Chris Cornell, who died unexpectedly yesterday at the age of 52, had a voice bigger than any one band. From the very beginning, his skyscraping vocals set Soundgarden apart from other grunge-era groups seeking the middle ground between classic rock drama and punk urgency. He’d continue to make an impression on a generation of rock singers with Temple of the Dog and Audioslave, as well as his various solo endeavors. Truly, Cornell was inimitable: “Whenever anyone sends me a link to a band, saying, ‘These guys sound exactly like Soundgarden,’” he’d say much later, “it’s always some super simple sludge riff with a singer that sings high and screechy. And it’s really awful.” But really, who could compete?
Below, our writers remember just a few of Cornell’s indelible vocal takes.
“Beyond the Wheel” - Soundgarden (1988)
In his pre-grunge days, Cornell would do his best Rob Halford and just peel eyes open. His vocal pyrotechnics—and I don’t use this word lightly but they are literally inimitable—would be the proof that Cornell could appeal to both sides of the aisle: the horns-up “Headbangers Ball” crew as well as the disaffected “120 Minutes” set. —Jeremy D. Larson
“Hunger Strike” - Temple of the Dog (1991)
Look up the word “octave” in the dictionary and there will be reference to Cornell’s performance here, the biggest hit Temple of the Dog ever had. Soaring above Eddie Vedder, Cornell riffs in the stratosphere about how he, as he told Rolling Stonelast year, “...will never change what [he’s] doing for the purposes of success or money.” The song remains the flanneled locus of grunge. —JDL
“Slaves and Bulldozers” - Soundgarden (1991)
Vocal trick #4080: Sing every note on the beat. It tests the elasticity of rhythm, building tension until the exact moment it unlocks. Prince did this the best when he sang, “On-ly. Want. To. See. You. Un-der-neath. The. Pur-ple. Rain.” Cornell did this second best, building up so much power in the third verse of the Badmotorfinger track until he lets loose with a climactic repetition of the chorus: “Now. I. Know. Why. You’ve. Been. Ta-ken.” The imposing architecture of his voice was part and parcel to his legacy, but it would be nothing if he didn’t also know how to brilliantly arrange it. —JDL
“Birth Ritual” - Soundgarden (1992)
“Birth Ritual,” the Badmotorfinger outtake that was one of Soundgarden’s two contributions to Cameron Crowe’s Singles soundtrack, finds Cornell diving in at full power from the very first line. At the chorus, he effortlessly modulates up to a higher range and intensity, then doubles his efforts within the same passage, intoning “ritualllllllll….” and taking the last syllable of the word up into the heavens—except in the last verse, when he shoots it straight into the stratosphere and chases it with howls as operatic as they are primal. What’s astounding here is the amount of control Cornell manifests over every single line: the intensity is careful, measured, but abso-fucking-lutely turbocharged. –Caryn Rose
“The Day I Tried To Live” - Soundgarden (1994)
If grunge had a reputation for incubating slackers, Soundgarden proved you could even issue slacker mantras with the force of a cowherd wrangling a rabid grizzly. “The Day I Tried To Live” is a song about trying really hard to leave your house, but as the depressives out there know, sometimes leaving your house is a journey worthy of a six-part Peter Jackson film franchise. Cornell does the struggle justice with chains and chains of spittle-soaked wails, nailing the gruffest vibrato on record while he's at it. –Sasha Geffen
“Burden In My Hand” - Soundgarden (1996)
Down on the Upside, Soundgarden’s self-produced follow-up to 1994 smash Superunknown, might’ve stepped back from its predecessor’s epic expanse, but Cornell’s vocals only soared higher. Look no further than this rootsy murder ballad, still one the band’s biggest hits. Guitarist Kim Thayil memorably called it“the ‘Hey Joe’ of the ’90s,” but with all due respect, Jimi Hendrix didn’t sing like this. —Marc Hogan
“Cochise” - Audioslave (2002)
The world was introduced to the bad-name-but-good-band Audioslave (Rage Against the Machine but Cornell singing) with “Cochise.” At 2:57, Cornell embarks on what’s known the world over as The Cochise Scream and proceeds to suspend the earth in its gravity for 20 unbelievable seconds. It is the once and future greatest melodic rock scream ever committed to tape. —JDL
“Shadow on the Sun” - Audioslave (2002)
By the end of Audioslave's “Shadow on the Sun,” you'll believe Cornell had escaped the earth's atmosphere, cruised around the sun, and lived to scream about it. Few songs showcase his range so effectively, his voice vaulting from full-throated hollers to mournful lows to bone-hollowing shrieks. At the song's bridge and coda, Cornell's long-held existential sorrow combusts until all that's left is the light. –SG