“No one sings like you anymore.”
So goes a line in “Black Hole Sun,” probably the most well-known composition by the hard rocking singer-songwriter Chris Cornell, otherwise known as He of the Thousand Yard Yowl. That voice was in spectacular form during last week’s sold-out show in The Egg’s Hart Theatre, making for a heady, if somewhat overlong, night of dark, acoustic rock that at its best harkened back to the days when giants like Zeppelin walked the Earth.
Pre-show, I was expecting a pretty dour time – I mean, whenever I was feeling a bit fed up with things as a youngster of the ’90s, there was nothing (outside of Nirvana) that was better than blasting “Rusty Cage” or “Blow up the Outside World.” But in concert last week Cornell’s sense of humor was ever-present between songs, whether it was self-deprecations about his bad posture, or a somewhat embarrassing tale of running into the surviving members of Lynryd Skynyrd at the airport on the way to a gig (Cornell whines to them how he doesn’t like air travel, only to remember later about the band’s tragic history in that regard).
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