Respecting Demons

I don't care how my wife feels about her; I'm a big fan of Courtney Love.

What? Courtney Love? Are you crazy?

You heard me. Big fan. Nope.

What my wife fails to understand - "I can't stand Courtney Love!" - is that there is a place for her, and other addicts, in the creative community. You don't have to like her screeching vocals. You don't have to like her acting. You don't even have to think she's a decent human being. But what's wrong with respecting her demons.

Her husband did point a shotgun at his head and pull the trigger.

I saw Ms. Love perform with her band, Hole, when I was still a baby dyke. It was, by far, the loudest concert I have ever attended (the ringing in my ears lasted for weeks.) The crowd - pushing and shoving and cursing and fighting - was rowdier than Libyan protestors. Ms. Love was, by far, the most fucked-up human being I'd ever seen in person.

At the time, I thought I was listening to a rock 'n roller argue with her fans, telling them to go fuck themselves and the like. At the time, I was a girl - high after smoking a joint in the car - continuously commenting on how wasted Ms. Love was as she stumbled around the stage, struggled to find the microphone, spent more time yelling at the crowd than singing songs. At the time, I thought I was watching a rock star do what a rock star does: get loaded and play a show.

Now, I'm older. Maybe wiser. Definitely more mature. Now, I realize I was watching someone in pain. Now, I can respect her.