Like a Stone:
By: Christine Macdonald
Tags: Depression, Death, Mental Health, Suicide, Music

M ay 2020 marks the 3rd Anniversary of Cornell’s death. This was, is and will always be my love-letter to his family and musicians/music lover’s everywhere.

My wheels crawled along the asphalt and I breathed in the afternoon sky. Brushstrokes of cotton candy melting with fireside abstracts served my daily commute home from work well. How could I possibly mind rush hour when my drive literally reminds me to appreciate the view? Time pushed as traffic crept along the California coastline and so did I. My thoughts swirled around nothing and everything as my eyes took deliberate turns between sky and road. The volume on my radio was low enough to dim the car commercials but still present enough to tap my ear when I landed on a tune I liked.

Enter Chris Cornell. And just like that. My sunset had a soundtrack.

As soon as I heard those pipes the fact that I couldn’t peg which song he was singing (a rarity) didn’t matter. His voice is undeniable; uncompromised passion with a bellowing tone that weaved through the speakers straight into your blood. I was only a few seconds in when it hit me — I had no idea what song this was.

As a retired party girl who made her living on the stripper stage in the 90s, I take great pride in being ‘in the know’ with musicians from back in my day. I worked the clubs in Waikiki from Milli Vanilli and Terence Trent D’arby to Mötley Crüe and Fatboy Slim. Now decades later I can still tell you, with each song I hear — where I was working, what beaded leather or fluorescent lace costume I wore and which drug dealer had the best coke. Knowing his voice but not recognizing which song was more than annoying — it was a treat. I turned up the volume and without warning his lyrics pulled me inside a part of myself I was not expecting to revisit on a random afternoon drive home from the office.

“And I sat in regret

Of all the things I’ve done

For all that I’ve blessed

And all that I’ve wronged

In dreams until my death

I will wander on”

I could blame the sudden tickle in my nose and watery eyes on PMS or low blood sugar, but the fact is — Chris Cornell was more than his voice — he was a rock and roll poet.

My introduction to Audioslave and their new tune Like a Stone reignited something in me that’s difficult to describe. My pole dancing days far behind me, I wrestled with feelings of anxiety remembering who I was then compared to the woman I’ve become. There I was, driving home from my corporate job in an upper class, conservative town, and a song I fell in love with became a magic carpet ride to my past. With each note and lyric, I danced through a wormhole to a time when I was old enough to be on my own and make reckless choices, yet young enough to find my way out.

It seemed Chris Cornell and I both found our way out. He too was a survivor of the party scene in the 90s. I didn’t follow his personal life, and to be honest wasn’t aware that he was back on the charts fronting his new band at the time, Audioslave. But like a long lost sister who powered through Aquanet hairspray and faded jeans torn at the knee, I was proud we were both doing well in our new lives.