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I have been dying to do Hole for a Sunday Singalong because they’re easily my favourite ‘angry young women’ (and one man) band of all time.

Courtney Love, who loves word play and drilling into the sexism of notions about femininity in her lyrics (take, for example, her lyrics on rape culture: “Was she asking for it? / Was she asking nice? / If she was asking for it / Did she ask you twice?”), is one of the most slut-shamed, demonised women in all of music history. A treatment of her that has been deeply hypocritical for the rock music industry, where ego and messiness are generally celebrated.

She’s sometimes a critic of feminism, as someone who feels themselves to be on the outside looking in can be  – and fair enough that she might believe herself an outsider because among her experiences of marginalisation are that of growing up in state care as an adolescent; working in the sex industry; never having been to university, let alone formally studying women’s studies; being a drug dependent person married to another drug dependent person; and also, eventually becoming a non-custodial single mother.

But Love has always championed new roles for women in music.

I like there to be some testosterone in rock, and it’s like I’m the one in the dress who has to provide it.

I never expected I would be connected to the Alpha male as some kind of ancillary object, and to this day it mystifies me.

And Marilyn Manson describes in his autobiography a nice anecdote where Love once jumped on to his tour bus to tell the groupies there that: “You don’t need to be on this bus. You should get a keyboard and start your own band. Then these guys’ll be on your bus”.

There is no doubting that Love’s sentiments are strongly feminist:

I want every girl in the world to pick up a guitar and start screaming.

I’ll always prefer to play with women and hang out with women, and I’ll always be a feminist.

I’m not a woman. I’m a force of nature.

And the sky was made of amethyst
And all the stars look just like little fish
You should learn when to go
You should learn how to say no

Might last a day yeah
Mine is forever
Might last a day, yeah
Well mine is forever

When they get what they want and they never want it again
When they get what they want but they never want it again

Go on, take everything, take everything I want you to
Go on, take everything take everything, take everything I want you to

And the sky was all violet, I want it again, but more violet, more violet
Hey, I’m the one with no soul
One above and one below

Go on, take everything take everything I want you to
Go on, take everything take everything I want you to

I told you from the start just how this would end
When i get what i want i never want it again

Go on, take everything take everyting I want you to
Go on, take everything, take everything I want you to
Go on, take everything, take everything I want you to
Go on, take everything, take everything I want you to
Go on take everything take everything take everything take everything

Interestingly, Love’s songs are more often than not now pre-occupied with how much the female celebrity experience resembles the sexism of sexual politics. It’s a statement too few celebrity women are making about the fame game.

Oh, make me over
I’m all I wanna be
A walking study
In demonology

Hey, so glad you could make it
Yeah, now you really made it
Hey, so glad you could make it now

Oh look at my face
My name is might have been
My name is never was
My name’s forgotten

Hey, so glad you could make it
Yeah, now you really made it
Hey, there’s only us left now
When I wake up
In my makeup
It’s too early for that dress
Wilted and faded somewhere in Hollywood
I’m glad I came here with your pound of flesh
No second billing, cause you’re a star now
Oh, Cinderella they aren’t sluts like you
Beautiful garbage, beautiful dresses
Can you stand up
Or will you just fall down?

You better watch out
On what you wish for
It better be worth it
So much to die for

Hey, so glad you could make it
Yeah, now you really made it
Hey, there’s only us left now

When I wake up, in my makeup
Have you ever felt so used up as this
It’s all so sugarless
Hooker waitress, model actress
Oh just go nameless
Honeysuckle
She’s full of poison
She obliterated everything she kissed
Now she’s fading, somewhere in Hollywood
I’m glad I came here with your pound of flesh

You want a part of me
Well I’m not selling cheap
No I’m not selling cheap

Categories: arts & entertainment, fun & hobbies, gender & feminism

Tags: music