Streetlight Records

Reviews:

In headline stories surrounding Courtney Love's latest legal woes, the alt-rock badgirl's often been slapped with the condescending tag "rock widow." That's some sinister "Defense of Marriage" hoo-ha for sure, but with America's Sweetheart, Love gives blistered and angry melodic-metal voice to rock widows everywhere-grown-up rocker girls who've lived on the edge and been cut deep. "They say that rock is dead/ And they're probably right," she grinds in the coke-pogo opener "Mono," and like Liz Phair's self-titled faux-teen-trifle last year, which talked exquisitely dirty and spat tough truths for alterna-babes whose mid '90s heyday came and went, Love's growlier disc broadcasts the frustrations of a woman daring to stay wild, mouthy and recklessly sexual well into her thirties.

And like Liz Phair, Sweetheart's already rubbing lotsa people the wrong way. Critics are shelling the volatile vixen for slick production, cherry-picking sonic thievery, and most of all, the pocks in her "ravaged voice." Evidently to refined ears she's neither reclaiming her riotous '94 holler faithfully enough for a real throwback bid nor keeping pace with the distilled pop-punk of the moment. But Love's arena-punk squall, aided by therapist-to-the-divas Linda Perry and Elton John's schmaltz-lyricist Bernie Taupin, of all people, seems less a conjuring of "Miss World" Dalle-parts cache than an honest exorcism, scored to subconscious snips from a horrorshow classic-rock childhood.

Sweetheart is an acid valentine to the songs that run like old answering machine tapes through every rock-widow's head. Love's not coy-if she likes a tune, she swipes it, and like fellow rauncher Missy Elliott, she blurts whatever bygone lyrics flit through her mind. On the riff-raging "Mono" she curtly makes the MTV moon man her personal lawn ornament. "Hello" regurgitates its titular refrain like a Nirvana-mantra for decade-anniversary suicide comeuppance. The verse of "Uncool" shoplifts melodic grandiosity from "Dreamweaver" and ersatz faith from the Cure's "Lovesong," admitting the latter in the wasted sway of a breakout big-guitar chorus. Even during Love's less than Demi-ure run at a downtown hotboy, she still hears "London Calling."

Storm-of-consciousness schizoid images replace the taut hooks of Live Through This as our flame-war stripperella goes Blonde on Blonde. Her cradle-robbing, Stroke-stroking come-on "But Julian, I'm a Little Bit Older Than You," is the very sound of botox-bucking frustration, and the carnal gluttony of the Kurt-ripping contagion "I'll Do Anything" smells like dirty-30's spirit. But Sweetheart isn't all about sex-fear and regret ring plangently throughout. "Never Gonna Be the Same," Love's dissembling "Whiter Shade of Pale" finale, exposes the inchoate horror of decay. With her Marianne Faithful betrayals, our wayward mama is a jukebox heroine on a vinyl high. On "Mono," she curses her rock-widowhood, petulantly begging God for "one more chance to prove I'm better than him." When it comes to beyond-fake honesty, she always has been.

"In headline stories surrounding Courtney Love's latest legal woes, the alt-rock badgirl's often been slapped with the condescending tag ""rock widow."" That's some sinister ""Defense of Marriage"" hoo-ha for sure, but with America's Sweetheart, Love gives blistered and angry melodic-metal voice to rock widows everywhere-grown-up rocker girls who've lived on the edge and been cut deep. ""They say that rock is dead/ And they're probably right,"" she grinds in the coke-pogo opener ""Mono,"" and like Liz Phair's self-titled faux-teen-trifle last year, which talked exquisitely dirty and spat tough truths for alterna-babes whose mid '90s heyday came and went, Love's growlier disc broadcasts the frustrations of a woman daring to stay wild, mouthy and recklessly sexual well into her thirties.

And like Liz Phair, Sweetheart's already rubbing lotsa people the wrong way. Critics are shelling the volatile vixen for slick production, cherry-picking sonic thievery, and most of all, the pocks in her ""ravaged voice."" Evidently to refined ears she's neither reclaiming her riotous '94 holler faithfully enough for a real throwback bid nor keeping pace with the distilled pop-punk of the moment. But Love's arena-punk squall, aided by therapist-to-the-divas Linda Perry and Elton John's schmaltz-lyricist Bernie Taupin, of all people, seems less a conjuring of ""Miss World"" Dalle-parts cache than an honest exorcism, scored to subconscious snips from a horrorshow classic-rock childhood.

Sweetheart is an acid valentine to the songs that run like old answering machine tapes through every rock-widow's head. Love's not coy-if she likes a tune, she swipes it, and like fellow rauncher Missy Elliott, she blurts whatever bygone lyrics flit through her mind. On the riff-raging ""Mono"" she curtly makes the MTV moon man her personal lawn ornament. ""Hello"" regurgitates its titular refrain like a Nirvana-mantra for decade-anniversary suicide comeuppance. The verse of ""Uncool"" shoplifts melodic grandiosity from ""Dreamweaver"" and ersatz faith from the Cure's ""Lovesong,"" admitting the latter in the wasted sway of a breakout big-guitar chorus. Even during Love's less than Demi-ure run at a downtown hotboy, she still hears ""London Calling.""

Storm-of-consciousness schizoid images replace the taut hooks of Live Through This as our flame-war stripperella goes Blonde on Blonde. Her cradle-robbing, Stroke-stroking come-on ""But Julian, I'm a Little Bit Older Than You,"" is the very sound of botox-bucking frustration, and the carnal gluttony of the Kurt-ripping contagion ""I'll Do Anything"" smells like dirty-30's spirit. But Sweetheart isn't all about sex-fear and regret ring plangently throughout. ""Never Gonna Be the Same,"" Love's dissembling ""Whiter Shade of Pale"" finale, exposes the inchoate horror of decay. With her Marianne Faithful betrayals, our wayward mama is a jukebox heroine on a vinyl high. On ""Mono,"" she curses her rock-widowhood, petulantly begging God for ""one more chance to prove I'm better than him."" When it comes to beyond-fake honesty, she always has been.

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