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Chris Cornell:

An Epistolary Review

Published: Wednesday, March 18, 2009

Updated: Sunday, August 30, 2009 02:08

ONE STAR

Dear Chris Cornell,

I think it's time you and I have a little chat. You've been a part of my life for quite some time now, but things are beginning to get complicated. I spent the lion's share of my formative years worshipping at the altar of Soundgarden, even learning all of the guitar parts to "Jesus Christ Pose" as a novice player (quite a feat). Then I found out about Temple Of The Dog, the band you formed as a memorial to Andrew Wood, the charismatic front man of Mother Love Bone, and I knew you and I were meant to be.

Those flowing, waist-length black tresses, the Robert Plant-like vocal heights, your near-constant shirtlessness. Fourteen-year-old Laura couldn't help but fall in love with you. To this day, I still possess Soundgarden's entire catalogue, even the really weird early stuff like "Full On Kevin's Mom."

Then Soundgarden broke up in 1997. I was crestfallen! But you, with your indomitable musicianship, would not be relegated to the world of '90s alt-rock retrospective compilations ("Buzz Ballads," anyone?). You came out with your first solo album, Euphoria Morning, in 1999. I'm somewhat embarrassed to admit how much I loved the album. Long gone were the towering, primal screeches of your Soundgarden days. Instead, you created a soft, soulful album that showcased your intimidating vocal range and piano skills. You wrote gentle ballads and lush jazz-influenced tunes. When I look back on Euphoria Morning now, I see that it may not have been a brilliant piece of art, but at least you knew who you were, then.

And then there was Audioslave. I tried to love Audioslave, I really did. Chris Cornell plus Rage Against the Machine? Sign 17-year-old me up! But the result was so disappointing that, even today, I can't listen to any of those albums, even the quasi-tolerable debut, without feeling a sharp twinge of regret.

Years went by and we started to fall out of touch. But I made sure to revisit you now and then. You made such a lasting impression on me in my youth that I just couldn't let you go forever.

Then, the other day, my editors told me that they wanted me to write about your newest solo album, Scream. I was thrilled! I didn't even know you had made a new album. Then they told me that it was produced by Timbaland. "What? Really?" I exclaimed. This would be interesting, for sure. With trembling fingers, I pressed play on my stereo. What's the first sound I hear? Cheesy fake trumpets that sound like they were ripped off the Windows '98 welcome sound. "Oh no," I thought. "This does not bode well." And it just got worse and worse from there. The chorus of "Part of Me," the album's first track, is just you singing "No, that bitch ain't a part of me," over and over. Come on, Chris Cornell, you're 45. You're getting a little too old to be writing (or even listening to) music like that.

Look, I appreciate that you're trying to write a pop album. And you even got one of the best producers in the game to help you out. But the result just sounded like a bad imitation of Justin Timberlake. When I listen to songs like "Ground Zero," with its looped, pseudo-funk backing vocals, I don't even think you know who you are anymore. Which brings me to the nearly incomprehensible "Sweet Revenge." No discernable melody, over-done vocal effects, one of the tackiest attempts at a hip hop beat I've heard since my friend's roommate tried to remix the original Power Rangers theme.

It hurts me to have to give you only one star. But you've earned at least the one because, at 45, after a messy divorce and two decades of unfortunate haircuts, you're still trying. Perhaps, one day, we can have something again. Maybe once you've ditched the drum machine and the corny synth lines, maybe once you've realized that somewhere inside that desperate soul grasping at radio-ready straws, there's a songwriter with genuine talent who once had something to say, and maybe still does, maybe then we can be in each others' lives again. Until then, Chris Cornell, I have to let you go. I'm sorry. I'll always love Soundgarden.

Regretfully,

Laura Butler

Now that you've read about it, we strongly discourage your listening to it.

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