Some stand golden and godly. They exude a defiant gravity, both captivating and dangerous by their presence among us, towering totems above us, casting shadows that cover and shield us. This is more than adoration: it is cosmic, it is mystical. It is a pulsating force that connects our human souls through talent and beauty and truth and vision. They give these to us so as we need not feel so alone.

The term ‘rock star’ doesn’t mean what it used to mean. When politicians are using it to describe economic growth you already know that things have gone too far. That’s what happens with alternative trends, they get big enough to be profitable and before you know they’ve been co-opted by the same mainstream they were trying to undermine. It happened with grunge. Nirvana, Pearl Jam and Soundgarden sold records, the subculture became pervasive… and before you knew it we had Creed, Nickelback and 3 Doors Down.

Somewhere beneath all that dirty money there’s still a truth to be found though. A genuine Rock Star is something to savour, they’re a rare breed. It’s not only about musical ability but also that rebellious aura, that impossible magnificence. It’s about defiance and authenticity. Chris Cornell was a Rock Star.

The video for Soundgarden’s 1991 track Jesus Christ Pose (from Badmotorfinger) finds Cornell stomping through the desert shirtless with baggy dark shorts and boots, two black wristbands and a shark-tooth necklace. His hair is long and straggly, his usual moustache and goatee beard is in fine form. With arms outstretched he strikes a remarkably Christlike figure himself.

It’s not a coincidence. All proper Rock Stars have that edge of the messianic about them, from the influence of their voice to the sincerity of their art and the devotion of their many followers. Disciples, you could say. Chris Cornell was a stunningly impressive singer. He wrote great songs. His words rang true with a legion of fans and the man was, you have to admit, a damn good looking fellow. That right there is the complete package and if there’s a single positive outcome from such a tragedy as Chris Cornell’s passing it’s that his legacy now takes on a new perspective. It’s very easy to acknowledge the talent that we’ve just lost.

The more ubiquitous the Rock Star tag becomes the more diluted it becomes at the same time. This isn’t a piece about musical trends though, those things come and go in cycles and they’re always evolving. Punk was supposed to kill off the classic rock dinosaurs but grunge was an extension of both. Robert Plant was still a Rock Star and so were Joe Strummer and Kurt Cobain and if the biggest Rock Star of 2017 is Kendrick Lamar then so it goes, that’s just the wheels in motion.

It’s not about genre it’s about idolatry and true Rock Stars are transcendent. Kendrick carries the weight same as a young David Bowie once did, for example. The same weight that Chris Cornell carried, you knew it because you could hear it in every song he sang, you’ll always hear it. They’ll all be resonating for generations to come.

The bands and musicians that we love become sacred in our minds. Once they’re sacred, they’re incorruptible. We can transfer our pain and frustration, our love and hope, our fear and confusion, upon them to preserve like emotional caretakers. That’s why these connections are so deep. To actually respond with strength to our emotional weight makes them even more special, that little less vulnerable to our vulnerabilities. It’s also why we feel it so heavy when we lose them.

The nature of Chris Cornell’s death is irrelevant. It was how he lived. When you see videos of Chris Cornell, when you hear his records, when you saw him live it was as if he knew all that. He was a goddamned saint.

The world is that little bit darker without him.