Chris Cornell 1964 – 2017

You don’t expect your heroes to last forever. In fact you don’t expect them to last very long at all if they’re rock stars playing out their dreams in debauched fashion before your eyes, but Chris Cornell always seemed different.

Back in the days of tape trading, we’d procure copies of Screaming Life and Fopp, swap Ultramega OK like nobody’s business and mourn Andrew Wood’s loss with that solitary Temple Of The Dog album on repeat. It was a glorious, if dangerous period in rock music, a genre created in the blink of an eye by people often unable to cope with the pressures fame brought. Drugs were rampant, suicide was worryingly common, but that didn’t stop the emergence of classic album after classic album.

Soundgarden more than many of their contemporaries crossed so many genres they had a whole different appeal, paying homage to rock and roll originators as much as they did the punk godfathers and the psychedelia of the 70s, all wrapped up in a grungey malevolence. And with a singer like Chris Cornell they had a stunningly powerful weapon with which to destroy those barriers to the mainstream.

I wept as Cornell broke into Hunger Strike during a solo show in 2002. That voice of his sounded more honest with age, giving a personal song so much of a sense of history and importance it was quite simply jaw-dropping. The whole set was so emotional, it still ranks as one of the most captivating I’ve seen to this day.

Seeing Soundgarden live in recent years was an incredible experience too. A band with renewed vigour after so long away, it felt as if they’d finally become the group they’d always wanted to be. 

But here we are; no more Soundgarden. No more Audioslave. No more Temple Of The Dog. Most importantly, no more of that voice. That look. That songwriting ability. Or that beaming smile of a doting father and husband.

Black days indeed.

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