A few years ago, at the end of a Soundgarden tour, the band decided to transfer their instruments and equipment from a storage space to the rehearsal studio they owned.
“I came to collect the guitars I knew were mine, including a thin Les Paul I called my ‘Diet Les Paul’,” recalls Kim. “There were a few Telecasters there, too. I didn’t know which ones were mine and which were Chris’, because some of the colours are hard to identify when you’re in the dark onstage, so I left them there until we could determine whose was whose. The next time I came back they were all gone. ‘Where the fuck are those guitars?’ I asked. ‘Oh, Chris didn’t know which ones were his, so he took them all!’”
Kim laughs long and hard at the memory. Given the baritone quality of his voice, it seems to make the small room rumble. He shares the story, prompted by K!’s request for one that represents the measure of Chris. This one therefore seems a bit of an odd choice. Not to Kim, though, who suggests that one of the most fascinating things about his friend was the “devil may care” streak that ran through him.
“Chris’ personality was a bit looser when it came to social situations,” he explains. “He’d just avoid scenarios that obligated him socially or emotionally. Some people would think he was stuck up, because he was inaccessible and wouldn’t really make eye contact with them, but I just don’t think he was comfortable in his own skin a lot of the time. He wouldn’t show you that, though, because he was pretty strong in that regard. He would just disconnect. He didn’t attach himself to relationships in the world. ‘He travelled light’ is how I liked to describe him.”
This idea that Chris – whose movie star good looks shone onstage and during his cameo in Cameron Crowe’s Seattle-set film Singles – lacked confidence or a desire to connect doesn’t quite compute. But it’s the dichotomy at the heart of many an artist, and in the mind of many a depressive. It’s also just one of the many contrasts exhibited by a man Kim describes as being “serious” yet “playful”, and “athletic” but “uncoordinated” (“He couldn’t dance!”).
“Usually good-looking guys are lovers not fighters,” he continues. “But Chris was definitely a fighter. He could, of course, be lively, engaged and extroverted offstage just as he was on it, but that usually involved us drinking or being with close friends. A lot of singers when they’re done performing prefer not to talk and rest their voice. He was one of those guys. He was friends with some of the bands that were our peers, but he was less likely to solicit relationships.
“At the same time, he was also so dutiful when it came to being creative and had a great work ethic,” adds Kim, suggesting Chris’ concurrent tenures as drummer, singer and songwriter sowed the seeds of that plate-spinning dedication. “I was more committed to social and emotional aspects than he was, but I worked really hard, musically, to take things apart. Chris, on the other hand, was more cavalier about maintaining social and emotional connections, but he was so organised and worked meticulously to make things fit together. That was where we contrasted when it came to making music, but the thing we had in common was that our attitudes to work were completely at odds with our temperaments.”