I wanted to write an entry of remembrance for Chris Cornell. I don't talk about it much, but he was a huge inspiration from a creative standpoint. Even as a child, reading his lyrics (especially on Superunknown) reaffirmed my hopes of becoming a writer, and striking a deeper nerve, made it easier to compartmentalize my darkness. I didn't begin to joust with depression until I was a teenager, but I think on a subconscious level, listening to Soundgarden (and bands of their ilk, of course) bestowed me with the ability to perform a mental biopsy on my anxiety and self-doubt.
Oh, and Chris had a great fucking voice. I can sing his low-to-mid-range stuff, but those high notes? My false chords (or vestibular folds...you're welcome) have never been strong enough to belt out "Birth Ritual" or "Jesus Christ Pose." Fellow vocalists know exactly what I'm talking about. Aside from his vocal dexterity, he had a fantastic ear for melodies that would drive a spear through your ribs. Huh, I must have Jesus on the brain. And what a songwriter! Chris, that is. Not Jesus. He penned some of Soundgarden's most memorable tunes, not to mention Audioslave and Temple of the Dog.
Law enforcement's official ruling of suicide is hard to reconcile. His family wants a toxicology report, and I don't blame them. This doesn't make sense. I would never claim to know the man intimately, but the general impression is that drugs and demons were in his past. Granted, chronic depression isn't curable (yet). This tragedy is still a head-scratcher. Scott Weiland's passing, while no less tragic, was nowhere near as shocking.
"Why doesn't anyone believe in loneliness?
Stand up
And everyone will see your holiness"
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