Night’s falling over the Rimini coastline and it’s been a long few days for Soundgarden. The band have been snaking across Europe, playing their Louder Than Love shows in a mixture of clubs and small theatres, which will eventually culminate in a sold out show at London’s Astoria. Two nights ago, the brakes on the tour bus gave out as they were descending a steep mountain road. By the time they’d reached the bottom, the handbrake was a smoking mess, the bus perched precariously at the edge of a sheer drop. Imagine the end of The Italian Job, but with less gold bullion.
To compound their misery, drummer Matt Cameron is taken ill with suspected appendicitis the next day and, fleetingly, they think Chris Cornell might have to drum and sing at that night’s show in the northern Italian town, just as he did in the very early days of the band. We’re sitting in a hotel room that has bare concrete walls and steel bunk beds. Soundgarden might go on to much greater things, but for now they’re literally sleeping on top of one another in a room that looks like a cell. It’s the least of Cornell’s concerns.
“All the guys here keep grabbing my ass. Is it some Dionysian thing?” he asks. “I’ve got bruises.”
