Date: December 1st, 2001
Country of origin: UK
Pix:



 

it's 3 am, Sunday, October 27th, and NME is at Winona Ryder's 30th birthday party.  Courtney Love brought us here, and right now we're in the sitting room of Winona's house - buried in the foot of the Hollywood hills - with six people we don't know.  There are Ramones posters all over the walls and CDs lie scattered on the floor.  We've spent the last half an hour listening to the latest Ryan Adams album - the one rumoured to be all about Winona dumping him.  You could say it's been a surreal evening.

Six hours ago, we were at the Hollywood Bowl waching Courtney getting thrown offstage after she over-ran her support slot for Jane's Addiction.  Since midnight we've been here, and it hasn't been short on incident.

So far, Winona - extremely petite in red cardigan, short green skirt and pointy black shoes - has asked us to play a song on her guitar ("It's the one Bob Dylan was playing when someone shouted 'Judas' at him.  That was in your country right?"), given us a lengthy talk about how we shouldn't mess with Bono because he's "family" ("What are you pulling that face for?  You do like U2 don't you?") and shown us an unpublished manuscript by Catcher In The Rye author JD Salinger.

Courtney, meanwhile - towering over everyone in a purple string dress - has been encouraging us to drink a champagne cocktail called a 'James Bond', while talking about the war, The Strokes, nu-metal and Hollywood.  We'll tell you more about that later, but right now Winona is putting on U2's 'Beautiful Day' and insisting we all get up dance.  Courtney immediately jumps to her feet and starts slow dancing with her manager, James Barber.  Winona and her sister go crazy, and three or four other guys, who are probably movie execs judging by their total lack of coordination, start shuffling from foot to foot.  For NME, it's the bizarre climax to a strange 72 hours.
 

The whys and wherefores about how we got here and what we're meant to be doing are almost too convoluted to go into, but here's a rough outline.  We're in LA because - following NME's recent Courtney cover - she invited us out to see her.  Ostensibly, the idea was to hear some unreleased Nirvana material, watch her make her live comeback after a hiatus of two years and finally conduct a proper face-to-face interview.

Before we cut to that chase, though, you'll need some background, because there's no doubt that 2001 has been an especially turbulent year for Courtney Love.  In the week we wrote this feature alone, there are two stories in the British tabloids.  On November 16, The Mirror prints a statement from Courtney where she denies sleeping with Russell Crowe after the Golden Globe Awards: "You know what we did?  We went somewhere private and cried."  Three days later, The Sun reports she plans to sue over Eminem's DVD cartoon The Slim Shady Show (it shows a cartoon of Kurt Cobain with half his face missing).  No wonder certain LA observers (at least on a couple of key gossip websites) are suggesting she's gone completely off the rails.

What's certain is that the 37-year-old is up to her neck in litigation.  In June, she won the right to sue Geffen Records/Universal Music to get out of her recording contract.  It was the latest stage in a struggle that's been ongoing for the last two years.  Her case has wider significance in that, if it's successful, she will have fundamentally altered the balance of power between artists and record companies.  Crudely, it's as significant for music as the Bosman ruling (where players were given far greater freedom) in football.  And right now, it all seems to be coming to a head.

The day we arrive there's a story in the New York Post about how Universal have offered her a settlement of $18 million, suggesting that they want this over and done with.  Perhaps part of the reason for this - apart from the fact that they're terrified of losing - is that in the week prior to our arrival, Courtney posted several long messages on a record industry chat site called The Velvet Rope.  One of the highlights included her calling current Geffen Records President Jordan Schur "a pig".

Her diatribe also found room to attack two other people she's currently at odds with.  At the end of June, she was granted an injunction preventing the release of a Nirvana song, 'You Know You're Right', on a proposed box set.  Her lawsuit, filed on behalf of herself and her daughter with Kurt Cobain, Frances Bean, puts her in direct opposition to the two surviving Nirvana members Dave Grohl and Krist Novoselic in a struggle about who controls the band's legacy.  Her Velvet Rope postings saw her bad-mouth Gary Gersh - the man who signed Nirvana - as well as labelling John Silva (who Gersh now works with managing the Foo Fighters) "a clown".

Many people think her motivation for this is money rather than principles.  In an email sent to NME after we returned to London, she denies this, stating:  "I don't use Cobain's money.  It goes to my daughter.  I make my own money.  I have a thing about 'his' money, I don't feel it's mine and I don't feel I earned it.  It's for Frances."

One other thing: on top of all this, Courtney is also finding time in her busy legal schedule to sue Lesley Barber, the ex-wife of James Barber.  It's claimed she ran over Courtney's foot in her car.  Courtney was apparently dating James Barber at the time.
 
 

EXCERPT FROM COURTNEY'S
EMAILS TO NME #1
Do you still have something to prove?
"There isn't a musician worth shit who doesn't."

If all this wasn't enough, 2001 has also seen her trying to relaunch her music career.  On January 14, she put a posting on the Hole website announcing the arrival of her all-girl supergroup Bastard.  On February 28, it was announced that the Bastard demo was completed and by March, Courtney had declared: "We're hoping to make a south of France, AC/DC, fuck-off record."  It was rumoured that the album cover would feature the band naked save for black tape across their breasts.

As ever, though, things weren't that simple.  The first person Courtney approached was Babes In Toyland's Kat Bjelland.  The two of them had been in a short-lived group back in the 80's called Sugar Baby Doll along with L7's Jennifer Finch.  Bjelland refused to join Bastard, and subsequently went public with her reasons, in particular criticizing a list of rules Courtney had drawn up for the new group.  In an interview with NME.COM earlier this year, she complained: "It was crazy stuff like 'no talking about the past', 'no drugs in the studio', 'you're practising this many hours a day', 'you'll get this amount of money'.  It was really crazy, really restricting.  I said I was flattered that they thought of me, but I can't write songs for someone else."

Now we'd have liked to have asked Courtney about this (and much more) to her face - but as you'll see later on, that wasn't possible.  What follows below (and elsewhere) are extracts from emails we received from Courtney after we'd returned to London.

Are Kat Bjelland's claims true?
"The first person I asked through my manager (to be in Bastard) was Kat Bjelland, whose response of 'I'm not writing someone else's songs for them' was laughable and stupid.  Let's face it, Kat hasn't written a chorus or a bridge since the 80's."

How do you feel about the persistent accusations that you don't write your own material?
"I honestly can't answer that question, it's so ridiculous.  The boys get all weird when you sell as many or more than they do.  It's rare for a female to play rock, so they really want a piece of you, one way or another - a piece of your ass, a piece of your history, a piece of immortality.  They wanna fuck you and if you spend one night in a room they scream they wrote everything.  I'm used to it and I'm very flattered."

The initial lineup of Bastard then, was Love, drummer Patty Schemel (who'd been in Hole with her), and bassist Gina Crosely and guitarist Louise Post - both of whom were in Veruca Salt.  Crosely was soon dumped in favor of Nashville Pussy bassist Corey Parks, according to one website because she wasn't "high profile" enough.  By June, however, Parks and Post had both left, with Post declaring: "Courtney is a powerful force and she'll do whatever she wants to do.  It's a shame we couldn't get along."

Courtney's take on why Bastard disintegrated is rather more succinct: "What happens with girls is everyone wants to be the quarterback and no-one wants to be the bassist.  Louise can play, she can play well, but she missed the '90's.  She was doing theater when a lot of stuff she'd need to reference for this was going on."

The result of all this is that Bastard don't exist, and Courtney is now backed by a series of LA session musicians (bassist Jerry Best and guitarist Kenny Korade, formerly of Freak Of Nature, and Steve McDonald, who used to be the guitarist in Redd Kross).  While we're in LA, the two gigs the band do are both billed as Courtney Love shows.  An album is still set to appear sometime in the new year and there's still a vague chance it will be released under the name of Bastard.  For Led Zeppelin-related reasons (they recorded 'III' and 'Houses of the Holy' there), Courtney really wants to make it in Wales.  All-girl or not, from the material we heard her play live, the chances are it's going to be fantastic.
 
 

EXCERPT FROM COURTNEY'S
EMAILS TO NME #2
What do you want to achieve musically this time around?
"Perfection as always."
 

OK, that's the background, now for the weekend.  NME wanders into this parallel universe on October 25, 2001.  That night Courtney is meant to be doing a secret show at the Viper Rooms in Los Angeles.  As soon as we land, however, we're told by James Barber it's been cancelled due to "unforeseen difficulties".  He tells us to phone him at 9am the following morning.  "Don't worry" he laughs, "you'll definitely be awake..."

He's right - and by 11, we're in his house.  It's pretty bare apart from one black table in the middle of his sitting room and also very dark - for some reason the curtains and blinds are all shut.  There are a few photos of him and Courtney dotted around the walls; other than that, a couple of piles of CDs sit next to the stereo and on the table.

He plays us the new Nirvana track, 'You Know You're Right', a few times.  It's excellent.  Recorded post 'In Utero', it hints at a return to the pop aesthetic of 'Nevermind' and is genuinely as good as anything they released in their lifetime.  It probably could be the hit Courtney clearly believes it should be.  Barber also goes into the whole legal situation in great depth.  He tells us NME could play a big part in sorting it out.  We're not quite sure what to make of that, so we just say "OK" and feel slightly uncomfortable.  We arrange to meet him and Courtney at 5pm in Ventura.

Courtney will later explain that playing Ventura is the equivalent of doing a gig in Hull.  When we get there we see what she means.  An hour and a half up the coast from LA, it's an unprepossessing place dominated by a main street littered with thrift stores and 'antique' shops.  when we get there at five, we go straight to the venue, only to be told by Courtney's tour manager that she's just left LA and won't arrive until at least seven.  Inside the club, her new band are onstage.  "It's more a rehearsal than a soundcheck," sighs one crew member.

When we get back two hours later, having taken in the sights and sounds of Ventura (NME's photographer buys a Halloween mask, we eat), the band are still rehearsing and Courtney still hasn't arrived.  Then Barber calls and says it'll be best if we meet up with them after the show.  "Fine," we agree. "See you then."

Another three hours pass, briefly enlivened by support band Kittie's bellowing metal assault.  At 10pm we get our first glimpse of Courtney, as she wanders onstage barefoot in a full Robert Plant getup and starts playing a new song, 'All The Drugs'.  It's immediately clear that her new direction is an extension of the touted 'punk' sound of Bastard.  It's bettered a few songs later by another newie, 'But Julian I'm A Little Older Than You', which is a duet with Steve McDonald and a fast, brutal take on '60's garage.  It's named - we discover later  - after a meeting she had with Strokes singer Julian Casablancas the week before.

After that - partly due to lack of rehearsal, partly due to Courtney's uniquely rambling monologues - things get a little ragged.  But when the show eventually winds its way to a close after two hours with an acoustic rendition of 'Northern Star', we're left in no doubt about the seriousness or validity of Courtney's decision to return to music. As she puts it in an email to NME a couple of weeks later: "I've got a burn in me and I got to set a fire with it.  I wanna burn the whole fucking thing down."

So now we're scheduled to meet her, except there's a hitch.  She won't see us until she's had a sandwich.  Now we don't know what's in her sandwich, but it takes another two and a half hours before we're let into her dressing room.  At 2:30am we finally climb the metal stairwell that leads to the top floor of the venue, and get taken into a compact room decorated with billowing oriental curtains and lit joss sticks.

Courtney's lying on a sofa in a white slip.  To her left, there's drummer Patty Schemel and on a separate seat in the corner guitarist Steve McDonald.  She dismisses a podgy, grey-haired man - a film guy, we're told - with the words, "OK, you've got to go now.  I need to speak to these English guys."

Now the next thing we notice about Courtney is that there are dozens of needles sticking out of almost every part of her body.  She's being attended to by a flame-haired woman with piercing eyes called Sheva, who's introduced as a "herbal medicine anarchist" ("Normally if you went to Harley Street, they would stick maybe four needles in you.  With Courtney, we sometimes use 1,000.  She's got a lot of energy!").

Things get off to a tense start, because while she's talking about the group Sigur Ros (everyone in LA talks about them all the time) we say we can't believe she likes the Icelandic Slowdive ("Typical British guy.  Always with an opinion").  Still, luckily, because Courtney talks so much (and when she isn't talking, she's busy smoking like a forest fire), we don't get too many other opportunities to drop any clangers.

What's also apparent, as she dives headlong into a headspinning 60-minute chat that takes in -among other things - Liam Gallagher (she's written a song with him), Paula Yates (she feels guilty about her death, she spoke to her on the night she died) and her admiration for 19th century British author Anthony Trollope (he had an interesting take on the class struggle), is that she's funny, intelligent and extremely good company.  The only real down moment arrives when Sheva starts sticking needles in the soles of her feet and she starts convulsing, nearly throwing a drink over Patty.

After that crisis is over, we ask her whether we can interview her face-to-face, and she says she'll think about it.  She then announces she's tired and she'll meet us at the Hollywood Bowl tomorrow at 4pm.  We agree and leave the room feeling slightly shell-shocked.
 
 

EXCERPT FROM COURTNEY'S EMAILS TO NME #3
What really happened between you and The Strokes?
"I brought Winona (to see them) and...I watched as her hair stood on end, her eyes glazed over and she uttered barely audibly, 'Jesus...not..since..The..Replacements'.  If Winona loves you, it's a moment.  She's sort of one of the bridges you have to cross to greatness.

But then I had a sort of quibble with Julian about the 'Bono Talk' - when it comes and how when it was my turn and Kurt's turn for the 'Bono Talk' we were idiots and turned him away and were too embarrassed.  I sort of begged Kurt to take the 'Bono Talk' because, fuck it, if I had listened to the 'Bono Talk', I'd have avoided a buttload of trouble for myself.

And Julian sort of made a face about the 'Bono Talk' and Winona got up and said, 'That's fucking it. I'm out of here.  Bono's family to me.  Fuck this. Fuck you' and I had to calm her down with one hand and say, 'Look, Winona, when you come from punk the 'Bono Talk' freaks you out.  Ease him in.  Don't get all huffy - he's a punker kid.

So I was holding her hand and holding his hand and I said, 'You know, I'm a little bit older than you.'

Julian points to Winona and me and says, 'I'm just fucking overwhelmed'.

And I was like, 'Dude there's supermodels back here who probably BREAST FED you and you're overwhelmed!  GET OVER IT!"
 

Guess what?  At 4pm the next day, Courtney Love isn't at the Hollywood Bowl because she's had to go and see her "throat doctor".  She finally turns up at 6pm, just as the lights faded, in a red bra, tie and black blazer.  After a brief "Hello", she drags us over to meet Perry Farrell ("This is James from NME.  You know what that is, don't you?") and then disappears to do a soundcheck, which, in a taste of things to come, ends in upset after she kicks one of Jane's Addiction's mime artists up the arse.

Meanwhile, we set up the photographic equipment in her dressing room, but when she returns from soundcheck, her mood has darkened considerably ("I'm not doing pictures in here.  We need to think about this").  She also seems to have a bee in her bonnet about the whole notion of supporting Jane's Addiction ("What is it with all the jugglers?").  She promptly declares she needs 'female' time with Patty and tells us to come back later.

Now, although she subsequently sends and email denial, the moment Courtney gets onstage (which is 20 minutes later than it should have been - a big deal when there's a strict 11pm curfew) she seems determined to wind Farrell up.  "Perry wants to put me in my place for this show, but we're going to put him in his," she announces early on.

The trouble starts after five songs when she's warned by a stage hand to curtail her set.  To a massive cheer, Courtney shouts, "Tell Perry, three more or we're leaving..."  At the conclusion of the next song, however, the lights are switched on and the power pulled - and what happens next is pure pantomime.

The band refuses to leave the stage, and Courtney starts to encourage the crowd to protest.  Roadies start to set up for Jane's Addiction, and Courtney walks off only to return with a handwritten sign on a bit of cardboard.  She then goes and grabs an acoustic guitar and starts serenading the front few rows.  This whole saga goes on for 45 minutes until someone seizes her guitar and she's carried away.  When we meet up with her, she's furious.  Two weeks later, when she sends NME an email, she obviously still is.

"That was Perry pulling the plug on me for years of him having to open up for us.  Duh!  I should have thought it through.  I could sell the same number of tickets alone, but it seemed cosy and he begged personally.  It was simply a cheap, cheap move.  I'm not throwing out my Jane's Addiction records, and as always I'm flattered he was that threatened.  I have already booked our own shows at Roseland and at the Palladium.  He kicked me in the head, fine.  I move up."

She adds: "I admit I kicked a mime.  I couldn't help it, the mime was rehearsing on my stage and I was like, "Uhh, mime, you can do that in the mirror.'  The damn mime wouldn't move, so I just gave him a teensy little, you know, kick."

Well, whatever.  It was funny at the time, but like we say, backstage she's fuming.  She briefly introduces us to Frances Bean ("Hi, I'm Frances.  I'm very pleased to meet you."), which is a shock - she's nine years old, and really has Kurt's eyes - and then promptly vanishes, leaving us with the parting message that she'll "deal with us next".  It later transpires that she's playing her new demo to someone from Columbia Records.

That leaves us with another two-hour wait.  Occasionally, Barber appears to say something like "embrace the chaos".  The rest of the time we're hanging out with Sheva, who reveals that the meaning of life is written on a balloon in our chest and that she can tell everything about a person by taking their pulse.

She takes my pulse.

"Have you got children?"

No.

"I sense a lot of anger."

No, just boredom.

"Oh."

Sheva may have her own, ahem, idiosyncratic belief system, but at least she doesn't just leave us to our own devices.  When we get back home, we send an email to Courtney, asking her whether she thinks she's turned into a New Age LA victim.  Here's her reply:

"DUDE!  Scientology.

Acupuncture, Raw foods.  Apple fasts.  Pilates.  Coffee colonics.  Essential cocaine oil.  Deep tissue massage.  Escort service porno goddess punk singer.  Pakistani poppy tea.  YEAH, BRING IT ON.  I AM LA!!!!"

Anyway, it finally reaches 11pm and we're summoned.  Photos are go!  Courtney steals NME's Strokes badge and pins it on her blazer, next to her Gang of Four one.  She then starts running around the room, demanding that the NME photographer captures her "movement".  She also keeps screaming at Barber: "Barber, make James a James Bond.  And make me one while you're there."

Next, she decides she should have her picture taken on the toilet.  Having gone through a rapid costume change, she plonks herself on the toilet, pulls her knickers down round her ankles, lights another cigarette and picks up a guitar.  It's funny rather than mental.  When it's over, NME once again broaches the subject of an interview.

"Barber!  Barber!  James is brandishing a tape recorder.  Tell him to stop."

He does.  And that's when Courtney says, "So do you guyswant to come to Winona's 30th birthday?  You can ride with me..."
 
 

EXCERPT FROM COURTNEY'S EMAILS TO NME #4
What's life like as a Hollywood star?
"Someone gave me these Ferragamo shoes.  There are only 11 pairs in the world.  One was Marilyn Monroe's and they made ten pairs as a tribute to Marilyn.  It was a total hassle to find out who got the other nine.  Elton John got one pair, which was cool, Liz Taylor, I'm sure Madge.  But I was like, 'Jesus... wow!'  Ten pairs other than Marilyn's!  Ten pairs in the WHOLE world.  It's kind of fabulous, y'know.  When I got them I just danced around in them - the red shoes!!! - covered in rubies and crystals.  Damn!  I love it sometimes!  Who wouldn't?"

As we've already mentioned, the whole business of being at Winona Ryder's house is pretty surreal, esjpecially as Winona seems genuinely pleased to see us ("Oh Courtney, you brought some rock guys!  How nice!").  When, two hours into the whole shebang, Courtney suddenly tells everyone to shut up and does a toast to NME - and Winona announces NME is responsible for her favourite review ever ("It was for that George Michael album 'Listen Without Prejudice'.  It just said: Listen without speakers") - we're almost beyond freaked out.

In the intervening period, we've been talking (well, listening) to Courtney.  She talks about Hollywood ("I have some movie star friends.  Actually I have a lot - they are a break from the torment that rock can give you.  I'm in my own hell a lot of the time and I like being around happy people who don't have a lot of problems.  It's like Valium.  Restful"); The Strokes ("I liked the Hammond kid.  He's smart, a hustler in a good way.  Julian reminds me of me in a weird way.  Maybe me when I was 20 crossed with Joey Ramone - like a sort of shitkicker fucker, but totally nice"); the war ("Well, you've got to choose a side.  It's like Bush v Gore"); the proposed Kurt Cobain movie, which is apparently going to be made by Gus Van Sant of My Own Private Idaho fame ("They asked me to play myself.  Can you believe that?") as well as a thousand other things we can't remember.

When she tells us it's time to leave at 4am, we can't believe it's over.  It's been an amazing, disorienting weekend.  The fact that she's probably using NME as a part of a wider plan seems almost besides the point.

She wants to get a new record deal, and positive coverage could help that.  Well, fine, her new material sounds fantastic and it would be great to have her back again.  Anything's better than the tyranny of nu-metal which she hates as much as anyone ("Fred Durst's a golfer and an executive.  I find nothing in his voice, nothing of value, nothing of sex or art or death or love.  It's a void... and he's a primo ass kisser").

She needs us to help her court cases against Universal.  Well, OK.  She wants artists to be treated fairly, who could argue with that?  The Nirvana case is more problematic, but a cursory glance suggests it isn't about excluding Grohl or Novoselic permanently.

She just believes the unreleased Nirvana material is culturally significant so she wants it to have the maximum impact possible.  Again, fair enough.

The thing to remember is that Courtney isn't off the rails, because she was never on them to begin with.  Her life is chaotic and painful, and she's loud, relentless and opinionated, but she gets away with it because she's funny and passionate.  It's true that we wouldn't want to share her life all the time, but for 72 hours, it was the best time we've had all year.
 
 

EXCERPT FROM COURTNEY LOVE'S EMAILS TO NME #5
Why don't a lot of women play rock music and succeed?
"You will be a floozy and a slattern.  He will be virile and a ladies' man.
You will be a freakshow, a sloppy drunk.  He will be charismatic, vainglorious and Dionysian.
You will be indiscriminate and desperate.  He will be generous, tortured and driven.
You will be so 'frail you may break at the mere wisp of wind'.  He will be alienated, aggressive.
You will be blond ambition or a tiny little child or a whore.  He will be channelling secrets and battling cosmic demons.
It's rather off-putting I supose, but if you can turn a blind eye to what words are used and prove otherwise sonically then who gives a fuck?"