While Soundgarden was touring behind Down on the Upside, I was enrolled in Photography 101. The band was still amassing fans even as its contemporaries faded (Nirvana, Alice in Chains) or retreated from fame (Pearl Jam). I was shooting New Mexico aspens with a Canon EOS Rebel and listening to Seattle via Walkman.
Then Soundgarden took some time off from their instruments, and I from mine.
Fifteen years later last weekend, the resurrected band appeared at the Gorge Amphitheatre to punctuate a lauded we’re baaaack tour. And I was there, Canon DSLR in tow, as an official “media” designee. Didn’t see that coming.
The concert would have been an unmissable event had it been two hours of Soundgarden alone. But there was more. Meat Puppets and Mastodon and Queens of the Stone Age more.
An entry snafu—and an early start—resulted in us (my always-game wife and I, and other photographers) missing the Meat Puppets, but the windblown, jangly riffs and familiar “Backwater” and “Oh Me” and “Lake of Fire” refrains made for fine waiting music.
Event handlers had us lensers in place early for Mastodon. They led us into the pit—a narrow strip of real estate between the stage and already sun-and-$12-beer-drunk masses—and left us in the care of big, surprisingly amiable security dudes in highlighter-yellow polos.
Mastodon roared through one intricately massive song and started the next before I could even begin to calm. Guitarist and vocalist Brent Hinds led the band’s space-metal charge, lobbing heavy, unpredictable chords, tornadoes of adrenaline, over our heads and onto the masses. I went in a casual fan of Crack the Skye; I emerged knowing I’d be picking up their next effort, The Hunter.
Queens of the Stone Age followed, with their signature sexy-stoner swagger in full effect. Josh Homme and Co. kept the energy level high, peppering the set with selections from Songs for the Deaf. (Sadly, neither occasional guest Dave Grohl nor Mark Lanegan made an appearance.) While Homme’s focused guitar work and grimace suggested an all-business attitude, his between-song banter countered with levity; early in the set, he implored the crowd to make collective love at the end of the night.
The mood was definitely right. The place was alive with anticipation and lubricated with alcohol and grass. As the sky darkened and the heat slowly leaked away, shirtless dudes hugged each other. Round older men and svelte bikini-clad girls exchanged high-fives. As we photographers filed back to the lip of the stage, sunburned dudes behind the low barricade extended fists for bumping. The security guys joked about our dubious safety in the slim pit. We all traded grins.
When Soundgarden emerged from the wings in a dazzle of light, I had the lens cap off, the flash off, and the appropriate settings engaged. That in itself was amazing. How lively and primed—though yes, aged—original members Matt Cameron, Chris Cornell, Kim Thayil, and Ben Shepherd looked from this close. And their sound? Ditto.
The band was as solid and on as it is on Live on I-5, this spring’s primer from its 1996 tour. Actually, the 2011 Soundgarden was better, tighter, as if the lengthy break only made the guys hungry for another stage. And Cornell’s signature shredding wail was as flawless and improbable as on any studio record. In short, the band’s return to the Gorge—symbolic of its return in general—was triumphant.
Opener “Searching With My Good Eye Closed” described what I was disbelievingly doing: shooting like a madman—while bouncing on the balls of my feet—from maybe eight feet below Cornell’s boots. “Spoonman” (minus its namesake, Artis), one of the band’s catchier though somehow flimsy songs, was shockingly good. With it came a steady tide of giddy crowdsurfers, softly set afoot by security. Some of the incoming even returned before “Gun,” up next, ended. Like Soundgarden’s music, the pit was simultaneously dangerous and inviting. It was wild. It was perfect.
The experience was nearly as powerful from the grass 100 yards away. Cameron proved, as always, why he’s every bit as skilled a rock drummer as Grohl. Thayil serenely tore through his dexterous riffs, surveying the crowd like a mildly surprised Buddha. Shepherd threw down mile-wide rhythms and, at one point, threw down his bass itself. And Cornell effortlessly owned the stage.
As the last fading riff of encore closer “Slaves and Bulldozers” echoed to the hills and canyon and black snake of a river, I felt the first pang of anticipation for new Soundgarden music. (Full set list here.) It might not have even come to mind until the quiet drive home had Cornell not earlier joked, “We’re playing a lot of old songs tonight—because they’re all old songs.” And then promised: “Next time we’ll play some new shit.”
Hopefully I’ll be toting the Canon again next time, but even if not—and that’s pretty likely, as who gets so lucky twice?—I’m there. Word is Soundgarden will release a new studio record in early 2012, so the wait might be a pretty short one.
