I Dream of Courtney

Do you remember The Sound of Music?

Every time I see Courtney Love in the news, on Twitter, on Perez Hilton, the song How Do You Solve a Problem Like Maria? comes into my mind. I hum it as I make my tea and sit down to write this.

Even for an old-comer like me, it is sometimes hard to be objective. How does one observe an icon? I might as well take on Pinochet, or Evita. From her public breakdowns to her vital history she is in our collective memory. I once read a book about dreaming of Madonna. I wonder if such a book could be written about Courtney.

I want to come at this with no sense of entitlement, even though Courtney Love has offered herself to the world. I want to hold Courtney up , send her a few NAM-MYOHO-RENGE-KYO's and be done with it. But she demands more of me.

As a collective we all know Courtney's history. She married another icon of the grunge scene in 1990, but I think we forget that she was She before she met He. Courtney's love of music started long before the taste of her 2nd husband hit her. Did you know that she sang in Faith No More, or that the was to travel to Ireland and England on her own at 16 on a poxy trust fund? And she had a first husband. Not so Iconic, but in 1980 he loved her , and she loved him and there was a history before the grunge. And the drugs. And the shotgun. Courtney was Courtney before she belonged to you, or me, or Kurt.

I want to fast forward. You know the story, and so I wont trouble you with the myth. However, recently Courtney has troubled me. I have of course been mildly interested in her antics, but it was the FICO scores that got me. And reams and reams of these FICO attacks/I will fix your score/send me your money woes, that would follow on Facebook, Twitter and in her blog. It would appear that Miss Love is worried that the government has fucked her and fucked her big. But look deeper, even a centimetre deep. One could grab a tin foil hat and batten down the hatches. Courtney seemed to spend days and days, awake and frantic about what phantom Cobain was coming to take her away ha ha ha ha ho who who who who. And my icon fell.

But then she abated. She left Twitter. She Ceased and Desisted. She popped her head up on Facebook to Address The Masses On FICO, and her parental woes, but again as quick as she came, she went. Phew!

And now to her other crusade. The Bean. This precious, deeply talented, interesting child. This product of Icon who did no chose her birthright, yet is lumbered

I am going to tell you a rather big reality. I was a child of a rock star. I know what it is like to sleep on a blanket in egg crate covered studios, the smell of dope lingering and my parent laughing in the background, doing the last take. I know what it is like to want to go home, oh WHEN can we go home! But also be in awe of my parents talent. I also know what it is to want said parent to shape up for fucks sake and be my parent.

I often wonder, in all of Courtney's rants if she can stop for a moment in her quiet reflection and grasp empathy.

In all of her anger and tiger mother embodiment I wonder if she can bypass her resentment and hold steady to the fact that somewhere, Frances has chosen to be away from her. I wonder if she can trust that she raised a highly capable child, a thoughtful woman, a true heart that knows exactly what is good for her. If she wants away, then the best remedy is to let her fly. Of all the gifts she could give, I wonder if a gentle return is in order.

Courtney, in the collective of the children of Icons, we never wanted your gifts, or your fashion sense,your fabulous friends, or your music. Although it sad that Kurt left us in such a violent way, all we want is your well being, your silence, your growth into crone, wise one, teller of stories rather than being the story. `

As a parent, and a survivor of rock and roll, I wonder if Courtney is ready to do something quite extraordinary and just be quiet.

Many a thing you know you'd like to tell her
Many a thing she ought to understand
But how do you make her stay
And listen to all you say