Chris Cornell died tonight at the age of 52. It was an unexpected death and one that hits particularly hard for me. That music, those lyrics, that voice. You’ll never know much they helped me see the light through the dark times. My dude ain’t ever gonna be pigeon-holed. Grunge, alt-metal, whatever. It ain’t happening. He was larger than life. He was an icon. I knew it from the first time my high-strung adolescent ass clicked that play button on my lime-green first-generation iPod mini and blasted “Black Hole Sun” through those janky, beat-up ear buds and forgot about the world. All those confused nights at 3 AM listening to “I Am The Highway,” trying to talk myself off the figurative ledge and baring my soul into words. The religion that was that ethereal live performance of “One.” How that stuck with me for literally entire weeks worth of long walks through campus. Soundgarden, Audioslave, Temple. It was all real to me, dammit. Greatest vocalist of my lifetime. And not just a vocalist. A poet. Harrowing imagery elevated to greater heights, mountaintop heights through unmatched vocal delivery. Yeah, that’s more like it. An artist’s artist. A legend. Maybe you call him the voice of a generation, maybe you don’t. I just know he was often times my voice. He spoke to me. Directly to me. Still get chills thinking about all those high notes, all that symbolism, all those verses. Every last one. And here I was thinking that Weiland’s death had affected me the most. Damn, damn, damn. We ain’t ever gonna forget what you blessed us with, brother. Raising two fingers to the sky tonight and bumping “Say Hello 2 Heaven” as the evening fades into oblivion. Rest in power, Chris. Say hello.