the curtain closes on Starred the chatter returns to the space and finally light shine again on the stage. It's a shame. Starred is the right band, in the wrong space.
When a headliner says they go on at Nine, the unspoken reality is that means ten. Within ten minutes on Starred leaving the stage you can hear Ms. Love's crew entering warmups on the mics and instruments. An impressive gesture from a performer that has won the audience and no true pressure to start on time. Or never mind. The time drags on with just teasings of a performance. This is a long wait with nothing to write about...
30 minutes from Starred to Love. Very acceptable. And even from the start Ms. Love has still retained 20 years of lessons on how to open a show.
Oh good. The lights do work. Shame for Starred we never saw the band, Courtney Love will not have the same problem.
There is real love in the room as Courtney walks out and the crowd connects.
This is a fair and real moment of youth memory. For a moment this crowd has forgotten the cost of drinks, the segregated spaces, and rampant commercialism. Of a venue and they're back in the 90s and heyday of Rock and Roll.
Courtney Love still sings and feels raw around the edges, and considering the real fear is an over polished performance the cracks in her voice and moments off rhythm are genuine and authentic, not the signs of a weary rock star.
The crowd sings along. Courtney is in complete command. The sound an light show finally woke up and decided to work. If every 90s revival looked and felt like tonight, the 90s wouldn't be trying to come back, they never would have left.
Watching someone that survived such public hardship performing so well does more to make you question the failures of other bands than be critical of her capacity to roll the house.
There is energy in her set and a vibrancy to her person that leaves you wondering why no one else has been paying attention to this rebirth. Even I wonder, what the Hell, I thought her career was over.
How very wrong my assumption was. This iteration of Courtney is worth spending money to see. Not just a rapid fire recycle of her and others greatest hits, this is a well practiced band perfectly comfortable riffing with the audience.
Full of loving middle fingers and fuck yous. It's an authenticity that was long thought dead with the rebranding of MTV and the rise of the Pirate Bay.
Then some boy throws their underwear onto the stage. You get the sense the crowd has come home.
The 90s grunge and Rock movement was a decade pockmarked with death, egos, and band implosions. There is a poetic justice that in the end Courtney Love turns out to be one do the great enduring survivors of an era known for apathy and cultural frustration.
Courtney's band is onstage having genuine fun. Laughing and cracking inside jokes during their playing only lends itself to the overwhelming feeling this room is far more connected than anyone may be willing to admit, and it's all being channeled by the electric Courtney Love and her incredibly talented band, that Ms. Love is very fast in reminding the audience of.
I cannot profess to know the nuances of her career, but if tonight is the prime piece of evidence, Courtney Love has never performed better than she is right now, that Ms. Love is very fast in reminding the audience of.
I cannot profess to know the nuances of her career, but if tonight is the prime piece of evidence, Courtney Love has never performed better than she is right now.
In the back typing away the crowd presses in with sweat and energy. My pants vibrate in time with the music. The crowd is just too old for a mosh pit.
The audience is clearly a factor here. These aren't kids or burnouts from a failed era. These are adults where dreams were deferred from a day in September, two wars and an economy wiped out. Housewives and workers. Artists that made compromises and professionals home from the office.
This is a generation that fell into the working class whether they expected it or not, and every single one is remembering the first time they heard Ms. Love rock their world.
The nostalgia in the room is so palpable a break in the crowd even interrupted Courtney into asking if a mosh pit broke out while I was writing. Jokingly she encouraged everyone to "ask their dad" about the phenomena. Perhaps she hasn't noticed all those dads are actually here tonight reliving glory days while someone else changes the diapers.
Even songs that in recorded format fell flat come alive tonight. Malibu is a strong rock ballad tonight that strikes a clear cord in the room. I think the rest of us forgot it was a part of her library.
45 minutes in Courtnry Love tells us she's sent flowers to Pearl Jam for their Wrigley Field show tomorrow night, and revels in how a small life moment got fulfilled with that simple novelty. Sneaking a fast drag off a cigarette she goes full diesel back into the set.
Starred has a lot to learn about running a set from Courtney Love. The cavalier attitude cuts raw against the controlled craft of reunion bands and aging stars. She has plenty at risk with a return tour, and has owned the moment by owning her own fear failure. And such is the mark of any confident artist that has become intimate with the big F. No. Courtney Love is a rock star that knows the world she's performing in, and has the experience to run at full tilt.
Cellphones long replaced the icon of approval for a show, and if you can measure success from Instagram and twitter backdrops and clogged network connections this audience has resoundingly voiced their approval of a performer that may never escape her history, but now doesn't have to...because its just another battle scar of pride where the best days are still ahead.
The songs and tempos change from piece to piece, but the energy on stage clearly sustains through the night. This is a band fit enough to rock all night long, and this is a crowd ready and willing.
The age gap in the crowd comes clear in generational differences. Some people are snapping quick photos of memories to share and cherish. Others drink while experiencing the evening through the lens of the phone video recording application. Seeing the 30 year olds that operated as the digital ambassadors to our culture and the 20 year olds that have always had it presence create a startlingly obvious difference between who is in the moment of the show, and who is saving it for later. I cannot comment on which is better. But the separation is there.
House of Blues has televisions set around the bars for those with lower grade tickets, and while the televisions are modern plasma screens, they only seem to carry clear pictures when showing advertising.
When Courtney Love is on the television one would get a better image from YouTube over dial up. The image resolution for a high profile venue on their secondary screens is nothing but shameful. People have paid to watch a concert through security cameras simply because they didn’t spend enough to be here. What bar venue has the audacity to bill their pit at a premium?
Celebrity Skin. The room goes nuts. The mosh pit is real, the 21st century hasn't arrived yet. Courtney Love is killing the show. Young and old alike know and love this classic, and the band is tearing it up with a perfect performance. We just moved into 3rd gear.
As a man it's easy to forget how few strong rocking women there were in grunge, like most things it was male dominated, and we took it for granted. A second look over the crowd forces reflection on those teen preconceptions regarding gender and rock. Clearly a whole generation of women have always seen her differently than just Kurt Cobain's girlfriend. To the women in this room tonight Courtney Love is a survivor, a Phoenix triumphant. And to a more open minded and younger generation of men she's an undeniable powerhouse and their best touchstone to an era when rock was still discovered in a city instead of created in a focus group.
Whether we know it or not Courtney Love is a new champion of an old era and fully ready to carry the torch forward into our current decade that still hasn't found its feet and all too willing to reach into a self-referential past for some sense of guidance and if Courtney Love can show us the path, we might actually be on the right road.
Flowers just landed on stage. Posies. The wall of sound continues and Courtney Love looks like she just took the stage. Never mind we're over an hour into the performance with smoke breaks. A stranger would think the show just started. The question is now who's going to last longer. The aging members of the crowd or Ms. Love. My money is on Courtney.
With Courtney's musical knowledge and references to other bands like Black Flag and pearl jam it's clear she's learned more over the years than she has forgotten.
The return for an encore is forced. The set ends so abruptly it's clear she's coming back. It rings false in light of how well she's worked and controlled the stage and set. Yet when she comes back on, she still knows what she's doing, and one can easily forgive a small moment is such a big and great showing.
"Waistlines and Hairlines don't matter tonight. Courtney Love reminded us all that Grunge doesn't die."
I also need to look up the guitarist Ginger. He played with the band tonight. I don't know who he is.
The night ends on Doll Parts. The room has thinned from fair weather fans and those looking for a cheap hookup. After so many years Doll Parts is still relevant and carries new meaning with a stronger and more seasoned Courtney Love. The audience eats it up as they should. The performance is classic and firing on all cylinders. The room is gingery and Courtney Love is feeding them their just desserts.
