Tributes Archive – Page 2 of 20 – Chris Cornell

January 24, 2018

Rita Wilson

My heart is broken. My friend Chris Cornell passed away today. He leaves behind his wife, Vicky, and three beautiful children. He was a generous man, so very kind, a true artist, a loving husband and wonderful father. His artistry defined an era and his voice defied all others. When I did Am/Fm I asked Vicky if she thought Chris might consider singing a duet with me of All I Have To Do Is Dream. Within minutes, the answer was yes. He was the first person to say yes to singing with this first timer. His faith meant so much. He came to the studio prepared, had his own mic, got in the booth and went to work. We were so awed by his voice and his humility. When you watch someone legendary create you really are stunned into silence. There’s not much to say when you’re around that kind of gift. You’re just grateful to be in its presence. Chris will not be forgotten. His music lives on and he lives on in his children. I will never forget sweet Chris. May he rest In peace. God bless his soul.

– Rita Wilson, May 2017

January 17, 2018

Isabel Navas (From Colombia)

Un pequeño tributo a un grande de la música “A small tribute to a greatest of music” (Sorry for my English)

Isabel (from Colombia)

Aimi Greaves

How can a voice like yours be gone,
No one sings like you anymore,
You became our disappearing one,
And the tears cried out were a downpour.

A voice like yours just melted our heart,
And your heart was shone through every word,
The pain and suffering played its part,
All your words spoken well heard.

A voice like yours could never be replaced,
There will never be someone like you,
The end of the world was when you were erased,
Such voices left now are too few.

A stolen prayer was spoken that day,
Wishing it wasn’t the case,
Everyone wondering what to say,
Everyone missing your face.

A scar upon the sky you made,
The day you said goodbye,
A voice like yours will never fade,
Your words will never die.

Your music will live,
The stories you told,
You had so much to give,
But the heart grew old.

A voice like yours we will always miss,
The scream and the soulful sound,
Healed our pain with a musical kiss,
And we loved knowing you were around.

No one sings like you anymore,
There really is a black hole in the sun now,
You had so much more to live for,
But the pain must have been stronger somehow.

Your voice within won’t be silent,
You will still make many hearts melt,
Because this is a world still violent,
And your words will always be felt.

We will share the promise you made,
And say thank you for helping us through,
Our teenage memories may fade,
But we will always remember you.

Aimi Greaves
16 Jan 2018
Ok goodnight people x


I took this photo of Chris at Jones Beach, NY. I will always cherish the memories from that show.

#ChrisCornell ❤💫 With infinite oceans of praise, I celebrate you, gone to bliss.

Beautiful flowers and regal garlands, sweet music and sparkling lights I offer to you.

May suffering realms be utterly emptied.

Be with warmth and beautiful light in your rebirth. ❤💫 -Buddha

Thank you for the music, sweet Angel.

Dario C

I and Chris. Trieste, Italy, 16 April 2016.

More than twenty years ago, I heard for the first time Superunknown, an amazing album
that has accompanied me for a long time …
Thank you for your music Chris, a precious gift


Andy Reyes Vales

Chris thanks for everything, for that heartbreaking and beautiful voice, for that concert that I enjoy here in Cuba, with that desire to sing and make music, with that way of being, you have gone, but your voice remained in each heart, in every person who heard your songs, in each one of us that will continue to be your … thanks Chris


January 11, 2018

Angie Fox

You were a voice of my adolescence and rebellious youth and I loved you then. Since, you’ve had a constant ebb and flow in and out of my life and love of music, in the most beautiful sense, coming back in a new and beautiful form every time.

The morning I learned you had left us, just an hour south of me, was the most brutal of wake-up calls. This seemed so incredibly personal. You belong(ed) to us.

In a tragically beautiful way, time since has been spent rediscovering and reconnecting with you through music, and uncovering true genius in your songwriting I never knew (or fully appreciated) were there. I’m finding that with this tremendous and irreplaceable void that you’ve left behind, you’ve also allowed the silver linings to shine through in a way that is almost like finding a buried treasure or opening a Christmas gift a little here and there. I am grateful for that.

My own personal gift was hearing Soundgarden come on the radio just as I pass the Fox Theater as I tearfully point out to my daughter where you sang your last note. Was that you? Another gift was learning the same day I had finished “Ariel”, that you were a fan of Sylvia Plath. Little things, you know, they speak very loudly, and they are extraordinarily comforting.

After nearly eight months, the most heart-warming and heart-breaking aspect is to recall and find in a deeper sense what a genuine and kind soul you were- to everyone, in every way. I wish I could have known you. Luckily, through music, you’ve been there; for two-thirds of my life, through the waves of the lifeline that matters to me the most- my music, you were there. You are there.

I am grateful to have existed in this world with you in it. With all the love that this world has for you, you will live on forever.

Loud Love,
Angie Fox


I’ve never forgotten that moment when I first listened to Chris. I was leant on the back of the armchair in our front room, flipping between music channels when the quiet, opening riff of ‘Be Yourself’ came on. Straight away, the song’s presence had me slide down into the chair, where I would sit, transfixed, for the next four minutes, by the words of the tall, haunting figure whose sombre, far-away eyes seemed to harbour all of the wisdom and sorrow of the world combined.

I had just turned thirteen, and it’d be fair to say things weren’t going well for me. Only a few years previously had my mum, half-brother and I finally managed to break free from my father’s violence, stalking and death threats. For almost a decade we had been held hostage to our fear and it wasn’t until I found my father pretending to hang himself from the attic that the courts listened, and, at last, stripped him of all access to me. I was no longer able to be used as his pawn; he could no longer use the threat of abduction to manipulate my mum into dropping the charges.

But no sooner were we free from being controlled, another took his place. Because of what I’d seen, I was pushed into therapy, where, little by little, every lingering hope, belief and ambition I had developed or clung to – writing, drawing, performing – was repeatedly judged to be unrealistic, unachievable, and childish. The psychologist I was under scrutinised every aspect of my personality and found fault in every conceivable way. It was wrong of me to be mature and sensitive to things beyond my years, strange of me to be content in my own company, when I ought to be wanting to socialise, rebel, experiment with my peers; it was abnormal that I should be close to my mother and feel so protective of her and my debilitating illness that had kept me out of school was merely a lie for attention. By this time, I had learned not to trust or believe in anyone beyond my mother. In everyone else’s eyes, wherever I went, whoever I interacted with, I was something to be righted. “Normalised.”

Then came Chris. Chris, who seemed to speak out to me, so simply, yet so poignantly that day, a reassuring force whose words and voice seeped into my skin and ignited a greater, more resilient determination which pounded in my chest. I knew nothing about the man on the screen in that moment, but something in me had recognised his soul as being something akin to my own, and he was the shining example that it was alright to be individual, whoever you are, and that you don’t have to be like everybody else, regardless of what anyone else thinks.

Sure enough, for the next twelve years Chris remained with me. He saw me through everything: poverty, oppression, personal criticism, through my mother’s poor health, my brother’s descent into drugs and alcoholism, through my own, crippling depression, Chris was always in my ear.

Most people are scornful when you confess you’re grieving over someone you never met, but I don’t waste my breath on them. How do you begin to explain to those who would mock emotion, that Chris gave me more than just music, or words of empathy and advice, and that the most significant thing he ever gave me was faith. Faith that men could be something other than cruel. Faith in humanity in the sense that when I looked at him, I didn’t just see an immensely talented singer or songwriter, but above any of that, I saw a loving husband and devoted father, a loyal friend to the fortunate few who had earned his trust, and a warrior for worldwide peace and equality.

I am blessed that in April 2016 I was finally able to travel to see him live in Manchester. I remember that night so vividly, how laid back and down to earth he was, how kind he was to all those who spoke to him, the vibrations in the floor that shot up through the soles of my feet into my legs when he sang. I felt as if, for those two hours, I was at peace. My one and only regret is not having had the courage to give him the portrait I’d spent weeks on to give him that night, and be able to thank my hero face to face for all that he had done – not that a simple, single sentence could have ever conveyed what he meant to me.

Vicky, Lily, Toni and Little C, I am so, so profoundly sorry for your loss. Chris once said John Lennon was like a father to him, and in my eyes, Chris was just that to me. My substitute father. He felt more like family to me than anyone I have ever encountered in all my life, and to this day I continue to feel as if I have lost my truest and oldest friend, but still I cannot begin to comprehend the weight of your grief. Thank you, for sharing your pain so candidly with us and for opening your hearts and supporting us, his fans, when the majority of people in your position wouldn’t have even considered that we, too, are grieving the loss of our distant, but ever present friend.


Fabiano Negri

My humble tribute to an eternal artist.
One of the most beautiful voices of all time.
Eternal inspiration!
Thanks for everything, Chris.



When Chris announced that he was going to try to reaquire the original master tapes from the Temple Of The Dog sessions, it was a very exciting time for the sound I grew up with. Within the year, November 11th 2016 bore a reunion show at San Francisco’s Bill Graham Civic Auditorium, and I attended. It was as perfect as could be expected, always a top performer.

I am in the target demographic for whom this music was supposed to influence the most, and for whomever studied my generation closely enough to determine that, thank you. It worked, and the ride was an unforgettable one, to say the least. I am so glad to have grown up in the generation I did, to experience this as it was happening. Amazing was this time in history, where it didn’t need the help of the internet to spread like wildfire.

With the explosion of Seattle into pop culture, it wasn’t long before we started recognizing the unsustainability of our sound. The music that came from that secluded corner in the Pacific Northwest was definitely unique and genuine, but obviously tortured and scarred, and that has to be what makes Chris so relevant. So many in my generation are tormented by something, and sometimes it becomes too much to bear.

I’ve been listening to “Preaching The End Of The World” for 3 days straight, to the extreme irritation of my whole family. It seems like he rode a dangerously thin line, for perhaps most of his years. It is all over his work, but rather than succumb, he seemed to have a brand of grace that turned his pain into a marble statue we could all visit, and connect with. It is still, as it has been, nearly impossible to acknowledge that there’s not going to be any more from him. From someone that feels like much more than a fan, I grew up depending on Chris to have something for the soul when things get too difficult to bear. He truly was the voice of my generation.

The world can never produce another like him. I am feeling just the same, and there’s nothing left.

Chris Cornell