…shorts and combat boots, which was a thing at the time for some reason. Hair flowing, eyes burning. He is — and this was a fun thing to force everyone to contend with, amid grunge’s colossal machismo — beautiful. It barely registers that there are nearly two full minutes of dense, pummeling, gleefully inhospitable hard rock before he even opens his mouth. How is anyone supposed to sing over this, you catch yourself thinking, and then Cornell starts righteously howling, and the question becomes How is anyone supposed to play music behind this.