When I was younger, I caught the rising Soundgarden in concert and lost my senses. I can still hear the strains of “Heretic” now, and see Chris Cornell’s untamed mane flying everywhere he confidently stomped. A born leader, of a band redefining music, and an epoch.
Today, I sit here stunned, sifting through press releases telling me what Chris, and Soundgarden, and Temple of the Dog, and Audioslave, and every other artist that Cornell’s widening influence deeply touched have been doing for the last several years. That I never hit the reply button, having lately withdrawn from my own work in favor of quickly fleeting moments with my family, still pains me to tears.
I have written about so much in my life, and not enough about Chris, whose influence on my productive youth, and everything that has come after, including my work and my family, is being redefined as I write.
I’m sorry, Chris, that I didn’t write about you more, and that we didn’t get a chance to talk, more than once. I owed you that much, and I failed.
