The day the music died: Chris Cornell of Soundgarden dies at age 52

My alarm went off at 7am. I went to snooze it only to see a text come in at the same time. The text simply read:

“Nadia…I’m so sorry”

Immediately my mind began to spin about what could have happened to merit such a greeting so early in the morning. Then it hit me. And I hit google.

“Musician Chris Cornell dies at 52.”

I was numb. I went about my business, getting ready for the day. Driving into the office, I turned to 94.9 the Rock, and found they were playing non-stop Chris Cornell and related tunes. Then “Burden in my hand” came on, and it happened.

I burst into tears.

Not pretty, dab my eyes tears. Choking back sobs, tears streaming down my face and dripping into my lap, nose blowing tears.

Chris Cornell was gone. Music will never be the same to me.

It was never a secret that Chris Cornell lived a life filled with pain. He watched countless friends and contemporaries battle their demons and lose. He had his own demons, that was clear, but every year he lived on seemed to be proof that he would stick it out, he would be the one grunge era musician to live to a ripe old age. To learn today how deep his pain was, is devastating. My heart breaks for his wife and children, his bandmates and everyone whose life he touched. But most of all, my heart breaks for him. After surviving so much, his pain truly must have been insurmountable, no matter how hard he tried.

It’s not up to any of us to understand or explain why he felt the need to stop trying. We just need to mourn, honestly, with sensitivity and respect. For more information, click here. I won’t write the words myself.

Back in November, I wrote about what Chris Cornell, and Soundgarden, meant to me.  Many people may wonder why his death is hitting me so hard, so aside from the words currently spewing out of me, I hope that piece sheds some light.

For me, Chris Cornell was more than just a rock star. He was more than just someone whose music I enjoyed. Yes, he was handsome as hell, but that isn’t what endeared to me so. To me, he was a symbol of sorts. When I was a teenager, he was the man that made me realize I like boys. Soundgarden made me realize what music could BE: powerful, raw, passionate, a tool to express all the things I felt when words would not suffice.

Soundgarden’s music became my obsession, my fuel, my addiction. I spent every dime I ever had on every piece of their music that I could get my broke teenage hands on. My heart shattered when they broke up before I could see them live. But Chris Cornell, bless him, kept making music, and it was he that I saw live for the first time, when he came to Toronto with Audioslave back in the early 2000s. That moment was pivotal for me, and the beginning of a thirst I realized I could never slake.

In 2010 the band reunited, and my teenage wish came true. I was in Chicago for Lollapalooza when I got wind of a small show they were doing at the Vic Theatre. Desperate to get in, I did everything I could, including flirting with a security guard at the venue. All my efforts failed, and dejected I began to walk away. I wasn’t the only one. Then I heard a voice bellow “Let them all in!”

It was a moment I’ll never forget.

For the first time I saw my heroes live, and it was everything I had ever dreamed of and more. And it happened in the most beautiful way. It was truly destiny.

From that moment on, I made sure to watch Soundgarden live at every opportunity. Any city that was flyable, drivable, whatever, I was there, with my fellow superfan Emy. No one understood the extent of our passion. But we did, and finding a partner in that was amazing.

Today we are partners in grief.

In 2012 Emy and I were lucky to see Soundgarden play their first Toronto show in years, at the Phoenix. Days before, our friend Bobby got us into a fan meet and greet at Corus Quay. Another teenage dream come true. A moment I will now treasure even more.

In 2013, a grownup dream came true: I was given the chance to photograph Soundgarden at their Toronto show at the now defunct Sound Academy. It was, and remains, a professional milestone. It was a pivotal moment in my career as a writer and photographer. (a taste of some of my photos of him over the past couple of years)

My next goal was an interview. It was always a distant possibility, but today, that hope is dead and gone, much like the man who made such a huge impact on my life.

To hear Chris Cornell sing was to hear pain translated into song. To listen to his music was to witness true artistry. His voice was inimitable in its range and power, his songwriting unparalleled in its complexity, craftsmanship and poignancy. Whether it’s the loudest, hardest Soundgarden banger or the sweetest, most sombre acoustic ballad, his music impacted all of us in ways we probably don’t even realize. I for one can’t put into words the impact the man and his music had on me. I’m trying with this piece, and failing miserably.

I don’t care how, I don’t care why. Because for me, today is the day the music died.

“Sleep tight for me, I’m gone”

-Chris Cornell

1964-2017

 

Nadia Elkharadly

Nadia Elkharadly

Nadia Elkharadly is a Toronto based writer with a serious addiction to music. Corporate drone by day, renegade rocker by night, writing is her creative outlet. Nadia has written for the Examiner (.com) on live music in Toronto and Indie Music in Canada, and was a weekly columnist for Don't Believe a Word I Say. She has never been in a band but plays an awesome air guitar and also the tambourine. Nadia is the co-founder, Managing Editor and resident Music lover (and editor) for Addicted.

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