I remember a girl once came up to me after one of our shows, and she had a painting of Andy Wood on the back of her leather coat. She said, "I respec… - Chris Cornell

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I remember a girl once came up to me after one of our shows, and she had a painting of Andy Wood on the back of her leather coat. She said, "I respect you so much for recording a tribute to Andy Wood, because he was so perfect," and then she walked away. Why would she walk away thinking that? Out of whatever songs he wrote and how he died, how did you get that? His lyrics basically said, line for line, "I'm fucked up." He could have written a song called "I'm Fucked Up", and it would have basically summed up a lot of the lyrics he wrote. And this girl wanders away thinking the guy's perfect.

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About Chris Cornell

Chris Cornell (20 July 1964 – 18 May 2017) was an American guitarist/singer-songwriter most well-known for being the lead singer of the bands Soundgarden, Audioslave and Temple of the Dog. He began his musical career as a drummer, before moving on to become a singer and guitarist.

Also Known As

Birth Name: Christopher John Boyle
Alternative Names: Christopher J. Cornell Christopher John Cornell
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Additional quotes by Chris Cornell

"The Day I Tried to Live" has nothing to do with suicide. It's much more meant to be like everyman's story. In spite of how most people present themselves, they probably struggle to feel comfortable or normal around other people, to feel as if they fit in. Everybody wants to and tries to. That's what that song is about. And "Like Suicide" is just a title. It's not about suicide at all.

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Every time I know we have to go out on tour, there’s about three or four weeks where I’m terrified—where I start thinking: That’s not me. I’m not Freddie Mercury. Then I go out onstage and it’s like diving into the cold Puget Sound after spending five weeks in Hawaii—there’s a shock to the system, but the fear goes away. You get used to it, which is pretty cool, because if I stopped performing, I could just disappear and end up being some weird chattering man that walks the streets in rags, staring only at the pavement. At first you rationalize that going to a club where people recognize you is a bad idea; then going to a neighborhood bar becomes a bad idea, too. Going to the grocery store becomes a bad idea. Answering the phone becomes a bad idea. Then every time the dog barks, you think the National Guard is on your roof ready to drill holes in the shingles and shoot at you. So I have to deal with the outside world on sort of a maintenance level—go out to a bar every so often and just be around people.

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