Courtney Love News Thread - Links ONLY

[VerucaSlut]

Courtney Love's story draws big crowd at Book Passage

After signing 400 copies of her new book, "Dirty Blonde," for a long line of fans at Book Passage Saturday afternoon, rock singer Courtney Love wandered into a quiet corner of the store and began browsing through the women's self-improvement section.

"Wait," she told her anxious entourage, including a large body guard in a black suit. "I want sex books. Hold on."

Looking glamorous, sipping a latte like a kinky Junior Leaguer in black spiked heels, black stockings, a sheer black skirt and black top, her bright platinum hair spilling over her shoulders, the 42-year-old widow of Kurt Cobain had shown up for the Corte Madera signing more than an hour late.

Blaming an eye problem - she apparently got makeup in one - she apologized to her patient fans, some of whom had been waiting since the store opened that morning. She made it up to them by playing an unmixed copy of her unreleased new album, "How Dirty Girls Get Clean," rather loudly over the store's sound system. The CD is expected to go on sale in February.

"Don't record this and put it on the Internet," she warned, shouting over the blare of the music. "If you do, I'd be so f----- and I'd never come to Marin County again."

During a phone interview in the car as she was being driven from her San Francisco hotel to the bookstore, Love talked about staying briefly in Mill Valley with her estranged father when she was a delinquent teenager living in foster homes and juvenile facilities.

"I went to Tam High for like a minute," she recalled. "I hitchhiked home and got a ride from Eddie Money. I remember that."

In "Dirty Blonde," subtitled "the Diaries of Courtney Love," a random collection of photos and scribbles and drawings and poems, Love documents her troubled childhood, her marriage to Cobain and her rock stardom with her band, Hole.

She writes in her author's note that "my values have changed dramatically over the years. I am now a practicing Buddhist, sober and macrobiotic."

Love sounded slurry during the interview in the car, but then it may have been a bad cell phone connection. In any case, she admitted that she didn't clean up her act after seeing God, finding inner truth and having a spiritual epiphany.

"The court made me," she said.

Three years ago, she was arraigned on two felony counts of drug possession and put on probation, which she violated by overdosing at a Hollywood club last summer. In the end, a judge ordered her to undergo a month-long drug rehab program.

"The DA made me a cause celebre," she contended, then admitted, "On top of which my own behavior wasn't good. I was doing drugs, so I was asking for it."

Last month, Forbes magazine reported that Cobain, the Nirvana frontman who committed suicide in 1994, leaped past Elvis Presley to the top of this year's "Top-Earning Dead Celebrities." His estate raked in $50 million from October 2005 to October 2006.

Love, whose daughter by Cobain, Frances Bean, is now 14, is credited with boosting the grunge god's take after she sold 25 per cent of Nirvana's publishing catalog to an outside company for a reported $50 million.

Cobain took the color photograph of Love in the nude, lying on her stomach, her nicely-rounded backside exposed, that graces the cover of "Dirty Blonde."

The book has an undeniable lurid tone, so it's surprising that she's still complaining about a recent sex scandal in the British tabloids about her torrid affair with English comedian Steve Coogan, whom she met when they were both staying in the same hotel in Los Angeles.

"We had a....you know," she said as she was driven through Marin's rainbow tunnel. "We burned the place down."

Still, she doesn't think she deserved the kind of cruel treatment that the Fleet Street gossip mongers subjected her to.

"I've never had my sex life on the front page of a tabloid," she insisted. "It wasn't a big thing over here because he's not famous in the United States. But it was everywhere in the U.K. It was Kate Moss size in the tabloids for weeks and weeks and weeks. I was deeply, deeply, deeply humiliated by that."

The peccadillo didn't seem to bother Love's fans at Book Passage one bit. They waited behind a red tape barrier for their turn to have their book signed by Love and to perhaps share a few words with her.

Twenty-two-year-old Mason Weiss, who lives in Marin and plays in a band called Man Haterrr, came with his mother, Susanna.

"I've been a fan of hers since I was a kid," he said, giddy with excitement. "She was a lofty, pink, mysterious, lipsticky lady with beautiful angsty music. It changed my life. It opened a feminist can of rock 'n roll worms and I've never looked back."

A few minutes later, Love left for another appearance in Berkeley, but not before picking out a book titled "Why Men Marry Bitches."

"That looks good," she said.

Source

[VerucaSlut]

Dirty Blonde E-Card

[VerucaSlut]

Originally Posted by FadedYouth.blogspot.com

Which singer's doc has refused to administer any more Botox? The medic refuses to give her any more needles and has cancelled her twice-monthly appointments due to her perma-frozen look and droopy eyelids.

Source

[VerucaSlut]

There's a Thin Line Between Love and Hate
Some people suffer for their art. Courtney Love suffers at the expense of it.

Male rock stars who’ve sung songs about rage pretty much grow on trees. You can get them unbridled from the Sex Pistols or self-deprecating from the Violent Femmes or sardonic from Elvis Costello or sexy from the Rolling Stones. But the female rock star who’s made art out of anger is a creature even more rare than the female rock star. For this I love Courtney Love. Oh that’s right, I sometimes think when I hear her, her music is actually really different, and really good. And why had I forgotten that in the first place? Because Courtney Love the exhibitionist is so insistent upon upstaging Courtney Love the artist.

Unfortunately, before the artist releases her new album, How Dirty Girls Get Clean, due out this spring, the exhibitionist is publishing Dirty Blonde: The Diaries of Courtney Love. To get a sense of what the first half of the book is like, you don’t have to actually read it, you just have to conjure your own childhood diaries or ancient homework assignments. Mortifying stuff. How you thought you were so clever and soulful. Or, as adolescence descended, how limitlessly self-righteous you became. Or even (let’s face it!) what an intense freak you could be in your twenties. But that’s okay, because nobody will ever see these artifacts of your recent past lives, unless you forget to burn them before your death. Or publish them between hard covers.

Why? Why would Love show us a poem written at age 9 called “Angel Dust” that includes the words “falling like pearls from the mist”? Or offer to the eyes of the world a list of her goals from early adulthood: “Make LP, Achieve LA visibility, 125 Toned Pounds—Heal, Cash flow very good—loose”? Is it a generous gift from Love to self-involved girls across the country who will see themselves in her anguish and princess doodles and take comfort in the thought that someday they too could be stars? An altruistic urge that comes from the same part of Love that wrote (as a young woman already in Hole), “I want to help the ugly, the disavowed, the disowned, the terminal”? Or is the publication of this book the behavior of a narcissist so venal and deranged she thinks every scrap of paper she’s ever scrawled on is worthy of public attention?

And make no mistake: Dirty Blonde is literally a collection of scraps. There are barely legible scribblings, a Xerox of Love’s passport, and, more interesting, snapshots of her with Kate Moss, Winona Ryder, and Hillary Clinton, and a letter she once wrote to Kim Gordon (in which she uses the word slenchingly). This is a Dumpster-dive through Love’s life; Love and her editor offer almost nothing in the way of organizational framework to guide the reader through the entries. For example, after pages of Love’s jottings on an airplane (we don’t know from or to where) about the first flush of fame (“since I have no friends, this is the thing that excites me—manipulating people for press—i’m pretty good at it because in isolation you hone your skills”), we get the first clear mention of Kurt Cobain: a photo of her with him captioned “Frances in my tummy.” If you’re looking for Love’s private thoughts on hooking up with the king of grunge and giving birth to his baby, you won’t find them here.

You do get to see Love’s rock memorabilia from the Pacific Northwest’s heyday, and that’s fun stuff. For instance, a collage Love made of photos of good girls with her solicitation for a female bass player written under them: “Someone who can play ok, and stand in front of 30,000 people, take off her shirt and have fuck you written on her tits. If your not afraid of me and your not afraid to fucking say it, send a letter. no more pussies, no more fake girls, I want a whore from hell.” It’s exciting to be reminded of a time when Love was able to tether her appetite for attention to her talent (as in her most famous lyric: “I want to be the girl with the most cake”). Love seemed, initially, to embody a kind of fabulous, feminist integrity, and her wildness sparkled with the possibility that she just didn’t give a shit.

These diaries make it clear that nothing could be further from the truth. She is, as she has written over and over throughout the course of her life, obsessed with being accepted, and the publication of these diaries is the final proof that, unlike many celebrities, Love wants to be affirmed for every humiliating detail of her being, not just the interesting or artistically successful bits. She will not rest until she’s told you everything, and seen if you will keep on listening. In the era of Us Weekly and reality television, when the bar has been set very, very low for acceptable celebrity attention-seeking behavior, Love has still consistently managed to find a way under it.

This all works out fine for a public that seems to have an insatiable desire to see Love, as she once put it, “covered in loser dust.” It is somehow not enough to know, as we already did, that Love’s father gave her drugs when she was a little girl and later tried to make a career of telling anyone who would listen that she murdered Cobain. (Supportive!) Or that she once crashed an MTV interview at the VMAs to literally kneel at the feet of Madonna (who acidly remarked, “Courtney Love is in dire need of attention right now”). Or that she has been, at different times in her 42 years, a stripper and a junkie, and has overdosed in front of her daughter on OxyContin and been straitjacketed and removed from her own home. If Love were to put Frances Bean’s old dirty diapers on display at a gallery, I doubt the show would be underattended.

Many an artist, male and female, has had a nervous breakdown or a drug addiction: Janis Joplin, Vincent Van Gogh, Sylvia Plath. But there is a difference between succumbing to the dark or pathetic forces within oneself and fetishizing them—imagining that your neuroses are as interesting as your talents. These diaries, while putting a lot of personal detritus out there, don’t bring us any closer to understanding what is really special about Courtney Love: her music. Dirty Blonde ends with an afterword arguing that Love is a feminist role model because she defies feminine conventions. But what would be really thrilling is to see her defy the feminine convention of self-loathing.

Source

[VerucaSlut]

LOVE'S LAWYER REPRESENTED HER FOR FREE

Rock star COURTNEY LOVE was shocked when high-powered Hollywood attorney HOWARD WEITZMAN contacted her and told her he would be willing to represent her in her legal battles for free.
The MALIBU star was arrested for allegedly attacking a woman with a liquor bottle at her ex-boyfriend's home, as well as for drug possession.
She insists her legal troubles are now behind and credits Weitzman, who has also represented OJ SIMPSON and MICHAEL JACKSON, for giving her a chance at a new life.
She explains, "The thing is this great lawyer came in and saved the day. He's a great guy named HOWARD WEITZMAN. Came in for free.
"For most people it costs a lot of money to sit down with Howard.
"He came in and said, 'I'll represent you if you stop doing drugs, because I don't like representing guilty people.' "I've honoured that for a year and three months now. I look better, feel better, (but) I have to deal with pain...which is not so fun."

source