1991. I was 14, hunched over my school books while my brother, who is six years older than me, was listening to music on his Walkman. I had no idea my life was about to change in just a few minutes. I think I was reading a Latin textbook when my brother placed his headphones over my ears. It was the opening riff of “Smells Like Teen Spirit.” After an initial skeptical reaction (the volume was way too high, as it should be), I was immediately hungry for more.
1991 was a seminal year for rock—the resurgence of the last great guitar-based movement in music history. It wasn’t just Nirvana’s Nevermind; there was Pearl Jam’s Ten, U2’s Achtung Baby, RHCP’s Blood Sugar Sex Magik, R.E.M.’s Out of Time, and Metallica’s Black Album.
Then, there was a unique band, a group of four that dug deep into blues, metal, The Beatles, Led Zeppelin, and Black Sabbath with their album Badmotorfinger. It was more than a simple musical exercise; it was an honest, raw, and profound look at the human condition. At the core of that band, Soundgarden, was a guy with curly hair, an incredible voice, immense charisma, unique songwriting skills, and great guitar technique to match. His name was Chris Cornell.
He rapidly became one of my musical heroes, in the company of legends like John Coltrane, Jimi Hendrix, Miles Davis, and Bruce Springsteen. Soundgarden’s music marked the chapters of my life, from their breakup in 1997 to their reunion in 2010. In 2017, Chris Cornell died by suicide—a terrible loss for music and millions of fans, myself included.
He used to spend Christmas in Rome, the city where I live. In 2016, he performed a concert here, but I couldn’t attend due to work commitments. It remains one of my biggest regrets. Driven by that regret and a mix of emotions—including the gratitude I feel for my brother, who introduced me to this genre—I decided to pay tribute to this story, and specifically to Chris Cornell, by building a replica of one of his signature Gibson ES-335s.
It took several months to choose the wood, the hardware, and the luthier who could truly understand the meaning of the project. It is not a mere copy of a guitar, but a genuine gesture of love and appreciation for those who enriched my life with music and guidance.
