By Jeremy Hallock
By James Khubiar
By Observer Staff
By Kelly Dearmore
By Jim Schutze
By Rachel Watts
By Lauren Drewes Daniels
It's not as though Erlandson's not full of intriguing pieces of information. He will, for instance, tell you that Hole was thrilled to have quit the Marilyn Manson tour a few weeks ago, especially in the wake of "what happened in Colorado," he says, referring to the fact that Manson was scapegoated once more after 15 died in that Littleton high school. And, he says, Hole did not escape the Universal Music Group-PolyGram Music merger unscathed. He explains that Geffen Records barely worked the band's Celebrity Skin when it was released last September, as most Geffen employees were more concerned about losing their jobs than promoting one more damned rock record.
He also says that during the past six months, Hole has fired its manager, its lawyer, its booking agent, and its drummer. The lanky guitarist shrugs that it's a bit like starting over. New label (Interscope has since taken ownership of Geffen), no manager, hitting the small theaters after a few weeks of playing the arenas with Manson--from overrated to underdog, all in a matter of weeks.
"It feels like the beginning, when Courtney and I did everything," Erlandson says from Cincinnati, where the tour began last Friday. "It's liberating in the sense that we don't have anybody bullying us anymore and anyone misdirecting us and not understanding us. We know who we are, where we're going, and how we want to get there. It's just a weight off your shoulders. We've had a major spring-cleaning. It's kind of mind-boggling that we're actually out on the road and able to function."
Yes, Erlandson is the man you want to talk to when you need The Facts. But when it all comes down to it, nobody buys Hole records to hear his sparse, sagacious guitar-playing or, for that matter, his rather catchy, compelling melodies (he penned three for Celebrity Skin, including the gorgeous "Northern Star"). People buy Hole records because they are fixated upon the beautiful carnage that is Courtney Love. They buy Hole records--and fewer have purchased Celebrity Skin than 1994's epic tantrum Live Through This--for the same reason they buy tawdry pulp non-fiction: to look in on the lives they wish they had but, more often than not, are thankful they do not suffer.
Such is Courtney Love's lot in life. She's the latest self-made rock-and-roll martyr, the pinup girl for excess and foolishness, genius and cynicism. Love's at the very least a fascinating study in Rock Stardom, a vestige of the surfeit and self-parody that spawned punk rock in the first place. Erlandson and bassist Melissa Auf Der Maur (drummer Patty Schemel has been ousted...or quit, depending upon whom you ask) are just collaborators along for the roller-coaster ride. They're musicians in a band with a woman who always wanted to be a Celebrity, a woman who acts the role better than anyone since her good pal Madonna. And Courtney's the real Material Girl, made from gold and Teflon. Courtney sleeps with famous people; Madonna bangs the help.
No doubt Love wishes she had been a star in 1975, back when she could have been Carly Simon or Linda Ronstadt hanging off the arm of Jack Nicholson; she never wanted to be just one more punk-made-good, white trash in Versace. She adores Stevie Nicks and Joni Mitchell, writes songs about escaping to the comfy-cozy confines of monied Malibu, plays industry gigs at the Viper Room for her celeb buddies. She name-drops Madonna in interviews and gets all bitchy when she realizes she and Jewel wore the same thing to an awards show. She complains about the fact that so much has been made of her transformation, then insists to writers that she'd gladly get more plastic surgery if the occasion arose.
There is one reason Love picked up a guitar and formed a band a decade ago: A casting director once told Courtney that if she hoped to get starring roles, she'd better go out and become a famous musician first. Maybe that story's a bit of bullshit--all rock myths are--but at least it smells like the truth, especially when she tells interviewers she wished she "had gone to the New York Performing Arts School, then on to Brown or Yale, and become an actress or something." No matter how brilliant her rock and roll--and there is no denying the beautiful wasteland that was Pretty on the Inside, the powerhouse desperation of Live Through This, or the Go-Go's glam of Celebrity Skin--it's so much fodder for her, the access road that leads to the golden highway of Hollywood.
When Erlandson says Hole's "not the most prolific band," it's for a reason. How the hell do you expect Love to write and record when she's busy making such ridiculous, dull detritus as 200 Cigarettes or filming the Andy Kaufman story with her tabloid-page-only honey Jim Carrey? Music's her side project; acting, on the other hand, is her Destiny.