Courtney Love, The Mercy Kills @ Festival Hall, Melbourne (16/08/2014)
I decided to get ready for tonight's show in a way that would make our host proud: smashing tinnies in an alleyway. After all, if you're going to be in a room for two hours with Courtney Love, you're going to want to be as sedated as possible.
As a venue, Festival Hall suits Love's gritty rock to a tee. The doors haven't even been open for five minutes and the floor is already sticky as a German pornography set. Despite only being at half capacity, Festy still has plenty of room to spare. Perhaps after all these years, Love's audacious ferocity doesn't have quite the pull it did in an age framed by hair metal. |
As supports The Mercy Kills finish up their first song, I
overhear someone comment on their white studded uniforms. Namely, that
it makes them look like an Mindless Self Indulgence tribute act. It’s an aesthetic that the
sends fists flying and bodies pogoing along with the gothic rock that
feels like a throwback to the Misfits, black painted cheese and all.
Keeping with the theme of things to come, their set finishes up with a
frantic and literally firey drum solo, and letting them fade back into
the darkness.
When Courtney Love arrives onto the stage, the crowd is easily three times what it was before. Unfortunately, this means that the amount of morons was also increased. People clawed, kicked, punched and on one occasion even bit to get to a place that would promise to be in Love's line of sight. I tasted the sticky floor three times that night, and rather than find a hand to help me up, I found worn Dr Marteens trying to trample me to get to my spot. Some audiences take pride in being called the craziest so instead I'll take another route. That audience was the stupidest I've seen, and I'll believe they'll hold that mantle for a long time.
While Love can't be held accountable for her fans actions, the superstar wasn't in the highest of esteem either. Slurring out insults at 100km/h, the fifty year old's intersong banter alternated throughout the night from mildly entertaining to frustratingly cringe worthy. Every quiet verse was characterised by a flatness to rival a pug's face and her attempts to be as venomous and antagonising as her heyday felt like a plot to kill Hitler: months of planning just to fall apart come game-time. With bands like Fucked Up and Perfect Pussy actually getting taken seriously as acts, it seems like Love’s brand of coarseness that made the public fall for here might be lost in the current day. This show is proving this hypothesis.
But if you’ve seen anything of recent about Courtney Love, or hell, just anything about Courtney Love, you’ll have noticed one thing about her. Well, probably many things, but one undoubtedly good trait. Love knows how to keep all attention on herself. Because no matter how many bung notes or outright offensive statements came out during the night, or even whenever she disappeared from view altogether, the crowd was always had their eyes solely on Love. And when listening to her lash out and scream it’s almost impossible to not get lost in the moment of 20 years ago, when flannel was ruler of all.
Courtney isn’t going to win over any new fans with this tour, or even this new album, and she’s fine with that. What these shows are, are celebrations for her fans that have stuck with her through the odds and ends. For those who stood by and watched Hole break-up to Hole reunion to Hole break-up, to the end of things. For the people that call out those who rag her out despite knowing her only as that certain someone’s widow. That’s why the humour feels so flat when she calls out the audience as fuckheads or assholes or whatever it may be. Because despite those words, there’s a smile on her face. One that’s echoed through the room.
Ben Spencer
When Courtney Love arrives onto the stage, the crowd is easily three times what it was before. Unfortunately, this means that the amount of morons was also increased. People clawed, kicked, punched and on one occasion even bit to get to a place that would promise to be in Love's line of sight. I tasted the sticky floor three times that night, and rather than find a hand to help me up, I found worn Dr Marteens trying to trample me to get to my spot. Some audiences take pride in being called the craziest so instead I'll take another route. That audience was the stupidest I've seen, and I'll believe they'll hold that mantle for a long time.
While Love can't be held accountable for her fans actions, the superstar wasn't in the highest of esteem either. Slurring out insults at 100km/h, the fifty year old's intersong banter alternated throughout the night from mildly entertaining to frustratingly cringe worthy. Every quiet verse was characterised by a flatness to rival a pug's face and her attempts to be as venomous and antagonising as her heyday felt like a plot to kill Hitler: months of planning just to fall apart come game-time. With bands like Fucked Up and Perfect Pussy actually getting taken seriously as acts, it seems like Love’s brand of coarseness that made the public fall for here might be lost in the current day. This show is proving this hypothesis.
But if you’ve seen anything of recent about Courtney Love, or hell, just anything about Courtney Love, you’ll have noticed one thing about her. Well, probably many things, but one undoubtedly good trait. Love knows how to keep all attention on herself. Because no matter how many bung notes or outright offensive statements came out during the night, or even whenever she disappeared from view altogether, the crowd was always had their eyes solely on Love. And when listening to her lash out and scream it’s almost impossible to not get lost in the moment of 20 years ago, when flannel was ruler of all.
Courtney isn’t going to win over any new fans with this tour, or even this new album, and she’s fine with that. What these shows are, are celebrations for her fans that have stuck with her through the odds and ends. For those who stood by and watched Hole break-up to Hole reunion to Hole break-up, to the end of things. For the people that call out those who rag her out despite knowing her only as that certain someone’s widow. That’s why the humour feels so flat when she calls out the audience as fuckheads or assholes or whatever it may be. Because despite those words, there’s a smile on her face. One that’s echoed through the room.
Ben Spencer