“…I…I never wanted
to write these words down
for you…” -C.C.
the “TOTAL FUCKING GODHEAD”
in my headphones
and now, you’re MORE than human too…
and like the ^above^ quote, you wrote
this eulogy is now for you…
i sang back to your Temple tonight wailing those words only you could have written
You taught me how to sing. But even before that, you taught my brother how to sing AND how to play guitar. The first time I heard you, Soundgarden was opening for Voivod in Austin. I had never heard your music before. The second time, Soundgarden was opening for Danzig in Houston. “Far Beyond The Wheel” as you stepped out. The third time, Soundgarden was opening for Guns-N-Roses in Houston. “This is my good eye…” as the lights went out. The fourth time, I met you in person. Soundgarden had just ﬁnished their sound-check at City Coliseum in Austin. It was the Badmotorﬁnger tour and the line-up was perfect: Smashing Pumpkins ﬁrst, then Pearl Jam, then Soundgarden. (“Say Hello To Heaven”!) You stepped down from the stage, walked around behind it and, like any deity-to-me-now-in-front-of-me, you were suddenly human. A little shorter than I imagined (about an inch shorter than me), completely quiet and very gracious. I handed you my cut-out of Soundgarden from a radio trade-mag and a gold, paint-pen. You didn’t look at me once and simply studied the picture for a long, 10 seconds. The trade-ad only read “GOLDMOTORFINGER” underneath a picture of you and the 3 others (Badmotorﬁnger had just been certiﬁed GOLD) and I think you were a little thrown oﬀ by it, but then you calmly started to sign your name. And suddenly the paint-pen spilled a big, gold blotch right across the photo. “Sorry about that, dude…” you mutter almost silently, and then still did your best to sign an autograph over the gold blotch.
I saw Soundgarden live more & more times – San Antonio, Austin, Dallas, Houston – clubs, arenas, amphitheaters and 2 Lollapaloozas. Sometimes your voice was astonishing. Sometimes you didn’t sing so great. But you didn’t care, I didn’t mind, and it didn’t matter. Because the music…your music…was so there. And THAT had already carried me through so much on my own. THAT music that had kept me from doing what you might have done last night. But even that…we don’t truly know. I’ve sung to bedroom-walls more than to anyone else. It’s been decades. And every single time it’s been a partial tribute to your voice and song. Whether I could do it as well as you…didn’t matter…because it was keeping me alive.
I read it in your lyrics. I heard it in your voice. You were human…and you hurt. How you could touch so deep is how your music will remain so there…