My friend, the legendary photographer Ross Halfin, invited me to come along one day while he was shooting around West Hollywood. Ross has shot everybody, it seems, and he started photographing my band, Tesla, back in the late ’80s when we were on one of our first big tours with Def Leppard. When I started getting into photography, he became a mentor to me. He actually got me my first camera. Anyway, if Ross ever invited you to tag along for a photo session, you didn’t say no. It was even more special because he was going to be shooting Chris Cornell.
It was a casual thing, just the three of us cruising around Los Angeles, pulling over from time to time so that the iconic Soundgarden front man could get out and strike a few poses along the boulevard. I had never met Chris before, but I was a big fan. His dark, brooding brilliance made him one of the definitive artists of his generation, so I was extra anxious about tagging along. Chris was cool. If fans noticed him on the street while Ross was shooting, he took a minute to say hello and was totally accommodating. Not everybody is like that.
What really struck me about Chris, though, was what we talked about in the car. I can’t even remember how the subject came up, but we started talking about anxiety and depression. I had no idea what he was going through in his life, but he spoke candidly about the forces that were bringing him down, tearing at his psyche. Fuck, Chris Cornell? I thought. He knew nothing about me, so there’s no way he could’ve been aware that I had been suffering from deep anxiety issues for most of my life. It was a strange thing to bond over in the car, but we did. We related over the issues we both were having, and while I felt sad for what he was going through, there’s always something positive about someone who can relate to what you are dealing with. I felt like he was a kindred spirit. Driving around that day watching Ross take pictures and talking with Chris is something that has really stuck with me. Chris Cornell could not help but make a strong impression on you. He was just that powerful of a personality. It was the only time I was ever in his presence.
About three years later, I saw the news that he had taken his life. I was devastated. That was in May 2017. Two months later, Chester Bennington of Linkin Park did the same thing. Soon after that, Anthony Bourdain. Gone. What the fuck? This was getting out of control. To most people, it probably seemed inexplicable. These guys were at the top of their game, right? How could they kill themselves? Well, if you suffer from anxiety and depression, you know appearances have little to do with what’s real. There’s perception, and then there’s the brutal reality of mental illness.
In the summer of 2019, Tesla was on tour throughout Canada playing with our old pals, Def Leppard. Thirty years after touring with them on the Hysteria Tour, we were still tight. They were still like our big brothers. I should’ve been on top of the world. Everything was great…on the outside. Inside, I was dying. My anxiety had given way to what I knew was a deepening depression. I was sleeping so much more because I didn’t want to get out of my bunk on the bus. I didn’t even know why. I was just starting to circle a deep and dark vortex. I could feel it sucking me down. And I kept thinking of Chris, Chester, Anthony, and everybody else I knew who was experiencing the paralyzing effects of depression. I felt like I was going down. I felt like this might be the end. Or at least the start of the end. This was the scariest and darkest moment I have ever encountered. I didn’t want to wake up. I didn’t know how to wake up.