Why We Must Trust Courtney Love With Nirvana - the Musical!

Courtney Love has told theit's "very likely" that her late husband's story and music will be adapted for the Broadway stage. At last, Nirvana fans will have the chance to pay more than £50 a ticket to watch some jobbing hoofers projectile defecate over Kurt Cobain's legacy.

Courtney Love has told the NME it's "very likely" that her late husband's story and music will be adapted for the Broadway stage. At last, Nirvana fans will have the chance to pay more than £50 a ticket to watch some jobbing hoofers projectile defecate over Kurt Cobain's legacy. Instead of renting a theatre, the producers could stage the musical on Cobain's actual grave, to pre-empt the obvious metaphor. It's almost too easy to imagine Smells Like Teen Spirit as a showstopper: Our leading man exhorts his fellow cast members to "Load up on guns, bring your friends". A raggedy-trousered chorus line sings those multiple 'hellos', a-la Step in Time from Mary Poppins. The inevitable goofy character chips in with that bit with mosquitoes and albinos. And finally, a reprised "With the lights out, it's less dangerous" as the curtain falls for the interval. Usherette! A bag of heroin and a shotgun, please.

The news has prompted a slew of hating on Love, from fans outraged by her custodianship of her late husband's work. She's not easy to love: Searching for the words "cute" and "kitten" throws up fewer Google results than "Courtney Love" and "feud", the most notable being Dave Grohl. It's difficult to side with her in a spat when her adversary is fast becoming as universally loved as David Attenborough, Michael Palin or Lady Diana (during 1981/82 and the back half of 1997.) Despite myself, I root for Courtney. Not because of the handful of Hole songs I could whistle, or even the thrill of her Twitter behaviour, which is akin to watching an unsupervised baby chimp at the controls of a nuclear reactor.

Two disparate factors took me from Courtney Love rubbernecker to well-wisher. Firstly, there was that kiss-and-tell in 2005 when she told The News of the World that one of Steve Coogan's sexual peccadilloes was so bizarre, even she thought it was beyond the line of what she considered normal. This, from someone who's largely courted gentlemen at the freakier end of the rock spectrum. The detail was never revealed - perhaps it was entirely fabricated - but it prompted national speculation as to what this depraved act might be. It was a golden week for Britain, uniting us like the Blitz, the Olympics or the time we all turned against David Blaine for that thing in the box.

The other episode was last summer. My wife, Sara, and I were having lunch in a restaurant, and we noticed Courtney dining with a couple of people. Sadly, we had a poor view of their table that couldn't even be remedied by tipping our chairs backwards at a precarious angle. We made a plan: When Courtney eventually got up to go to the lavatory, Sara would wait for one-and-a-half minutes, and then go to the bathroom herself. This delay would hopefully ensure a substantial opportunity to gawp, possibly even a jostle.

The time came. My wife was deployed. After what felt like an aeon, with only self-loathing and the bread basket for company, she returned to the table. Love remained absent. I scanned Sara's face. Had we gravely misjudged the situation? Had Courtney Love not, in fact, gone to the toilet, but instead left the restaurant to make a phone call, smoke a cigarette, or attend to a feud with a nearby celebrity?

This extraordinary chain of events had unfolded: Sara had gone to the ladies room, where there were two cubicles - one vacant, one locked. After a brief and fruitless loiter, she decided to abandon the mission, and pushed the empty cubicle door open. Only it wasn't empty: Courtney Love was mid-toilet visit! What happened next is the strangest part... Courtney made eye contact with my apologetic wife, shrugged, and then stared into the middle distance, making no effort to close the door. She carried on going about her lavatory business as if it were the most natural thing in the world! Like a prison inmate.

Scientific wisdom up until this point identified two basic types of human being: Those who, on being accidentally interrupted on the toilet, become embarrassed and themselves feel the need to apologise. These are known as the good people. The others, in the same situation, become angry and hostile to their interrupter. These are the awful people. No person in the history of mankind ever deviated from these reactions. Until Courtney Love.

Kurt Cobain left behind a catalogue of thrilling recordings, which still resonate today. He cannot wield power from beyond the grave, though. Courtney Love is a super-evolved lavatorial anomaly who debased our whole nation's minds with lewd imaginings of 'Philomena' funnyman Steve Coogan. She must be obeyed. If she decrees a Nirvana musical is a good idea, we must trust her. Here we are now, entertain us.


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