August 26, 2017

Gunalan Palari

“Chris Cornell, Audioslave and Soundgarden singer, has died age 52,” appeared the title of a post on one of my friend’s Facebook pages. I had just finished anesthetizing a patient after surgery and was trying to catch up on what’s going in the outside world when that news hit me like a runaway train. At first I thought this was one of the infamous internet hoaxes, but a niggling worry in my mind caused me to check on other sources and what I dreaded the most was verified as true with an official statement from his management. It was a surreal feeling, one that I never thought will occur with someone that I grew up listening to on a regular basis. Chris does not know me, but to me, he was that familiar voice whose words and songs were with you throughout some of the hardest parts of your life growing up. Being a doctor, dealing with death is second nature to me, but why I would feel the loss of someone who lived half the world away? I guess the grief is almost like losing a close friend that I have spent a large part of my youth with, taking for granted that we will be growing old together as we ride into the twilight of our lives only for him to leave me midway of the journey unexpectedly. My heart goes out to his family and I wish them the strength and courage to face this huge loss.

I remember listening to Chris and Soundgarden for the first time. It was sometime in 1991, late in the night studying for my Pre-University exams when my favorite DJ came on air. The initial playlist of the Top 40 songs from the standard love ballads to some radio friendly rock songs were being played. Then, she introduced a song that started with a blistering guitar riff followed with a rhythmic thumping of drums and reaching a crescendo with a wail of mighty proportions. It was like nothing that I have ever heard before and by the end of the song, Rusty Cage began to sound like the anthem of my life. When all I wanted to do at the time was to break my rusty cage and run. My hometown was a small sleepy hollow at the southern tip of Malaysia, where the economy was driven by rubber and palm oil plantations. Coming from that background of 3^rd generation immigrants to Malaysia, the only way out of poverty was a good education. Whatever that was transpiring in Seattle by the grunge movement at the time resonated with me despite me not having a single clue where Seattle was on the map of the United States. Label it whatever you want, it didn’t matter. Here was a band that defied all norms and Chris was reaching out directly to me with his stellar voice.

It wasn’t long before I pleaded with my mom for a couple of dollars to buy the Badmotorfinger album. This were the pre-compact disc days where cassettes were still the popular medium and everyone had to have a Sony Walkman. I didn’t have one, but had an old radio player that had the play, forward and rewind buttons. I was so glad that every one of the songs on this album was so good that the forward and rewind buttons were left redundant. Outshined, Slaves and Bulldozers, Jesus Christ Pose, Room A Thousand Years Wide and New Damage were just one of the many songs from the album that I never felt tired listening to till this day. At the peak of the grunge popularity, Pearl Jam, Nirvana and Alice in Chains were getting a large proportion of the radio airtime, but it was Soundgarden and Chris for me and I am sure to the many millions out there who at some point in their lives felt left out, awkward, sinking in despair and yet by listening to his angst-ridden voice, it slowly helped us to find the courage to overcome the negativity in a positive way. I never did drugs, heck I haven’t even smoked a cigarette so to my parents his music was my only vice and an outlet. And a safe one at that. So, they approved of me headbanging my youth away.

The next phase of my life was in medical school and when Superunknown was released I was finishing my first-year finals. And what a joy it was listening to that album as well while you’re negotiating the anatomy of the brachial plexus and cranial nerves and figuring out the physiology of the respiratory system and various other systems.  I had my Superunknown to accompany me throughout that period and cleared the exams. Soon I began to listen to their earlier songs before Badmotorfinger days including the collaboration with future Pearl Jam members in the Temple of the Dog album.

Fast forward two decades later to 2017, I am now a consultant anaesthesiologist in private practice with a beautiful family and working hard to continue to do the best in my life. It’s not always the dollars and cents that matters sometimes and I hold dearly to one of his lyrics from the Hunger Strike song. I don’t mind stealing bread from the mouth of decadence but I can’t feed on the powerless when my cup’s already over-filled. It serves as a reminder to me that you can continue to earn a living from your profession and be charitable at the same time without trying to take advantage of the weak.

Now that he is gone, I am left with the one regret that I was never able to watch him and Soundgarden perform live. The closest that they were here in the region was Australia, an 8-hour flight away. I envy many of his fans who have not only seen him perform live once or twice but regularly throughout his career be it as a solo artist, with Soundgarden, Audioslave or Temple of the Dog. One thing is for sure, Chris the man, the icon and the legend whose songs reached out to me and many others, whose words struck a chord and whose voice served as a companion in many memories will forever live on by the gift of music that he has bequeathed to us. Thanks Chris for keeping me Alive in the Superunknown.

Dr Gunalan Palari

Consultant Anaesthesiologist and Critical Care Physician, Malaysia.

August 24, 2017

Jeff Gorra

My five-year-old son Jake drew me the picture on the left, completely unprompted one day. I came home from work and he said, “Dad, I made this for you at school. It’s a stage. Someday you will be on that stage working with Chris Cornell.” It’s been front and center on my desk ever since. On the right, Chris and I backstage before his show in Baltimore a few months later. I will never forget our conversation. Just him and I on folding chairs, in an empty dressing room, talking about art. Complementing each other. His words of encouragement were a major inspiration behind why I started Artist Waves shortly after.

I first met Chris by chance in 2005, walking down 50^th street in Manhattan. I mentioned how much I loved the new Audioslave, ‘Out of Exile’ record, and I explained that although he didn’t know me, his music had such an amazing place in my life. My intimidation was quickly washed away as Chris so genuinely put his arm around me, patted my shoulder, looked me square in the eyes and said the most sincere “thanks, man” I have ever heard.

Shortly after, I met Clare O’Brien from afar. Over the next four years, under Clare’s incredible leadership, I ended up leading a street team region for Chris. With an abundance of cheer and enthusiasm, we helped promote ‘Carry On’ and ‘Scream’ across a ton of communities. We were all so passionate about the music and gleaming with pride, but the best part was the people we’d meet along the way.

I believe Chris Cornell changed the world with his voice. Certainly mine. As a writer, nothing has made my pen smile more than getting the opportunity to share that. “Blow Up the Outside World”, “Higher Truth”, “Call Me a Dog”, “I am the Highway”, … “Finally Forever” was my wife and I’s wedding song. Man, you had a profound song for every emotion I’ve ever felt. ‘Euphoria Morning’ taught me all about art being a personal form of expression. Watching Chris sing “When I’m Down” was like watching Picasso paint. I am forever grateful that he was so generous with his gift.

In 2008, after working an event for Chris’ street team, I went inside the PNC Bank Arts Center and caught his blistering set on the Projekt Revolution tour. Chris—during “Black Hole Sun” you jumped off stage, made your way through the crowd, hitting every note perfectly in stride… you hopped a fence and found yourself atop a hill that overlooked the entire amphitheater. At its highest point, you turned, faced down on the audience smiling up, and you soared through the last minute of the anthem. It was pitch black out, but there was a spotlight illuminating you, perfectly capturing the magic. It moved many to tears. That’s how I will remember you. That moment. That’s what you were to me and will always be.

Tom Morello pointed out “Sunshower”… one of my favorites. It oozes with emotion. If there’s a song where Chris is speaking to us all right now, perhaps it’s this one.

Sending love to his beautiful family who have always been so incredibly kind and gracious. Just like Chris.

Rest easy, CC. Your voice, your songs, your spirit, your impact…will forever resonate. Thank you for everything.

“Ascend may you find no resistance

Know that you made such a difference

All you leave behind will live to the end

The cycle of suffering goes on

But memories of you stay strong.”

Keep the promise,

Jeff Gorra ~ Artist Waves

August 16, 2017

Alex

He was my first born and like most first time mothers, the thought of someone else holding your newborn baby can be a little unnerving. You took him and cradled him in your arms, enveloping him with your warmth and kind spirit. I watched you, and you put me at ease, as you held my baby as if he were yours. The way you held your Godson for the first time is an image that will be forever ingrained in my memory.

It’s an amazing talent to create, write, and sing as you do, but for me you were a family man…a devoted husband, doting father of three, loving Godfather, and trusted friend. You were a husband who adored and loved your wife beyond imagine. The way you sat back and watched her intently, as we recounted funny stories from our childhood, or the way you smiled when she laughed, waiting for your eyes to finally meet. And when they did, there was a sparkle. And for Vicky, you are the love of her life; her adoration for you is unparalleled. And though touring and your craft may have pulled you away from the home at times, you were alway present and available. You not only had an immeasurable love for your children, but a patience and calmness, whether it was guiding C with his instruments, singing and collaborating with Toni, or playing the guitar in my den, with C, Toni, and my son gathered around you. You were the father at the birthday parties and school concerts. You were the husband that treasured his wife and invited us over for family dinners. You were the friend that always checked in, despite being thousands of miles away. And you were the Godfather that, regardless of how long it was since you last saw my son, always carved out a little alone time to have a conversation with a 4 year old. These are the moments that I will always remember….not the backstage concerts, not the musician Chris Cornell, but the man who cherished his family and the Uncle Chris we loved and respected.

You touched everyone….with your songs, your words, and your music. But for me, it was the love for your wife and children that made that connection for me. You were taken from all of us before you were ready because this is not a life you would leave willingly. There were so many adventures ahead of you, and some you were already in the midst of planning. Your spirit and legacy will continue through C, Lily, and Toni and your wife’s love. Your Godson will know you and always be reminded of you. Our family will ALWAYS be here for yours, and we will give them the truest love and support they deserve. We will stand by them and protect them as they painstakingly move forward and try to figure out this life without you. Rest assured Chris, we will be by their side and they will persevere and thrive.

ALEX

August 13, 2017

Eric Esrailian

It is humbling to share this with all of you and pay respect to such a great man – writing this is not something I ever imagined having to do for such a dear friend, and at such a young age. It has been incredibly difficult for me and I know that is just a fraction of the pain shared by many of you … particularly Vicky, Toni, Christopher, and Lily. Chris lived for his family, and they were his whole world. Those of us who were blessed to know him well felt this love for his family like a wave of warm energy any time Chris spoke, sang, wrote, or even just cast a glance towards Vicky and his children. He was filled with love for them…

Only my wife knows some of the kind and encouraging words Chris used to share with me over the years, and they gave me such support. I wish to share some of these private messages with you today. I first met Chris about 10 years ago through our Greek friends in the Los Angeles community. That is about a quarter of my life, but I think that quarter for me – and a little less for him — had been so formative because we grew up as parents and as 2 people trying to contribute to the world and make it better…I’m grateful to God that over the years he became like a big brother that I could lean on and trust, and I’m honored that he literally pulled me so close to him in the way that only Chris could — through his words, his actions, and with his heart. It feels so real to me, but I’m still not sure that it happened…

Although I knew about his music of course, my life had taken all sorts of twists and turns that by the time we met, music wasn’t really a part of it in those days. Greeks and Armenians have a lot of shared history, tradition, religion, tragedy, and joy — he was fascinated by all of this and connected so much with Vicky’s family heritage. Ironically, what I had heard about Chris was very much consistent with Greek mythology. I had anticipated him being like a character out of The Iliad or the Odyssey. He was tall, powerful, and he had voice like a benevolent version of a mythological siren — a voice that could hypnotize and captivate anyone who heard it. While he very much was that person to people who didn’t know him, and there is nothing wrong with that legendary image, from the moment I met him, he was not that person to me. Chris was such a pleasant surprise. Above all, he was just sweet, generous, and a child at heart. It seems strange to think of a grown man as being “sweet,” but that’s what I felt from day one.

For the first several years of our relationship, we just talked about families, life, culture, and had a lot of laughs. He loved his wife and children so much, and he set the bar so high for the world’s greatest son-in-law award. We joked about the surreal world of picking schools for our children, birthday parties, talked about how we were grown men who liked to play video games, had epic sushi dinners, and had literally traveled around the world together. After his 50th birthday party, he wrote me this note: “Thank you my brother. I consider you one of my best friends and I mean that sincerely. I was failing in my describing to you and Kim that my closest friends are the ones I think of all the time and see very little because, like me, they are always doing.”

Chris then made sure that we were “always doing” together…When I was charged with overseeing our film The Promise, Chris was one of the first people I entrusted with the idea and he became one of my closest confidants over the past 7 years. No one could take an idea and make it a reality like Chris Cornell. He saw more in me than I even saw in myself and gave me so much confidence… “You’re one of these guys who can do everything Eric” … for some reason when Chris used to say these types of things to me, I believed it. He was always trying to pump me up and boost my spirits – I soon realized that he had that effect on millions of people.

Chris had studied so much about Greek history and culture, and he felt so personally connected to it all. Chris and Vicky started their foundation to protect the most vulnerable children and he saw so many parallels between the Armenian Genocide, the human rights issues of today, and the countless children who are now in harms way. That was Chris — not the towering rock star – that was the husband and father who’s heart ached for people he never met — whether it was a 102 years ago or now. Even though he was an essential part of the soul of my life, and certainly the film, over all these years, he wanted me to officially ask him to write the title song. I always thought that after all the laughs and tears over the years, that he would be doing it. However, in his own unassuming way, Chris wasn’t sure I wanted him to sing, and he wanted me to formally ask him. Our wives were sitting there, and it was almost like an awkward prom proposal between two grown men. I didn’t know how much it meant to him until he wrote me the following note the next day: “I want to tell you that I am honored and that I am devoted to this film and I will give it my absolute best and feel like my thirty years of discovery and development as a songwriter have led me to this!”

Chris poured his heart and soul into The Promise, and he wanted it to not to just be an anthem for the oppressed, but he wanted it to be a source of inspiration for people around the world with its themes of hope and perseverance…literally filling the world with life as he says in the lyrics. We were invited to the Vatican with our families just a few weeks ago, and he was so proud and happy. He was so proud that his song was going to be played on those holy grounds…while on a private tour of the Vatican Library and archives, I remember him hugging me and getting emotional with joy because of the beauty of it all…true to Chris’ philanthropic spirit, he went from our screening in London to a refugee camp in Athens and had already decided to donate all of the proceeds from The Promise to help refugees and children…that was Chris Cornell. The husband, the father, and the protector of children around the world.

I feel so blessed that we traveled on this journey together…but I would give it all back to have him here with all of you — especially his children…so I could just be a spectator on the sidelines before we met…and not have him so interwoven into the fibers of my heart. Chris always gave the biggest hugs, said the funniest jokes, wrote the most beautiful words, and sang like an angel. When we were lamenting the fact that our busy lives and geography would periodically limit our time together, one personal note Chris wrote to me, in particular, gives me solace… because it makes me feel like he will always be with us. I hope it gives you all some solace too: ….”We are neighbors in the modern world where proximity is relative and the threshold to our hearts moves outside time and space.”

Eric Esrailian

August 9, 2017

Brian

This is a stream of conscious so please forgive me for misspells or typos. I have remained pretty much silent until now about the death of one of my clients, Chris Cornell. I was introduced to Soundgarden when I worked at Rockpool in 1991 when I dropped out of college. I interned there, and one week I would be on the phones chasing down retailers for their top selling records and hustling commercial radio and college radio music directors for their airplay charts. The following week would be spent stuffing the magazine and retail posters into envelopes which I walked to the post office at the World Trade Center to ship to everyone.

Megan Frampton loved Chris Cornell. At the time, I had recently come out of the closet and could see how a woman could love someone so beautiful, but it wasn’t until I met Chris and worked for Chris where I could actually say I loved him. I didn’t love Chris like a potential boyfriend. I loved him like a brother. I had met him a few times, and I had seen him in various musical incarnations be it Soundgarden or Audioslave or solo, but when I started working with him on Higher Truth it was like our lives were meant to cross and meant to be together.

I was enraptured by him. His story. His family. His selflessness. His magic. When I told him my boyfriend and I were having a baby via surrogate he told me he had to meet the baby when he was here. He was one of the first people to congratulate me on the birth of my son and to ask me when we were having family dinner. Mind you he was always between Seattle, New York, Miami and Los Angeles, and when my son was five months old, Chris, Vicky, Toni and Christopher were in LA and he insisted that we have family dinner. I was nervous to bring the baby because I know how babies respond to energy and thought he would freak out, BUT when we got to dinner Chris picked up baby Hardy and they just stared into each other’s eyes…and they stared…and they stared. It was magical. It was like souls reunited. I was in awe of the whole thing.

Days and months would go by and Chris would text me and email and ask about Hardy. How is he doing? What is he doing? He would tell me all about Lily and Toni and Christopher when they were infants and toddlers and the things they would do and what I could expect. And you know what? He was right. Every time.

I shared family dinners with the Cornells. It was wonderful. They were a family I never had. So much so that when they were touring Europe in March for The Promise, Chris sent me an email of a baby tuxedo that he wanted to buy for Hardy. I have that email. I have the photo of his hand holding it up to get a clear shot and show me the size to make sure it was right.

Two weeks later we were in New York shooting CBS Saturday Morning. It was a three song performance and an extended interview. I asked him if he wanted to be alone so he could do vocal warmups, and he said no. It was better for him to go into with raw because it would be more real. He nailed it. He sat with Anthony Mason and did his interview. It was incredible. Anthony told him that his son was in an a capella group and they were singing Black Hole Sun, and I totally queened out saying “Chris you must record a video saying don’t kill my song.” He had Anthony record him and he Congratulated them and said “don’t murder my song.” They went on to sing it and dedicated it to him after his passing.

That same week we went to the United Nations and spent the day meeting with various depts about the refugee crisis. He was engaged and engaging. It was exquisite. We had another family dinner. We went to the premiere of The Promise followed by another dinner with the family. He performed on the Tonight Show and met Anthony Bourdain (I have the photo of the two of them). He thanked me for everything which is a joke because I always thanked him for everything. He gave so much more than I could ever.

Three weeks later I got a phone call in the middle of the night. There is nothing that can prepare you for that, and nothing that ever will. I didn’t sleep for three days. I re-read ALL of the emails he ever sent me. I thought about all of the phone calls and the press days. The music that inspired me from my teens. It was as if I lost a member of my family. I was numb. I’m still numb, but my emotions don’t mean anything compared to Vicky, Lily, Toni and Christopher’s. They are who he has left behind. Sure he has left all of us behind in some way shape or form BUT it is them who I will always be there for. I can never not be.

Addiction is a cruel and punishing disease. No matter how many autopsies or toxicology reports we can do on a person, we will never know her/his state of mind when they take drugs. An addict’s mind doesn’t function the way most people’s minds do, and if you think otherwise, maybe it’s time to think again. The guilt, the shame, the solitude. I’ve attended many an AA meeting with friends for their anniversaries or even just to help them on their roads to recovery, and I’ve listened to many stories of relapsing and wishing to be dead and trying to kill oneself. It’s a reality. So before you pass judgement, you need to put yourself in their shoes. You need to feel their pain. I promise you. It’s heartbreaking.

– Brian Bumbery

August 7, 2017

AJ

Dear Chris,

It all still doesn’t seem real yet. Our hearts are still so heavy, not only with the sadness of losing you but also with the fullness of how blessed we are to have you as part of our family.

Putting aside your magical artistry, we knew you as the thoughtful family man and Godfather to our son. You were always genuine in every aspect of our relationship. We saw and felt first hand the deepest love and adoration you had for your wife and children. We know it wasn’t ever your will or any real intention to deprive your family of a long life, full of love, creativity, and immeasurable experiences with you but rather an unconscious act, an act of delirium not of your control.

You leave a strong wife and mother to Toni and C, who will always fight for the truth of your legacy. Be comforted that they will be brought up well. The void will never be filled, but we have a lot to look back on. We are all truly fortunate to have had you in our lives. You made a promise to us that you would be our son’s Godfather, which you knew that my wife and I placed a high value on. My promise to you is that I will be the backbone of a support system for your family that will never be broken. I promise to love and guide them as they make this journey called life without you.

AJ

Steve Smith

I run an advertising company in England. About two years ago I ran some material for Chris Cornell, it was for his forthcoming Higher Truth release. This was through his record company and as someone who admired his music I was able, due to it being my company, to run some extra promotion for him.

I had never spoken to Chris at that point, however I sent him a message on twitter and attached the photographs of what we had done, and kind of forgot about it.  About two weeks later I was sat watching TV and my phone pinged and it was a message from Chris. He said he was really grateful for what we had done and was really impressed by how it looked.

Over the next few months I ran some more stuff for him, promoting the CD release and then the UK tour and kept in touch with him.  Every time I wrote to him he wrote back and was always very courteous and interested in what our company was doing. Eventually it so happened that I was in Sydney at the same time as he was playing there. Chris invited me to the show and arranged the tickets, and also said we should meet up beforehand.

The first time I met him he was sat playing his guitar in one of the rooms at the back of the Sydney Opera House. The first thing I noticed as we met was how tall he actually was. Im 6ft 4 and he was easily as tall as me. He was warm and friendly, but in a very reserved way. We spent ten minutes just chatting, he was really interested in my business and it was just very special to me. He said he didn’t really like to talk so much before gigs as he was very protective of his voice. He was such a charming guy and extremely humble, down to earth and interesting. The concert itself was amazing and it was one of the best nights I have ever had

Over the next few years I met him on numerous occasions. As he got to know me he was less guarded and his sense of humour came through. He had a very sharp wit and was very funny in conversation. He rarely talked about himself, not egotistical in any way. He was extremely proud of his family and I could tell that whilst he toured a lot he missed them greatly. I think that is what helped keep him grounded.

One on memorable occasion I picked him up at his hotel in Manchester and we went on a tour of the city to look at the promotions we were running for him. Here’s me and Chris Cornell driving round Manchester and chatting about this and that. He never ever made me feel like he was a ”star”, he was just a normal guy with a special talent. He was happiest with a guitar and an audience, he said it was intimate, like being in his front room with a few friends round. My favourite memories are of those acoustic concerts. Whenever he was in town or where I was near I would go and watch the gigs and meet up to say hi.

Every time I saw him he was relaxed and content, and was very easy to be around.

I went to see his charity performance in Malibu earlier this year and even though there were lots of celebrities there he made sure he invited me up to his dressing room to say hi. That’s the guy he was, thoughtful and kind.

I am just a normal guy, yes I was a fan of his music but I was lucky enough to get to know him and I consider that such a privilege. Have no doubt that he was as genuine and nice as he came across in interviews.

Steve Smith

July 26, 2017

Clare O’Brien

It’s been over two months since Chris Cornell died.  Today would have been his 53rd birthday. Shock affects people in different ways, but for me, the days and weeks following his death went by in a blur. Helping to organise his funeral gave way to listening to his elegies.  So many of his friends, family and colleagues spoke or wrote beautiful things in his memory, but I couldn’t seem to do the same.  In Hollywood, Jacaranda blossoms were blooming across a summer he’d never see.  The night after his funeral, I sat on the hill outside Griffith Observatory and watched the shadows lengthen.  And I couldn’t think of a thing to say.

I’ve been told that just as physical injury can trigger a natural anaesthetic which protects the victim, the sudden death of a loved one can produce a numbness of the mind and heart which only gradually gives way to anger and grief.  I think that’s what happened to me.

Still, it’s pretty pathetic when a writer runs out of words.

Lately, there have been signs that my heart is coming out of hibernation.  I’ve been getting angry. With myself.  With people who write stupid things on the internet.   Even with Chris, who left all of us high and dry without the chance to offer help, to understand, even to say goodbye.   I’m told that anger is a normal part of grief; that it helps with the healing process and eventually gives way to acceptance.   But I’m still a long way, a very long way, from that.

So I’ve been trying to remember all the good things.

Like the day in 2007 I first met Chris, backstage at the Astoria in London.  For such a tall man he had a way of moving silently, almost stealthily, and I was still setting up to record my interview when Chris walked over to the room’s single window and with his back to me, said “Have I been here before?”

He never cared much for hellos and goodbyes, the routine enquiries after health or wellbeing with which most people bookend their conversations.  Choosing to take him literally rather than metaphorically, I reminded him of the last time he’d played the venue; with Audioslave, four years before, fresh out of rehab.  He laughed as I fumbled with my recorder and sent its batteries skittering across the floor. Then he distributed himself over three rickety chairs and talked for an hour, not just about music but about physics and history and psychology and politics.  They’ve knocked the Astoria down now, but whatever they do with the space where it stood, it’ll always be a haunted place for me.

That interview, and the one which followed back home in Scotland, eventually led to Chris hiring me.  For the next decade, I wrote PR, did research, kept archives, proofread everything, became part of the management team, helped his family, and looked after social media for him and for his bands and projects.  One of the greatest things about the internet is that for those of us dealing in art and ideas, it enables almost anyone to work from almost anywhere. Which is exactly what I did.

Visiting Chris and Vicky for the first time in Paris, I remember the exact moment when a small blond figure in a nappy appeared in the sitting room doorway and fixed me with a basilisk stare just like his father’s.  Then Chris appeared, crouched beside him and picked up a ball which he rolled slowly towards me as he told his son my name.   I’m not sure that Dad quite allayed the little boy’s natural suspicion of this strange lady, but it was a nice way to make his, and his big sister’s acquaintance.

Chris loved his family profoundly. Whatever he was doing, whatever else was in his mind, he was always a devoted husband and father, as he was always an appreciative friend. Despite his rock star cool, he had a natural gentility which seemed to come from a different age.   It’s the little things, really.  Stopping to help his wife who was making slow progress in heels down an elderly staircase at the Shepherd’s Bush Empire, and then opening the door to let me step into the wings ahead of him.  Walking with him through the centre of the crowd at Hyde Park after Soundgarden’s wonderful ‘Superunknown20’ show to watch Black Sabbath from the VIP viewing platform, a child on his shoulders like a hundred other dads down on the grass below on that summer evening.

I remember him phoning to cheer me up when the response to his album “Scream” wasn’t all we’d hoped.  Carefully spelling out my 12 year old son’s Gaelic name in the cover of a children’s book he was autographing for him, anxious not to get it wrong;  then ten years later, writing to congratulate that same son on getting his degree.  Doing everything he could to help friends or fans through bereavement, or to send little presents or organise special backstage meetings for those who were sick or disabled.  I remember his abundant kindness, his keen intelligence, his all-encompassing warmth for those he trusted and his disdain for those he did not.  I remember how little he cared for status, or power, or riches, and how much he cared for talent and loyalty.

On Twitter, which for a while he embraced with all the delight of a kid with a new toy, he could be as surreal as Spike Milligan.  He always saw the scope for comic confusion in language –  once, he asked me about the Highland Clearances, and then confessed that he’d never been able to shake the mental connection with department store clearance sales.

He was a brilliant mimic, copying or creating characters at will. He once called me and adopted the persona of an extravagantly gay and terminally confused international telephone operator – if he hadn’t dropped the pretence I don’t think I’d ever have got the joke.  During a discussion of British gangster films while we were driving to a show in New Jersey, he suddenly became Ben Kingsley’s foulmouthed cockney psychopath Don Logan from Jonathan Glazer’s ‘Sexy Beast’.  The language wasn’t a big stretch – Chris swore like a sailor – but all the insane black humour of the character was there in a flash (“Yes Grosvenor! Yes Roundtree! Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes!”) before he lapsed back into his usual conversational calm.  He had many actor friends, but always insisted he’d never try it himself. Perhaps he should have done.

Because of the physical distance, I didn’t know Chris as well or see him as often as some.   But what I remember most of all is the way he’d pick up exactly where we had left off, weeks, months or even years before. As he had at that very first meeting, he would just start talking: no greetings, no awkwardness, no catching up, whether it was a chat about our respective children, a dive into his musical seascape or a discussion of psychogeographic geometry (Chris felt north/south or east/west divides were artificial, and the real divisions in the world were diagonal).  He rarely felt very far away.  As he wrote to his friend Eric Esrailian, “we are neighbours in a modern world where proximity is relative and the threshold to our hearts moves outside time and space”.

But I will miss the little light on my phone, colour-coded blue,  that told me there was an email or a message from him.  I’ll miss watching him wind down with his family after a show.  I’ll miss his irritation with his staff when we couldn’t keep up with his alarming pace.  I will miss sending him birthday wishes every July 20th.  I will miss his hugs.  I will miss his smile.

Chris knew all about darkness.  It suffused his work and was part of the ocean he swam in as an artist. But darkness is not always destructive. It’s just the other side of light, and that nocturnal imaginative world was part of his nature. It would never have taken him away from the people and the music he loved. The alien darkness around him that night in Detroit was chemical. Drugs change brain chemistry, and I think that in the benzodiazepine delirium that engulfed him, Chris became not-Chris. And he was lost, to himself, his family, and to the world.

This isn’t the place to talk about the evils of prescription drug culture in America. And I don’t think Chris would want us to sit by the side of the road and cry.  He’d want us to push on with our lives and make him proud. But I do know that the world is the poorer now that he can’t construct a future for himself, for his songs, for the wife and children he adored, and for all of us.

– Clare O’Brien

July 25, 2017

Stone Gossard

July 11, 2017

Tom Morello

In his song Sunshower, Chris wrote:

All you’ll be, you are today. It’s alright when you’re caught in pain and you feel the rain come down. It’s alright when you find your way, they you see it disappear. It’s alright. Though your garden’s gray I know all your graces someday will flower, in a sweet sunshower.

Chris, I love you, brother. I love your unparalleled artistry. I love your smile. I love your ridiculously beautiful hair. I love your willingness to help others. I love your love of family.

I’d like to ask everyone present to consider making two pledges today in memory of the great Chris Cornell. First, to pledge to offer unconditional forever support to his family, especially his three beautiful children. Lily, Christopher, Toni, if you ever need to talk, need a hug, would like to hear stories about your dad, would like to TELL stories about your dad, need a guitar lesson, OR if you need to be reminded how very much your father loved you with all his heart, every one of us here today is there for you. Through Chris we are your extended family and lifelong resource of love and support.

Second, I’d like to ask everyone here to make a pledge to each other. Look to your right, look to your left. If you ever find yourself in a moment of sadness and doubt, if you fall off the wagon, if you are depressed, if you’re in trouble, if you feel like you might slip off the tightrope of life, in that moment you can call the person sitting next to you right now, you can call me. For Chris’s sake let’s make a commitment to look after one another.

And Chris, please say hello to some old friends for us. Say hi to Kurt, give my love to Layne, and I know that you will enjoy  being roommates with Andrew Wood again. That’s one spectacular All Star grunge choir right there. I’d love a bootleg of those heavenly campfire jam sessions.

Chris was many things but I think of him as a redeemer. As the driving force of Soundgarden he redeemed hard rock and metal. Unapologetically embracing badass riffs, he eschewed lyrics about dungeons or dragons and instead wrote deep dark soul searching poetry that opened the door for generations of artists who felt empowered to use their brains along with their musical brawn.

Then Chris redeemed me and Timmy and Brad. It was Badmotorfinger that was one of the main inspirations for Rage Against The Machine and then years later we found ourselves in a band, Audioslave, with the man himself, opening a wonderful chapter of musical exploration and global rocking. Getting to watch firsthand Chris’ effortless conjuring of gorgeous and ferocious melody and his epic rock god-ness on a daily basis is one of the highlights of my life. We made music that I’m so proud of and then rocked Cuba, the first American band to do it, fulfilling a lifelong dream.

And then Chris redeemed himself. Coming out of a period of addiction in the early 2000’s he turned his life around. I’d like to acknowledge and say thank you to someone here today, Tim Commerford. During this period it was Timmy who with an inspired, heroic act of love saved Chris Cornell’s life in 2001 and helped give us all sixteen more years of this beautiful man. But it was Chris himself, with the support and boundless love of Vicky, who built a wonderful, close knit, loving family, who made some of the best music of his career. He played beautiful solo concerts across the planet and after a twelve year break he reconnected with his Audioslave brothers on January 19th of this year. It was the last time I saw Chris. I felt so blessed to stand next to his feral rock fury and soaring vocals one last time. He was just SHINING. His last words to me were, “I had such a great time, let’s do that again. Whenever you guys want.”

It is important today to honor Chris Cornell, the devoted husband and loving father, the warm friend and bandmate, but I’d also like to tip my hat to the darker corners of Chris’ soul because I believe that’s where his brilliance as an artist stemmed from. Chris once texted me in the middle of the night, “If you swallow the coin from the wishing well, your dreams will come true in heaven or hell.” The demons he wrestled with were real. But he harnessed those demons and rode them like a mother flippin’ Chariot Of Lightning strapped with Marshall Stacks to make some of the greatest rock n roll of all time. Loud Love. Just thinking about that awesome jam throws me into headbanging convulsions. Hands All Over. The beauty of Seasons. Try not to cry. Badmotorfinger top to bottom. It’s INSANE. You thought you were safe? Here comes Spoonman. Then Audioslave. He’s back! Cochise, Like A Stone, Show Me How To Live, I Am The Highway. You’re rocking, you’re crying, you can’t make up your damn mind. Chris is as melodic as the Beatles, he’s as heavy as Sabbath, he’s as haunting as Edgar Allen Poe.

Thank you, Sunshower. Thank you for your love, your friendship, your peerless talent.

The body is weak. The psyche is fragile. Things decay and are gone in time. Gardens turn gray. But, Chris, I know two things that are fucking invincible and will endure forever, your beautiful voice and our love for you.

TOM MORELLO