Fairy God Rocker

Recollections upon the passing of Chris Cornell. From the archive, 2017

from: May 26, 2017

“I’m sorry to hear about Chris Cornell,” our friend Denise texts Theresa, a day after Cornell’s death. “I know he was your Fairy God Rocker.”

The story, which has earned us a lot of Awws, goes like this.

Fall 2013, I was living in Westchester, working in publishing when I learned Cornell was playing the Beacon Theater in New York City, solo acoustic. I made note of the day tickets go on sale, and that morning I pounced online. But I did not pounce fast enough. Ticketmaster sold out in a mere hour.

“Well, that fucking sucks,” I thought. (Cornell, it seems, was an inveterate pottymouth, and I write this post in tribute to him.) “I won’t be seeing Chris Cornell in New York City.” I hadn’t seen him since Lollapalooza 1993. But I still had my framed promo print from the “Carry On” album hanging on my apartment wall.

His face was one of devilish good looks. He was handsome and his eyes captivated. Of course, he had the locks of glory: to be anointed a rock god you must have them, and Cornell did.

A few weeks later, Ticketmaster emailed me what I recognized as an automated promotion. I had starred Cornell as a favorite artist in its system, and the email said that seats were…