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GRUNGE JESUS, MY DARK KNIGHT
by Angel David
2 November 2024
During your darkest hour, who do you listen to?
That's what Chris Cornell is to me. My grunge Jesus. Out of all the artists that I listen to, none can match what his songs did for me. His lyrics was like a punch in my gut, a hand over my shoulder, a shelter beneath the storm, the light in my dark room. I was late in the game when I started digging his songs. It was wayback in 2016, a year before his demise. I was unemployed and the first album of Audioslave was playing on repeat inside the house. An absolute banger. The frontman of Soundgarden and what remains of Rage Against The Machine, formed an unholy alliance to wreak havoc on a dying a rock 'n' roll scene. It all started with Like A Stone, then soon after, this man's songs started to invade my blissful playlist. Dealing with my own existential nightmare, this man's catalogue was like a breath of fresh air. Just like that, I was able to dig through all of his songs from his days in Soundgarden, Temple of the Dog, Audioslave and his solo works.
I remember the time when I first heard his song Seasons. It was beautiful. A timely listen to save me from how I was back then. Rain or shine, it was Chris Cornell all through out that year. Music saves me from the daily mundane's of life. Music is the only religion that I can trust. Its artists are the only priests that I confide with. It's my sweet escape. My home. It's where I channel my joy and agony. It's more effective than any luxurious coffee and much cheaper than therapy. I used to lay down in bed and let the greatest symphonies of the Earth put me to sleep. And in the next morning, the problems will still be there, but at least you know that with music, you have a good companion. Sadly, the saviours need saving, too. Those strangers from halfway across the world, like us, have demons too.
A year later, news of Chris Cornell's death broke out. I was devastated. My dark knight kicked the bucket. I found myself drinking alone, crying, as if I had lost a close friend of mine. Then, 2 months later, his friend Chester Bennington followed the same path.
At the height of glory, even at the pinnacle of man's success, the law of gravity knows no boundaries. When you reach the top, there's nowhere else to go but to go down. And that's it. Death is the true finish line. The day of Jim Morrison's birth, and the day of John Lennon's death. The fortuity of births and deaths in the history of rock 'n' roll. Chris Cornell was born on July 20, and Chester Bennington, his friend, took his life on Chris's birthday. The Grunge Jesus of Seattle, Washington; and The Chemist of Phoenix, Arizona. Once upon a time, they were slaves to the audio; just as they were the audio to us slaves. Their battles with their demons were no secret. It was written on the walls of their troubled lives. Then one day, with the belt and the noose, the Superunknown and Meteora, both fell on black days.
During your darkest hour, who do you listen to? People say dead men tell no tales. I disagree. Dead men tell tales sometimes. And sometimes, even a dead man can sing from beyond the grave. And sometimes, no one sings like them anymore.
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E-mail Angel David at angel@jamlemonrecords.com