Chris, the world is a much sadder and darker place without your enormous, generous presence, not to mention your brilliant, heartfelt lyrics and songs. Still can't wrap my arms around this. And something still doesn't sit right. All I can do is share some wonderful memories....

Fast rewind to 1989. Soundgarden had released "Louder Than Love". I was Label Manager for A&M Records in Paris, and the band came to Paris for some promos and a concert. When I first heard the album, I KNEW this was something huge. It was so frikking raw, powerful, & beautiful. Then I met the band and Susan.

I remember when the band was doing CD signings in a small but popular record store. There were maybe 10 people that showed up. Then they did a sold-out concert in a small venue. The show was literally EXPLOSIVE and unreal.Imagine being a part of the initial days of this amazing band. I feel so very lucky and grateful.

While you, Chris, were very reserved and stayed mostly by Susan's side, I felt your kindness shine through your shy demeanor. I had the great pleasure to hang with Matt, Ben, and Kim a few fun evenings, musing about all the travels and promos and concerts the band had to still go through. Matt was a major sweetie, even writing me letters from their overseas tour supporting Guns & Roses.

I left Paris shortly after our meeting, and regretfully, I moved to Miami. I should have moved to Seattle and continue my music career and watch the Seattle scene blossom.

I LOVED every single Seattle band- I am so saddened by the losses. But this music is truly its own and is very important to everyone and it will , as you can tell from all the posts and tributes globally.

Then I was very lucky to see Soundgarden live again, in 2011, in Vancouver BC. Funny, I now live 1.5 hours north of Seattle for the past 9 years. I have not been able to make any contact with the Soundgarden folks, but hopefully that changes soon.

Lastly, when I heard Temple of the Dog was doing 7 shows in 5 locations last year, I jumped on the occasion and bought tickets for the first San Francisco show. I knew about Andy Wood and Chris's close relation, and I was a major fan of Mother Love Bone and TOTD tribute album.I was literally blown away and became very emotional. It was literally the best concert I have ever been to. And I have been to MANY. Chris was amazing, as was Matt and Stone, Mike, and Jeff. 

Never would I have imagined that I would never see or hear you again, Chris. This whole nightmare doesn't remind me of anything. I am hoping for the truth to come out. It would help in healing the raw wounds I (and so many others) have. Even if we did not have a close relationship, you have impacted my life in so many ways. This last chapter is not the last. XOXOXO ~Suzy

I can pinpoint the exact moment I first heard Chris Cornell's voice come through on the radio. I was 17 years old driving, driving my dad's '97 Dodge Stratus, and taking a left turn onto 356th St. from Enchanted Pkwy in Federal Way, WA. The song I that played that night was "Be Yourself" by Audioslave.

Being born in the late 80's, I had was too young to have appreciated the Grunge movement of the 90's. And although I'm sure I had heard a Soundgarden song here and there (having grown up in the Seattle area and all) I had never really listened to it.

Anyway, back to that first moment: 

The melancholy sound of the guitar caught my attention, but it was the voice and the way the words streamed through the radio that actually held it. The voice was unlike anything I've ever heard before. I could actually feel the emotion from each syllable uttered. And the song itself seemed to encompass every little thing I was feeling at that precise moment in my life. 

I was a depressed teenager with way too many issues to handle. I was ready to give up...but there, on the radio, was this man singing, basically reading my mind and still telling me not to lose any sleep, because everything would be alright.

From that moment on, I've been a die-hard fan. I know that many, many people have had their lives touched by Chris Cornell. And now that he's gone...our souls weep, not only for him, but for his family as well. We only got a small part of all that he was, and we are brokenhearted, I can't even begin to imagine how his loved ones must feel.

Chris Cornell is gone, but he will never be forgotten. In a world where people rarely make ripples, he made everlasting waves.

Written by Phil Saunders after the release of King Animal in 2013:

When I first interviewed Soundgarden it was 1988, long before the Grunge craze. I was still fairly early in my long career in campus radio (10 years), but I loved this band. Though I am a self-described music nerd, I didn’t care that they were from Seattle, on Sub Pop records—which at the time was barely out of its cassette-only status, or that bands like the Screaming Trees and Melvins were among their friends. In fact, Nirvana was still a blip on the music scene, having just released Bleach, which was being largely ignored for its scattered atonal blend of punk and metal.

(For the record, I loved Bleach for this chaotic and explosive style…it was an exciting time to be on the inside of what became the last major gasp of corporate rock heading towards a major decline that from which we now know it will never recover.)

I was living in Toronto at the time. And, like any self-respecting young man, raised on hockey, Macintosh taffy, and classic rock, was firmly indoctrinated in the ways of Rush and their dark lord Neil Peart. So when I got on the phone with Chris Cornell and Kim Thayil, I was more than thrilled to have them pose the first question.

“Hey,” said Thayil. “This is Toronto right?”

“Yeah,” I said.

“Yeah,” I responded, rather taken aback.

“We love Rush,” said Cornell.

Then it hit me. That’s why I so enjoyed Soundgarden’s frenetic, yet clearly Y chromosome rock. Strident, atonal and complex, their references to Sonic Youth and Melvins only heightened my love of their first full-length Ultramega OK on the venerable SST Records, already responsible for my love of such monolithic bands as The Minutemen, Meat Puppets, and Hüsker Dü.

But Soundgarden didn’t really fit. In fact, this band of rockers never really fit the music categories, despite being accessible, melodic and yes, beautiful to look at, in the case of Chris Cornell and Matt Cameron especially.

Now, 15 years since their last release and nearly 25 since that fateful interview, Soundgarden are an established brand, associated with the heyday of the Seattle grunge scene. But those of us who know and were there to watch the surreal experience that was 1991’s music underground become mainstream seemingly overnight, Soundgarden didn’t really fit that period either. In fact, I recall being told back then that Outshined, the first single off Badmotorfinger, was pointing squarely at this frustration. Bands such as Nirvana, Pearl Jam and Alice In Chains had clearly "Outshined" Soundgarden.

Then came Superunknown, perhaps their greatest and most successful commercial release. I recall being asked to craft a top ten list for the London Free Press that year and included high up on that list, below Girls Against Boys and Jesus Lizard, Soundgarden’s mainstream classic, with the ominous words, “…why I still love classic rock.” Ominous perhaps only in retrospect because let's face it, Soundgarden was still not getting a lot of mainstream radio play in Canada, though they were rising quickly on the charts in the U.S.

So when I heard that King Animal was on its way, the first album of fresh material since 1994, I was a little giddy. I managed to get to Seattle over the holidays and purchase it at Easy Street Records, the venerable Nexus for the grunge music revolution of 20 plus years previous…I even managed to get it free, with a loyalty card that was full of stamps thanks to regular visits over the years while living in Victoria. This makes it another freebie, making Screaming Life and Ultramega OK the only releases for which I paid full price, the rest I got free for being among their biggest supporters over the years (yes, rock writers don’t make much money, but we get tons of free stuff).

On the way back from Seattle, I listened to the CD twice through and then started perusing YouTube to check out their recent live performances to promote the release, after all, it has been a couple of months since it came out.

Low and behold, I saw them perform Incessant Mace (an ill-fated name for my first blog a few years ago) and Smokestack Lightning, both from UltramegaOK…the same album they were promoting in 1988.

It suddenly made sense…why I so love this new album. Let’s face it, Chris Cornell’s alcoholism, Ben Sheppard’s drug addiction, and Matt Cameron’s Pearl Jam addiction are well known now, but what is great about King Animal, is it is truly like they never left. The sound is crisp, inventive and the songwriting is solid.

As Ian Blurton recently said in an interview about the reunion of Change of Heart in response to the trend of reunions, “I think we’re better…I mean look at Jesus Lizard…we are better musicians now, it’s inevitable that we’d be better a decade later…as long as we’ve played, we’re bound to get better.”

King Animal isn’t better than Superunknown, but it is better than UltramegaOK, in fact, it is more interesting musically than anything this band has put out. I’m elated, relieved and although the perfection of Superunkown will never be surpassed, I’m hearing Bad Motorfinger and Down On the Upside, their last release, with new ears. This band may never have fit the mold of music fashion, but they always fit my mold and maybe, after another 20 years, they’ll be called on stage at the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame by this year’s inductees Geddy, Alex and Neil. Clearly, they would be in good and deserved company. Let’s start the online petition now.

I will always be amazed by the power of music. Like nothing else in this world, music is both universal and personal. Universally a quintessential defining feature of the human experience, yet created in such variety and forms as to create tastes and experiences that are intensely personal. Music can mean anything to anyone, music can make us laugh, make us cry, make us smile, make us jump, make us scream. Its power moves us emotionally and physically. Song and dance are the oldest forms of human culture, and arguably the greatest cultural achievements of our species. And thanks to our advancements in technology, music has gained immortality.

We have been fortunate enough to live through a moment in time where an expression of sound organically grew amongst a group of musicians from an underground scene that was cultivated and nurtured in its rainy city, and like a rising tide it surged into a massive wave that became a movement that shook the world and defined a generation. This sound tsunami crashed into the shore and changed the shoreline forever. Tragically in its aftermath, as the wave receded with the tide, we lost much to the dark depths from whence it came, including its most powerful voice.

We have been forever touched by this sound wave, but having lived and experienced it, we are not always able to properly recognize just how incredibly unique and rare it was and is. For the music of one city and its musicians to so effect the world as to become a central part of a generational identity, is unprecedented in history. The music transcended languages, boundaries, cultures and even the music itself. Inevitably, in our human need to label everything, we named it grunge.

The artists themselves always had a difficult time being labelled grunge. The word often became associated more with image than with sound, which never sat well with artists who were notoriously anti-image and believed in a moral obligation to preserve the purity of musical and artistic authenticity. The artists had lost control of the creature they created and it was bigger than any of them had ever dared imagine. With it came tremendous pressure. The artists were extremely uncomfortable being idolized as the voices of a generation. This humble and honest discomfort with fame only made them more endearing, more human, more authentic. Grunge never sold out. Grunge didn’t go mainstream, mainstream went grunge. And while the consequences of success were actively contributing to the demise of many of our grunge gods, the music was reaching its fans at deep emotional and psychological levels, healing and comforting millions of people. And I was just one young boy amongst the masses, captivated and forever changed.

I almost missed it. I was 10 years old in 1992 when Nirvana and Pearl Jam blew up, and was too young to go to concerts with wild mosh pits. Grunge was and is a quintessential Gen X movement, and I am the first year of millennials (to my dismay). I have always been jealous of the early fans who got to see legendary performances in small venues. But grunge transcended generations, capturing young fans like me and my friends through music videos. Videos for “Smells like Teen Spirit,” “Even Flow” and “Hunger Strike” were my gateway. And then in 1994, the video for “Black Hole Sun” was released, and its impact was profound. To my 12-year-old self, the video was scary and creepy, the music dark and melodic. But something about that song I found utterly captivating. There was a latent sadness, a melancholy, that was in some strange way comforting.

I was 14 years old in 1996 when Soundgarden released “Down on the Upside.” They released videos for “Pretty Noose,” “Burden in my Hand,” and “Blow up the Outside World.” I soaked it up, there was no such thing to me as too many viewings of those videos. But I still didn’t own a single grunge era cd. My family didn’t have much disposable income and I was always broke. It wasn’t until 1997 when I was finally able to scrounge enough money to buy the Soundgarden compilation album “A-Sides.” It was the opening of a floodgate, after which I absolutely had to own every grunge cd I could find. I bought every album from Nirvana, Pearl Jam, Alice in Chains and of course, Soundgarden.

Mainstream music media pundits were telling us grunge was dead. Kurt Cobain was dead. Layne Staley’s drug issues had torn Alice in Chains apart. Soundgarden broke up. Pearl Jam was still rocking but they had gone to unprecedented lengths to derail their own popularity to regain control over their music and find peace of mind. Mainstream music had moved on. But I was just diving deeper into grunge. I was discovering the raw energy and power of Soundgarden albums “Louder than Love,” “Ultramega OK” and “Bad Motorfinger.”

But no song spoke to me in my teenage angst like “Blow Up the Outside World.” After any day of dealing with typical teenage issues of confidence, hormones, and school social structures, it was a vital form of therapy to come home, turn the music to near deafening levels and just scream the lyrics to “Blow Up the Outside World” along with Chris Cornell. With the music so loud I could only hear Chris, it felt like I was singing it. I always experienced a profound emotional release when I screamed at the world along with Chris Cornell. No matter the trouble, I could release my frustrations through the music of Soundgarden, and that voice. Chris Cornell put voice to my frustrations and was an emotional outlet. The music was always there when I needed it. When my grandfather passed away, I sat in my car and sang along to “Fell on Black Days.” Tears streaming down my face, Chris Cornell gave voice to my sadness, and we mourned together.

I was beyond ecstatic when Soundgarden reunited and toured in 2011. They came to Vancouver in July and at long last I finally got to see them live, like I had always dreamed as a kid. It is difficult to find adequate words to properly express how incredible this concert was, to do it justice. Chris was a banshee. His voice echoed around the stadium and seemed to come from everywhere at once. On songs like “Jesus Christ Pose” and “The Day I Tried to Live,” his piercing shriek seemed to go right through me, like it was calling my soul. And then I had what I can only describe as a religious experience. The moment I had waited for half my life, “Blow Up the Outside World.” Arms outstretched, hands up, I sang along with everything I had. And I realized that everyone around me was doing the same thing. Every hand and every voice was raised. I sensed a togetherness with all these people I didn’t know, a unifying feeling that sent a shiver down my spine. It was a moment I will never forget, and I feel truly blessed to have experienced.

In the years that followed I was fortunate to see Soundgarden two more times, including at the Pemberton Music Festival in 2015, and I saw Chris Cornell solo on five occasions. I loved every song Chris ever did, from Temple of the Dog to Audioslave to all his solo albums. His ability to sit by himself on a stage with just a guitar and his iconic voice was nothing short of astonishing. I firmly believe there was no song he couldn’t sing, no genre he couldn’t perform. Soundgarden had always seemed like the genetic offspring of Black Sabbath and Led Zeppelin. Though often called grunge or metal, they were really a rock and roll band, heavily influenced by classic rock yet evolved into something new. Chris Cornell was one of the last true rock legends. And he only furthered solidified this status with his breathtaking covers of classic songs, from John Lennon’s “Imagine,” to Michael Jackson’s “Billie Jean,” and Whitney Houston’s “I Will Always Love You.”

What truly connected Chris Cornell to millions of fans around the world was his authentic ability to emote. He externalized his internal struggles in song. It was deeply personal and real. You could hear it in his voice, see it on his face. And that, more than anything, was grunge. Because grunge isn’t a sound, it’s an ethos. It’s a search into the darkest depths of self, an embrace of our fears, laid bare in verse and released in song. And despite being so intensely personal, it tapped into the universal human experience. Depression, anxiety, addiction, abuse, loss. The music was there for us in our own personal struggles. The music made us feel less alone. It helped us rage, helped us mourn, helped us heal. It became a defining feature of personal identity.

And this, more than anything else, is what made the death of Chris Cornell so painfully tragic to his fans. That after all he had done for us, after all the times he had been there for us, we were not able to be there for him. In his darkest hour, we could not be there for him as he was for us. It seems so unfairly cruel.

The pain of this loss will linger. Our memories of Chris Cornell will always be bittersweet with melancholy. But the music will endure. Timeless.

We fans will remember Chris forever with two words that have become our motto, the title of an early song that best recognizes and summarizes his soulful ethos:

“Loud Love”