Slash celebrated a birthday yesterday. 52 years old and (almost) 30 years to the day since Appetite For Destruction debuted. Steven Tyler is a young ish 69 and Keith Richards has a few years on him. Some of the biggest rockstars on the planet are still with us. And so many have passed. You know the faces and the stories of overdoses, accidents, 40 vodka shots. Some have been lucky enough to see death and come back, like zombie Nikki Sixx. As for the others?

I’m troubled by rock’s latest infliction. Suicide. Not like we haven’t been there before. You knew where you were the day Kurt Cobain’s body was found. And it was devastating, gruesome; but not shocking. Grunge eventually faded out like it’s hair metal predecessor. We aged with our rockstars. They made families, broke up, made up, made reunion tours and albums. So why, at 52 years old did Chris Cornell kill himself. Rock certainly didn’t. Chris and Chester both battled substance problems through out their careers and (seemingly) came out on top. With money in the bank, sold out tours, friends, and family that loved them. It wasn’t the cocaine-laced parties of rock’s past that took them out.

Some would argue the men we’ve lost from suicide are painfully authentic. Isn’t that what drew us to them in the first place? And it stings that the most creative, honest people are also the most tortured. They survived the grind of the music industry, but lost the war. Their sense of self-worth. Their health and happiness. Something that I take for granted, even though I enjoy their music.

And it’s haunting to me. It’s hard for me to listen to Soundgarden in the studio. Chester’s words eat at me as I blankly stare at my phone. I hope, if anything, that their deaths bring the importance of mental health HELP into the social sphere. You don’t belong in the obituary section just yet. Your life has value. No one judges you as harshly as you judge yourself. Let their music free you. You’re not alone. We’re all in this together. – LM