I was 14 when I first heard Chris Cornell sing.
As an avid consumer of MuchMusic during my teenage years (and they as an avid provider of actual musical content), I discovered countless bands and artists during the many, many hours I spent in front of the living room TV. During a nondescript day circa 1990 or so, there was a segment wherein an up-and-coming band named Soundgarden was having a discussion with one of the VJs regarding the controversy that surrounded their current single Hands All Over. Certain outlets were hesitant to spin the track due to the recurring refrain of "kill your mother". Cornell defended the lyrics, citing the song to be about our strained relationship with the earth and reasoning that it was about the environment and not matricide. Of course, the video was played, along with a disclaimer of some sort that basically implored the listener to not take it so literally.
Obviously, I'd never heard a voice like that before. So commanding, crooning and shrieking and breaking down preconceptions of what a lead singer is supposed to sound like. I didn't realize it at the time, but that five minutes set the stage for much of what I enjoy in music to this day. By the time it was over, I knew what I'd just heard was pretty awesome, but at the end of the day I went back to my hair metal and moved on.
Fast forward a couple short years, and a quick succession of events ensured that my tastes were changed forever; First, there was the frenetic video for Jesus Christ Pose, a new song by that band with the great singer I'd heard before. Then, Nirvana blew up as 1991 drew to a close. Early in 1992, Pearl Jam followed. Suddenly, there was renewed interest in a little band named Temple of the Dog, whose one-off tribute album to the late Andrew Wood was re-released with a huge sticker that advertised: "Pearl Jam + Soundgarden = Temple of the Dog". It was promoted with the stunning ballad Hunger Strike, which quickly became one of my favourite songs and reminded me once again just how good this Cornell guy was at singing.
And so, rather rapidly, I became consumed with what the talking heads were calling "the grunge movement", buying up CDs and tapes by a host of newly discovered bands; although, if I'm being honest, those records by Nirvana and Pearl Jam weren't yet blowing my socks off the way they would later on. Instead, the one I kept going back to was Badmotorfinger, that groovy and heavy record by Soundgarden. I went backward, picking up Loud Love. For a good year and half, though I was picking up all kinds of fantastic records along the way, to my ears Badmotorfinger was the best record out of this exploding scene.
In October 1993, Pearl Jam would win the title and never let go with Vs., my favourite record of all time. My tastes shifted, as I started connecting with the music on an emotional level I'd never felt before; I was discovering music's true purpose. Those other albums were still really good on a musical level, but going forward I was going to need more substance.
To say Soundgarden brought more substance to the game with Superunknown would be a gross understatement. A thick, tangled distillation of a band firmly in its prime, Superunknown didn't relent in its artistic vision even as the band penned some of their most immediate and accessible songs; it proved that these guys weren't just talented as musicians, they were capable of staggering songwriting. Of course, Cornell's vocals brought it up that next level, a master class in singing that simply can never be replicated. Believe me, I've tried to hit those notes many times on long, loud car rides, and to hear me attempt it was to receive a free comedy show and/or headache. I swear, I once tried to nail Limo Wreck so hard I almost passed out.
The Soundgarden/Cornell story post-Superunknown goes a but downhill; after a relatively well-received but messier follow-up album (1996's Down On the Upside, which I'm realizing is probably the Soundgarden record I've listened to the least over the last 20 years and am giving a spin as I type this), the band called it a day. Matt Cameron would later find a gig drumming for Pearl Jam, which I was overjoyed with, while Cornell would do some solo work (including 1998's underrated Euphoria Mourning) before teaming up with 75% of Rage Against the Machine for a successful three-album run with Audioslave. Eventually, Soundgarden would reform, releasing the tentative comeback King Animal in 2012 and raiding the vaults for a series of compilations. Meanwhile, Cornell continued to pursue his solo career, with his last original album being 2015's Higher Truth. All of these projects were more or less welcomed, although the excitement would never match those stratospheric peaks of the mid-90s.
This morning, I woke to the news that Chris Cornell was no longer with us, lost to suicide at the age of 52, just hours after performing for fans with Soundgarden. No real warning signs given, just here and then gone. Some 17 hours after hearing the terrible news, it's still hard to come to terms with; I've spent a lot of time today thinking about Chris, and of Kurt Cobain. Also of Layne Staley. Scott Weiland. Shannon Hoon. Bradley Nowell. I've been taking stock of all of those heroes of my teenage years, singers and poets who showed me what music truly has to offer, a calming voice in times of struggle and a screaming confidant in times of frustration. What today has brought into clear, painful focus is that, only 25 years or so removed from where it all started for me, I've already lost most of those I've held most dear. We weren't supposed to be mourning so many so fast, and it's frightening.
I've also thought about the survivors, close friends and family waking up to the same nightmare the rest of us did but magnified exponentially. I weep for a wife and children who have lost a crucial part of their lives, and for all of the musicians whose lives Cornell touched over the years, who have lost a kindred spirit.
We may never understand the choices that culminated in this tragic act; but, as someone who's been watching the closest friends he's never met disappear from view one by one, I have learned that it's important to pay respects to the departed but more important to cherish those we still have. We will be saying goodbye to more legendary voices soon enough, and we should appreciate them while they're here because we may wake up to another nightmare tomorrow.
We should also take this incredibly sad occasion to remind ourselves that we don't have to be alone. During my darkest times, I have been fortunate to heal myself through music, including that of Cornell's, but I understand that depression is much more resilient in others. When you feel like you've run out of options, there is always another way; when you can't lean on family or friends, there are programs in place that can help you through your black days. Here are a few options available to Canadians:
Canadian Mental Health Association
Canadian Association for Suicide Prevention
DepressionHurts.ca
Kids Help Phone
We miss you already, Mr. Cornell.
Comments
Post a Comment