Originally written as a tweetstorm after Chris Cornell’s suicide. I’ve expanded a bit more here.
I have a Soundgarden story.
July 1990, London. I was helping chaperone some high school students on a canonical “American Suburban Kid European Tour.”
It’s after 11pm. Everything is closed, so we headed back from wandering around town to sit and talk in the lobby lounge of our nice, but much older hotel.
We’ve been there for some time when the window to the street slides open. Four dudes, dressed all in black, and very drunk, crawl through and plotzed down in the chairs next to us.
It was Soundgarden.
The kids didn’t know them. I barely did. A hotel clerk walked over and closed the window, saying a very English nothing.
I talked music with Kim Thayil for a bit. “Athens. We played Athens. I love Athens. Come see us next time we’re in town.” Sadly, I never saw them live. In Athens or elsewhere.
All I remember of Chris Cornell was the hair. And the high school girls crushing just by staring into those eyes (when they were open).
After some time a different clerk came and shooed us all out of the lobby.
But I became a fan. Badmotorfinger and Superunknown are great albums. That voice. His Ave Maria is key to my Christmas playlist. I miss him even though I’ve not liked his more recent songs.
Love your friends. Especially when you know they hurt.
This is what #adulting is all about.