March Madness is here, that captivating time of year when 68 teams set out on the Road to the Final Four in their quest for NCAA men's college basketball supremacy. This year's tournament is scheduled to get underway March 17, with brackets to be announced March 13. However, those wishing to take part in some early madness with a side of musical fun can get a head start with ESPN's Herd Rock Band Bracket, a 64-artist field devised by radio host Colin Cowherd to crown the best rock band. Formal ESPN analysis is still pending, but we'll chime in with a few first-round matchups to keep an eye on. Teen spirit and Kurt Cobain will face off against the head games of Mick Jones when Nirvana and Foreigner clash in the West: Seattle Region. It will be all pinball wizardry and anarchy when the Who and the Sex Pistols battle it out in the East: New York Region. Metal will look to bring the heat against '60s psychedelia as Metallica takes on Jefferson Airplane in the Midwest: Cleveland Region. And shred guitar prowess will duel angst-ridden prog rock as Van Halen and Tool duke it out in the Far East: London region. Upset alert: Though arguably a mismatch on paper, can Scott Stapp and the No. 16-seeded upstart Creed deliver a knockout blow to the Fab Four, the No. 1-seeded Beatles, in the Far East: London region? Fill out your brackets here. Rock's March Madness survivor will be crowned later this month.

The man who went against all odds, fronted Genesis and brought us pop gems such as "Sussudio" is calling it a career. Following an onslaught of speculation on the reasons behind his retirement, Phil Collins surfaced this week to clear the air with "breaking news" on his website. "I'm not stopping because of dodgy reviews or bad treatment in the press," said Collins. "I am stopping so I can be a full-time father to my two young sons on a daily basis." Collins did take the press to task for painting him as "a tormented weirdo…who feels very sorry for himself, and is retiring hurt because of the bad press over the years." An eight-time GRAMMY winner, Collins assured that his retirement decision was a no "straitjacket" required proposition.

If you're a musician with an appetite for rock-solid financial planning from someone who has been there, done that, you're in luck. Former Guns N' Roses bassist Duff McKagan is launching Meridian Rock, a wealth management firm designed to educate musicians about their finances. While McKagan made a name for himself in GNR and the GRAMMY-winning rock band Velvet Revolver, he now fronts his own project, Loaded, and is fully loaded when it comes to financial credibility. After making millions with Axl, Slash and friends, in the '90s McKagan took basic finance courses at Santa Monica Community College in Southern California, and later earned a degree in finance at Seattle University. What type of clients does he think his firm can help? All are welcome, especially those musicians who may be timid. "If they're anything like me when I was 30, they're too embarrassed to ask," said McKagan. "I didn't know what a stock was [or] what a bond was."

With possibly one too many guys trying to touch her junk, Ke$ha has launched a safe-sex campaign. You may file it under just say no way, but the party animal/cannibal has issued 10,000 Ke$ha condoms with her face on them, which will be fired from a canon into the audience at her live shows (fortunately, there's nothing symbolic about that method of distribution). With Ke$ha condoms and a bottle of jack, we should be ready to go until the police shut us down, down.

When's the last time you took a ride down the western country line on a train? Better yet, when's the last time you took that ride with three indie bands? This April, GRAMMY nominees Mumford & Sons will embark on a six-stop tour with Edward Sharpe And The Magnetic Zeros and Old Crow Medicine Show. Titled The Railroad Revival Tour, these three bands will take a ride on a 1,500-foot long train featuring 15 vintage railcars pulled by two locomotives and are set to travel more than 2,000 miles across five states. The tour kicks off April 21 in Oakland, Calif., with stops in San Pedro, Calif., (April 22), Chandler, Ariz., (April 23), Marfa, Texas, (April 24), Austin, Texas, (April 26), and New Orleans (April 27). Could the railcar be the new tour bus? With gas prices these days, we're not sure if that'd be less or more costly.

While Lady Gaga was born this way, up-and-coming artist Maria Aragon was just born…10 years ago. After uploading a video of her cover of Gaga's "Born This Way" to YouTube, Aragon was invited onstage to perform a duet with the Lead Monster herself during a March 3 concert in Toronto. "Maria represents what this song is all about," said Gaga before leading into the song. "It's all about the next generation and the future and no more divisiveness, only unity." Let's hope this is a story that inspires future generations of Little Monsters. Don't be a drag, just be a queen.

Lady Gaga's "Born This Way" is No. 1 on the Billboard Hot 100 and Jennifer Lopez's "On The Floor" (featuring Pitbull) is atop the iTunes singles chart.

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Last Week In Music

"I will answer any and all questions. Just, a lot of times, people don't like my answers."

So goes Buzz Osborne — the long-reigning King Buzzo, of cult heavies the Melvins — halfway through a hair-raising, hour-long interview. He had a catbird seat to the exhilarating rise and tragic fall of the grunge era; for some, his brutal honesty in that regard might be a liability.

"That's just Buzz," said his old friend Krist Novoselic of Nirvana, after Osborne virally disparaged the documentary Kurt Cobain: Montage of Heck as "90 percent... bulls—." "He's always been like that, but we love him so we just accept him for that. He's always had these opinions. Like, 'Oh, there goes Buzz again.'"

There he goes again, indeed. But Osborne's honesty is just that — honesty. Go ahead and scour his interviews; try to catch him in a lie, or a half-truth, about anything he's lived through.

"I wasn't wrong then, I'm not wrong now. I was misunderstood then, and I'm going to continue to be misunderstood," Osborne tells GRAMMY.com of the old days, when he watched his friends in Nirvana and Soundgarden grow from nothing to dominate the earth. "But that's OK, it's part of the deal."

Unlike either act, Osborne has always been 100 percent opposed to conventional notions of rock stardom. (Cobain seemed hot and cold on the matter.) He doesn't drink or take drugs. He's been married to the same woman forever. "I live a conservative life, and I let my wildness come out of my art," Osborne explains.

And while Tarantula Heart might not necessarily grow his cult fanbase, it's one of the wildest things Osborne's made — and that alone makes it worth celebrating and cherishing.

The Melvins' 27th studio album (Osborne estimates the total to be over 30, so perhaps it depends on how you count) is rife with off-kilter, pummeling tracks like "Working the Ditch," "She's Got Weird Arms" and "Smiler."

Therein, Osborne shows he can still throw a wrench in the works when things threaten to become predictable, and come up with profoundly idiosyncratic and ineffably satisfying art. (How he recorded the drums alone is fascinating — and by some standards, backwards.)

Read on to learn how Tarantula Heart was made, living with Kurt Cobain's distorted public shadow, which of his grunge-era contemporaries he still talks to, and much more.

This interview has been edited for clarity.

I'll admit that I haven't heard every Melvins album. But Tarantula Heart still strikes me as a high watermark in the discography.

Well, I don't think anybody has heard our entire catalog.

I probably have. I would say that I guarantee you Steven [Shane McDonald]'s never listened to all of our records. The guy who plays bass for us. I really, seriously doubt it. I doubt that [former bassist] Kevin Rutmanis has ever listened to all of our records. I can't imagine that the Big Business guys listened to all our records. It's too much for anybody to take in. I don't expect people to do that.

At any rate, how do you keep your artistry so fresh and inspired?

I stay inspired by thinking — moving my feet. After 30-plus albums, I am always looking for something that's going to inspire me in a new way. I don't really have much interest in going back and making records the way that I did 30 years ago, or 15 years ago.

There's really no template for how you guys do things, is there?

No, there's no template. I don't want to do anything normal. Nothing. I'm an accidentalist, I'd say, by 50 percent. And the other 50 percent is making sure that you are not throwing out the good stuff with the bad stuff. 

Also, as time has gone on, I've realized that my tolerance for lots of stuff is a lot higher than most people are capable of dealing with. I can listen to long, drawn-out stuff, and I always could, but I realized in my music, I always held back a little bit on it. Then, I realized, Well, I don't need to do that. I can do whatever I want. I can view albums the way that I want to.

Do go on.

One of my favorite albums for that kind of thing is Heathen Earth by Throbbing Gristle. That's been a huge inspiration on what I've done for a long time. Or early Swans. I mean, we were never going to sell millions of records. All we were going to do was make music that, because I felt like I had good taste, there'd be other people that would like it. It probably won't be millions, but it'll be enough.

Those kinds of inspirations [are] very exciting for me. And I expect people not to understand it, but that's the way it's always been.

We did this record in such a weird fashion. I knew that I needed to tell people how we did it, but…once they knew, they would say, "That's what it sounds like." They'd piss all over it.

You know how many times I have been told what I should do in the last 41 years? It's like if I listened to all this good advice, I'd be sitting here with nothing.

You characterized yourself as an "accidentalist." Give me a couple of great accidents on Tarantula Heart.

Well, one of them was accidentally figuring out how we were going to do this record. Because that's not how we recorded the drums originally. I didn't know that's what we were going to do. I just accidentally stumbled on it while listening to the demos or the rough mixes of all the jams that we made.

So, we would have a basic riff that we could jam to with the drummers. We recorded for about 15 minutes, 20 minutes, maybe a few minutes into it, the drummers would lock up into something. And I realized when I was listening back to [the demos] that they did something interesting for this little six-minute section or eight-minute section, and then they kind of lost it.

Then, I would take that section, and write a riff to it that had nothing to do with the original riff that was on it. The first one I did was "Allergic to Food," I think. And then I put vocals on it and then I realized I could do the whole record like this. The drums are playing along with stuff that's not now on there. So, all their accents and all the way that they're playing isn't the way they would've done it, had we rehearsed it or something like this.

So, I got something out of it that's brand new.

That's the epitome of a happy accident.

I just accidentally stumbled upon this thing that might work, let me try doing the whole record like that. And it worked. But I don't know, I couldn't do it again, because now they'd be suspicious of it and they might play in a way that wasn't as free as the way they played. So, it's probably a one-time-only.

There's a song we did a long time ago called "The Bloated Pope," and there's a stumbly-sounding drum intro. Dale [Crover] made a mistake. I went, "Leave that in there. That's really cool." Now, that's the intro. It sounds intentional. That's how we play it now. But it was a mistake.

You mentioned Kevin Rutmanis. Do you keep in touch with old members of the Melvins?

I'm still really good friends with Kevin. Let me think. Mark [Deutrom], no. Lori [Black], no. Jeff Pinkus… I'm going to do a big acoustic tour starting in August with Trevor Dunn, who's also played with us. Jeff Pinkus is doing all the U.S. touring, and we're trying to get him on the European end of it. So, I talk to both Trevor and him a lot.

Matt [Lukin] from Mudhoney — no, not in the least.

I didn't know stuff wasn't cool with Matt. I just knew he played on the first Melvins album, Gluey Porch Treatments.

Oh, no, I don't get along with him at all. I haven't liked him since I was in high school. He's a very toxic human being. He wasn't a very good player, and I just found him irritating and counterproductive. I've not looked back one minute, nor have I regretted any part of not having him in my life.

He can do or say whatever he wants. I don't give a s—. That's nothing new. It's not like that's a new revelation. Look, hardly anybody in the world even knows who he is. You're one of the first people that's even brought him up.

That's surprising, as Pearl Jam named a song after him. It's not a hit, but fans know it.

Yeah, well, if Eddie wants to think he's a great guy, then so be it. Better him than me.

How about your other contemporaries, like the other members of Mudhoney?

Oh, I get along with those guys great. I would love to do a recording with all the Mudhoney guys.

Mark [Arm], especially, is someone I've known since the very early '80s. I learned a lot of stuff about bands and music that I never knew before. He turned me on to lots of stuff that I was very excited about, like Foetus and the Birthday Party — just a host of bands.

I always viewed him as somebody who was really smart — really fun to be around. He and Steve Turner know more about music than anyone I've ever been around.

I’d like to broach this as sensitively as possible: April 5 marked the 30th anniversary of your old friend Kurt's passing. How have you dealt with the endless flattening and deification of a person you knew as flesh and blood?

It's very weird. It's not the kind of thing you get over. People tend to want me to look at it like the good old days, but to me, heroin addiction and death, it's hard to romanticize that. I'm not going to get over it anytime soon. I don't know that I ever will.

Part of me also thinks that, yeah, I turned him onto music and got him interested in all this stuff, and it's like maybe if I hadn't, he wouldn't be dead. So it's a weird position to be in.

I hope that doesn't bedevil you too much. That's a massive weight to carry — one that you didn't ask for.

I mean, at some point, you just have to move on. And musical ideas that I had, other people took, and it changed music on a global level. So I wasn't wrong about what I originally thought, and I'm happy to have that be the case, and I'll just move forward with the same attitude I did then.

I wasn't wrong then, I'm not wrong now. I was misunderstood then, and I'm going to continue to be misunderstood, but that's OK, it's part of the deal. I'm OK with that.

It's your lot in life.

That's all right. I mean, I make my living as a musician. That's all I ever wanted. So no one could have guessed any of that stuff would happen.

I mean, the Nirvana guys and the Soundgarden guys — those are rags-to-riches stories.Those guys, especially the Nirvana guys, had nothing. And if you look at the guys in Soundgarden, those people all come from nothing. Zero.

So, it's been exciting to watch people you're so fond of become successful and have that kind of thing happen and say that you were an influence on what they were doing. Great.

But when you're handed that kind of responsibility and those kinds of keys, you need to work harder than you ever have. You just need to keep doing this good work. And that's what I've tried to do for the next 35, 40 years.

*The Melvins in 1991 (L-R: Dale Crover, Buzz Osborne, then-bassist Lori Black). Photo: David Corio/Redferns*

It feels so unfair what happened to you guys. You were kids from the sticks — and to varying degrees, you were all thrown into this ruthless celebrity grinder.

Oh, yeah. It's easy to avoid that stuff. I'm not going to any industry parties. I never have. I don't want to do that kind of stuff. I've always shied away from it, because I'm not comfortable there.

I don't think it's wrong for everyone, but it's wrong for me. I'd rather just do my work and let that be the end of it. I'm not good at networking. I'm not good at outselling myself to people who may not give a s—.

I've been in L.A. for 30-plus years and most people in the industry don't even know I'm there. They still say, "Oh, so you live in the Northwest?" I go, "Well, I left there in '86, '87." And in L.A., you're far more likely to see me at a municipal golf course than at a rock and roll show.

At this point, I only go to rock and roll shows if I'm getting paid to be there. They're not fun for me. I end up in the audience talking to a bunch of drunks. That's not fun for me. Drunks are only fun if you're drunk.

And I appreciate everybody who comes to our shows, but I don't have fun at live shows myself as an audience member. I'm in those places all the time, and I don't want to put myself in a position where I'm going to have to punch someone in the mouth. It's not a good place for me to be, so I avoid it.

That's unfortunate, but I know exactly how I am. If you push me far enough. I'll beat the living f—ing s— out of you. And I don't fight fair. I don't. I grew up in a redneck town. I fought all the time. I'll kick you right in the nuts and then lay your head open.

I get to see enough shows. We did a tour last year with Boris, and we played some shows with We Are the Asteroid and Taipei Houston, who are really good. On stage, I'll get to watch Trevor Dunn play every night. I'm not feeling unfulfilled in a live music type of way at all.

I'm sure your intense work ethic also stems from your upbringing.

Suffering and working a s— job and all those kinds of things — I don't know that that ever made my music better, but it did give me an understanding of how important things like hard work are.

I think it's kind of a tragedy that teenagers don't work more. I always enjoyed working when I was a teenager. I wanted a job. I wanted to do things like that. I think that working hard is something that people should do. I couldn't wait to get a car. I couldn't wait to be mobile, and be my own person.

I've only ever been around my family situation, around people who had to work, so I don't know anything else. I don't know what it's like to live some bourgeois life where work is just not important. Unless you plan on inheriting a lot of money, I don't know how else it's going to work out for you.

I went to school and went to a job after school, got home by about 9 or 10 at night, and went and did the whole thing over again. I never had a problem with that. You don't do the work, you don't get the money. That's just how it works. So this whole idea that teenagers don't work anymore hardly in the US anyway, I think is just kind of absurd.

Before we go, give me a line from the album that you believe in with your whole heart.

"I'm about to make you happy."

What's that mean to you?

It could be the truth. It could be a lie.

Pearl Jam's Stone Gossard On New Album Dark Matter & The Galvanizing Force Of Andrew Watt

Scott Stapp prefers Zoom with the camera off, but for a minute, he flips it on to say hello. The Creed frontman reveals himself to be alone on his tour bus, in near complete darkness, encased in a black hoodie.

"You look like a Jedi," his rep quips in an adjacent Zoom window. "They're training me," Stapp quips back.

Twenty-five years ago, this might be a breeding ground for his inner hellhounds, his unprocessed torments — as he sang, his own prison. But a sweatpants-clad Stapp looks relaxed, grounded, rooted; after this interview, he's eyeing a nap in the belly of this beast.

Stapp is a vocal proponent of recovery culture, and his language is permeated with it — God, squaring up with your ego, taking it one day at a time. "Some of us, we're so allergic to alcohol, so allergic to drugs," Stapp explains, "that when we use them, we break out in handcuffs and end up on the six o'clock news. And that's been my story, no doubt."

You can Google these stories; they're out there. While he's in no mood to recapitulate details to the press — who would be? — his new solo album, Higher Power, out March 15, directly addresses everything he's been through.

The title track begins with the line, "Forty feet down falling/ Headfirst off the edge" — and, well, that happened. (The rapper T.I. saved him, not knowing who he was at the time; Stapp later called him his "guardian angel.") By the chorus, Stapp frames what followed as a resurrection: "The day that I died was the day I came back to life."

At the zenith of Creed's career, Stapp pleaded "Can you take me higher?"; on Higher Power, this request seems to have been greenlighted. Which doesn't mean he has a messianic complex; Stapp doesn't project a shred of solipsism. He's just doing what he's meant to do.

"I don't pay attention to what's going on or try to follow trends, try to write to ride a wave or to catch something that's hot in the moment," he says.

What can he say? He's just Stapp — the same he's ever been, with a new album, a reunited Creed (who are about to head on tour) and a new lease on life.

This interview has been edited for clarity.

The song "Black Butterfly" is a great reminder that recovery isn't a one-and-done thing. It's a continuum, with peaks and valleys. Can you talk about that?

Well, it's absolutely a continuum and I think it not only applies to sobriety, but I think it applies to growth as a human being in general in every aspect of your life.

Just as we try to evolve…it is always five steps forward, three steps back. As long as you're continuing to move forward and learning from every setback, that's where true growth happens.

"Black Butterfly" represents so much, and I don't really want to get into the details of every aspect of what that song meant to me. Clearly, it involves a rebirth, but there's many contextual layers on that song in terms of the depths of the rebirth and what rebirths I'm talking about. But if we want to apply that to sobriety, there's definitely a continual process of cocooning and rebirthing.

Relapse has been a part of my story. It's not a part of everybody's, but it's been a part of mine. And each time that I have, I've definitely learned where a chink in my armor was that I was unaware of.

I also learned that I can't ever get overconfident. I can't ever think I've got it. I have to always stay on guard and continue to take it one day at a time and be vigilant. And then as time goes on, you get into a place where it becomes a lifestyle and a routine.

I'm glad you're on the good foot.

I just continue to grow, man, and take it one day at a time and know that God is doing a work in me in such a profound way, not only through my sobriety, but through my spiritual life.

One thing that you learn in recovery is the key to sobriety is the condition of you as a spiritual being. And for me to finally make that connection and tie it back to the roots of my faith  — that really kind of put a bow and an icing on top of the cake, because everything started making sense.

I've always been interested in spirituality, but we live in a relentlessly anti-spirit world. How do you keep that antenna up when we're all deluged by the "make money and shut up" attitude?

It's a daily commitment to wake up and get into prayer — from my perspective as a Christian, getting in the word of God. Reading, surrounding myself with other like-minded people who do the same thing, as we edify and help each other grow in the spiritual walk that we have together.

When you embrace it and you make it a part of your lifestyle, surround yourself with people who have the same passion, drive, and heart in seeking that, then it creates the perfect storm for spiritual growth. And I'm fortunate to have that around me right now.

*Scott Stapp performing with Creed in 2003. Photo: Chris Trotman/Getty Images for NASCAR*

When Creed were on top of the world in the early 2000s, I'm sure your Christian ethics were completely at odds with everything going on around you.

Oh, 100 percent. And I also had this inflated, youthful ego; I thought I could handle it on my own, and didn't have any support around me. And you live and learn.

I help younger artists now who are going through similar situations and entering this business and let them know how important it is to surround yourself with support. And for those that don't have family, like I didn't, we really create a team.

Because this is a gift that we have — this career in music — and we can become so easily dismantled and it can be robbed from us by the trappings that come along from success and the temptations of the world. We're blessed with this opportunity to be creatives for a living. And so to nurture that, cherish it, protect it, look at it with professionalism and gratitude.

For those that don't have an issue with having a few drinks every now and then, do it on your off days. But when it's showtime and when it's a workday, look at it that way — with a vigor and passion of someone who's trying to be the best at what they do with their craft in their job.

That way, you can preserve it and it can be long-lasting, and you won't shoot yourself in the foot with self-sabotage.

Higher Power is such a production bulldozer. Can you talk about crafting the sound of it?

I was just creating those songs with my guys that I write with, in real time, as I was feeling inspired. I was trying to stay true to what I do, how I feel, and just continue to try to lyrically and sonically create cinematic pieces of art.

Fortunately, by the way that it was created, there was a theme and each song kind of bled into the other and were held together by a singular thread — which was the impact that God, my higher power has had in my life throughout the ups and the downs and was always there even at my darkest times.

And I think I addressed that in Higher Power. It's resounding with them in its sonic presentation and lyrical narrative.

You said you're looking to "create cinematic pieces of art." What role does the cinema play in your life? Do you think of great rock songs as being akin to mind movies?

No, I think I refer to that more in terms of how I'm creating the picture, not necessarily any reference points on any films. I'm trying to create something cinematic. I'm trying to create something that when it's heard, well, hopefully when someone connects, paint a picture in their mind of an experience and not only just connect with them on a personal level.

I think that's something I've always tried to do lyrically since I started writing songs. Since my first professional record in 1997, with My Own Prison, I think it's just been a part of the way that I create. And I think I really wanted to intentionally focus on that, in terms of the production and the music beds that went around the themes that I was talking about.

And I definitely think we did. I think my producers, Marti Frederiksen and Scott Stevens, captured that. I'm proud of what we did, and I feel that this is my best solo work to date.

And I've got a song I'm very proud of. It's a duet that I did with the Rock Queen herself, Dorothy, which will be out this Friday. And I'm very excited to share that song and everything that's coming with it because I think it's just a centerpiece of this record and a theme that really is what this album is: the walls talking.

The first line of "Higher Power" reflects a very traumatic event in your life; I don't need to recite it back to you. You're a very candid and honest cat.

I mean, if you go back to 1997 and you listen to "My Own Prison," that's probably one of the most personal and confessional songs I've ever written. That's the only way that I know how to write. That's the only way that the inspiration, the creativity comes out of me.

I bear my soul. I talk about my flaws, my weaknesses, my failures, the dark times. I just speak what's in my heart. I mean, I think that's probably a part of being a child with no filter. And that's kind of translated into how I write lyrics. I just say how it is and how I see it, how I'm observing it, how I'm experiencing it.

And call it what you will, but I call it my style. However you want to interpret that is cool. And I appreciate that you hear the vulnerability and the honesty in that because that's where it comes from.

I remember the early 2000s as a highly macho world — of raunchy comedies, shock jocks, getting called the f-slur on the playground. In the hard rock world of that time, I'm sure vulnerability was steamrolled over.

Well, I know that we came out with a song called "One Last Breath" in 2002, which was clearly a cry for help and vulnerability. So, I don't think I was paying too much attention to what was going on around me and what other people were doing. I never really have, I just do what I do.

And so it was kind of the antithesis of what you just described. You're talking about this macho era, and I'm writing lyrics, "Please come now, I think I'm falling/ I'm holding onto all I think is safe/ I think I found the road to nowhere, and I'm trying to escape."

I don't pay attention to what's going on or try to follow trends, try to write to ride a wave or to catch something that's hot in the moment. I really don't pay attention to the outside world.

That seems to be a throughline of your career.

To be honest with you, I'm a bit of a recluse. And when I was younger, I kind of romanticized that loner poet sitting under a tree, writing lyrics in a book, observing the world around him.

And I guess, looking back, that wasn't so much of a romantic approach, but more of just who I was and me trying to come to grips with it and accepting that that's who I am and being comfortable with it.

I think sobriety and clarity has helped me become comfortable with it — because I think that part of the reason I overindulged at times is because I never really felt comfortable around crowds. I never really felt comfortable around groups of people and socializing and mindless conversation and chit-chat. I think that's fine and that's great for other people, but it never really worked for me.

So, it's nice to be in a place in life all these years later, where you find your tribe and you find the people that speak your language, and are like-minded, and feel comfortable and safe there.

*Scott Stapp performing in 2023. Photo: Jerry Kingwell — Revelry Studios*

Back then, the mean-spirited humor about Creed couldn't have jibed with your psychological state. These days, you take it all in good fun, but back then, it must have been like poison.

You know, it didn't line up with what we were experiencing. It was a media narrative that was created. I can't look back and say that there were times where it didn't hurt and where I didn't understand. You've got stadiums on hold and you're selling out every arena in America, but then you're reading articles that you're this hated band, and it's just not lining up.

And we didn't have social media to talk back and correct things that were said. Not that I would even do that now, or waste my time.

I definitely feel that some of that did affect me in a negative way, and I didn't handle it appropriately. I would actually say that some of it probably caused some trauma, and the only way I knew how to do that was numb the pain.

We're in a different place now. We've got much thicker skin, and know what's important in life, and know whose opinions matter. But when you're young and that happens, it definitely has a profound impact on you. And I think was a big contributing factor — one of the reasons the band split up. I mean, there were others, but it was kind of a domino effect.

All in all, you seem to be in a really healthy and positive spot. Where do you want to go from here?

Right now, I'm in the moment. The album hasn't come out yet. I feel like we're at the very tip, tip, tip of the iceberg on this record. We've got the Creed stuff in between, and something tells me in my heart that this album's really going to be making continual impact all the way through 2025.

I'll be doing some solo touring and promotion in between the Creed stuff along the way, and then I look at 2025 as a continuation of the Higher Power tour and promotion.

Not to be clichéd, but I think the best is yet to come for this record, and we're at the beginning. So, I'm just taking it one day at a time, man.

The Salvation Of Chris Daughtry: How He Conquered Music-Biz Machinations & Fear Of Irrelevance For Triumphant New Album Dearly Beloved

Despite being the first grunge group to sign with a major label in the late '80s, Seattle four-piece Soundgarden were one of the last major players to break through to the mainstream. In fact, by the time they released their fourth LP, Superunknown, in March 1994, Pearl Jam had already sold 20 million records, Stone Temple Pilots had won a GRAMMY, and Nirvana were only a month away from tragically imploding.  

However, when frontman Chris Cornell, lead guitarist Kim Thayil, bassist Ben Shepherd, and drummer Matt Cameron finally entered the big league, they did so in major fashion. Superunknown instantly topped the Billboard 200, and went on to spawn five top 20 hits on the U.S. Mainstream Rock chart, win two GRAMMYs, and achieve five-time platinum status in the United States alone. 

Perhaps the most ironic part is that Soundgarden went stratospheric with an experimental 70-minute opus that resolutely drowns in despair — and that paradox was not lost on Cornell. "There's an eeriness in there, a kind of unresolvable sadness or indescribable longing that I've never really tried to isolate and define and fully understand," the singer told Rolling Stone in 2014, three years before he died by suicide. "But it's always there. It's like a haunted thing." 

Indeed, the cleaner-cut Cornell may have trimmed his signature locks in time for Superknown's array of MTV-friendly videos, but the album is hardly a streamlined affair tailor-made for the masses. Still, its intensity, uncompromising nature, and eclecticism — let's not forget it boasts a cameo from a street artist named Artis the Spoonman — has helped it remain one of premier grunge classics. 

To celebrate the 30th anniversary of Superunknown, here's a look at why the record is a benchmark of Gen X rock.    

It Proved Grunge Could Survive the Death Of Its Hero

Many say that the grunge movement died the day Kurt Cobain took his own life on April 5, 1994. Yet while the tragedy nearly instantly made Nirvana obsolete, many of their peers still enjoyed major success for several years before the slightly more earnest sound dubbed post-grunge took up the angst-ridden mantle.  

Released just a month before Cobain's passing, Superunknown had already joined Nevermind and In Utero, Alice in Chains' Jar of Flies, and Pearl Jam's Vs. on grunge's list of Billboard 200 chart-toppers. But it had a remarkable shelf life, too, spending 80 weeks on the chart and becoming the 13th biggest seller of 1994.  

A 20th anniversary re-release and accompanying tour in 2014 further highlighted how seminal the record had become, with even Cornell — a man typically averse to all things nostalgic — appearing to accept its classic status. "It was showing what we were, not just a flavor of the month," he told Rolling Stone. "We had the responsibility to seize the moment, and I think we really did." 

It Broke The Grunge Mould

While the likes of Pixies, Dinosaur Jr., and Sonic Youth were key reference points for most grunge outfits, Superunknown took inspiration from a much broader musical palette. Producer Michael Beinhorn looked toward the ambient techno of Aphex Twin and the punishing Dutch dance music known as gabber to capture the required intensity; he also pointed Cornell in the direction of specific Frank Sinatra songs to help hone the frontman's performance style. 

There was also a strong Beatles influence, particularly on the Lennon-ish melodies of "Black Hole Sun" and the "Tomorrow Never Knows"-esque drum breaks of "My Wave." "We looked deep down inside the very core of our souls and there was a little Ringo sitting there," Thayil told Guitar World in 1994.. 

The Shepherd-sung "Half," meanwhile, further embraced the band's Middle Eastern tendencies, while the use of mellotrons ("Mailman"), clavinets ("Fresh Tendrils"), and, most intriguingly, various kitchen equipment ("Spoonman") further proved Soundgarden weren't afraid to push the genre outside of its comfort zone.   

It Won The Great Rock War Of 1994

You could say that March 8, 1994 was a momentous day for game-changing American rock, and indeed music retailers across the country. Not only did Soundgarden unleash their blockbuster fourth album, but Nine Inch Nails dropped their very own magnum opus, too.   

Combining transgressive themes such as S&M, self-hatred and substance abuse with pioneering electronics and strong melodic hooks, NIN's The Downward Spiral is credited with pushing industrial rock into the mainstream. And in most other weeks, its first-week sales of 118,000 would have been enough to land the No. 1 spot.  

Unfortunately for Trent Reznor and co., it went up against an even bigger commercial juggernaut. Superunknown sailed to the top of the Billboard 200 with a remarkable 310,000 sales, winning the unlikely chart battle by a landslide. 15 years later, Reznor admitted he'd been wounded by the defeat, but following a brief online beef with Cornell, the two outfits kissed and made up with a 2014 joint tour.   

It Inspired A Generation Of Rockers

Between The Buried and Me ("The Day I Tried to Live"), Halestorm ("Fell on Black Days"), and Ufomammut ("Let Me Drown") are just a few of the modern-day rock bands who've paid tribute to Superunknown with various covers over the years. Its most high-profile champion, though, was another iconic frontman also sadly no longer with us. 

Chester Bennington regularly sang the album's praises, describing it as "one of the best rock records of all time" while also selecting "Limo Wreck" on his ultimate playlist for Shortlist. The Linkin Park singer had struck up such a close friendship with Cornell he was invited to perform at the latter's funeral in 2017 just two months before his own tragic death.  

Proof of just how wide-reaching Superunknown's appeal was, however, came with the fact '80s hair metallers Def Leppard also cited it as a source of inspiration for 1996's Slang, while nine years on, legendary crooner Paul Anka covered "Black Hole Sun" in a big band style on Rock Swings.  

It Spawned The Scene's Defining Video

Soundgarden's controversial video for Badmotorfinger's "Jesus Christ Pose" received a ban from MTV in 1991. In stark contrast, the promo for Superunknown's lead single three years later became a regular fixture on the network.  

Directed by Howard Greenhalgh, the attention-grabbing clip centers around a suburban community which gradually becomes consumed by, well, a black hole sun. While the band make an appearance, valiantly performing while the apocalypse rages on, they are inevitably overshadowed by the nightmarish locals and their exaggerated wide eyes, maniacal grins, and slithering lizard tongues.  

Heavily inspired by the opening minutes of David Lynch's 1986 cult classic Blue Velvet, "Black Hole Sun" was one of the few videos Soundgarden were satisfied with, according to Thayil. And one could argue that alongside Nirvana's "Smells Like Teen Spirit" and Pearl Jam's "Jeremy," it's the grunge movement's visual piece-de-resistance.  

It Made GRAMMYs History

Stone Temple Pilots might have won grunge's first GRAMMY in 1994 (Best Hard Rock Performance for "Plush"). However, Soundgarden were the scene's first — and only — act to pick up two awards in the decade it reigned supreme. 

Rather surprisingly, Nirvana were only ever recognized in 1996 when MTV Unplugged in New York won Best Alternative Music Performance. Likewise, Pearl Jam, who picked up Best Hard Rock Performance for "Spin the Black Circle" (they did win a second in 2015 for Best Recording Package). And although Scott Weiland's outfit received a further two nominations, they never got the chance to make another acceptance speech. 

Both of Soundgarden's victories came for Superunknown in 1995, with "Spoonman" winning Best Metal Performance and "Black Hole Sun" Best Hard Rock Performance. The latter also got a nod in Best Rock Song (which went to Bruce Springsteen's "Streets of Philadelphia"), while the LP itself lost to the Rolling Stones' Voodoo Lounge for Best Rock Album.  

It Put The Poetry Into Grunge

"I write my best songs when I'm depressed," Cornell once told Melody Maker. And the frontman certainly appeared to be going through a lot during the making of Superunknown. 

"Let Me Drown" was self-described as a song about "crawling back to the womb to die." "Mailman" is the tale of a man driven to murder — specifically, shooting his boss in the head — by the pressures of work. And as its title suggests, "Fell on Black Days" reflects on the moment you realize, "everything in your life is f—ed." 

Yet, having reportedly immersed himself in the works of Sylvia Plath before recording, Cornell's lines are a little more poetic than the usual "woe is me" platitudes. See "Safe outside my gilded cage/ With an ounce of pain, I wield a ton of rage" from "Like Suicide," the haunting closer about a bird who flew fatally straight into his house window. Or "Shower in the dark day, clean sparks diving down/ Cool in the waterway where the baptized drown," from "4th of July," the recounting of a dread-filled LSD trip experienced on an Indian reservation. 

Not every track on Superunknown is particularly deep and meaningful: In a 1996 interview, Cornell freely admitted the album's breakout hit is simply a bowl of word salad. But on the whole, it's a record as intriguing lyrically as it is sonically.  

It's Grunge's Most Immersive Album

"A perfect headphones album." That's how Thayil described Superunknown to Spotify while promoting its 20th anniversary reissue in 2014. And he's not wrong. Although the full-throttle title track and punky "Kickstand" proved Soundgarden could still rock out without any bells and whistles, most of their accompanying tracks are of the intricate variety, the group leaning into their free-wheeling, psychedelic side stronger than ever before.  

Each band member gets the chance to display their versatility throughout the multi-layered affair, with subtleties that unfurl with each listen. Alongside Cornell's expressive vocal range, there's Thayil's winding guitar solos, Shepherd's fluid basslines, and Cameron's dexterous rhythms. The result is a record that appears specifically designed to be experienced via a pair of Dr. Dre's finest (or whatever the equivalent of Beats was back in 1994) — and one that has remained just as jammable and beloved 30 years on.

Behind The Scenes With Nirvana Photog Charles Peterson: 6 Images From His New Book

When photographer Charles Peterson first saw Nirvana at a small Seattle club in 1988, he was so underwhelmed he didn’t bother taking a single picture of them.

The band shared a bill with local act Blood Circus, who, Peterson says, "put on quite a grungy show; lots of hair going everywhere and guitars flying." When Nirvana came on, "they had the lighting guy dim the light really low and Kurt [Cobain] just stood there and stared at his feet. The music came off as kind of heavy, really difficult to play. I just didn’t get it." At one point Peterson even turned to Sub Pop Records co-founder Jonathan Poneman and asked him, "Jon, are you sure about these guys?"

 Sub Pop was sure about Nirvana, and would later sign them. And as the label’s in-house photographer, Peterson (who was in his mid-20s at the time) documented the band’s career for the next five years — from their indie days to international stardom. In his latest book, Charles Peterson’s Nirvana, from Minor Matters Books, Peterson has winnowed down his impressive catalog of an estimated 3,000 shots to a well-curated 90. 

Released on Feb. 20, Cobain’s birthday, Charles Peterson’s Nirvana features shots from his first session with the band, lounging in the wilds of Bainbridge Island, Washington ("They did have that kind of hippie aspect to them") to his last, a promotional shoot for In Utero ("They all, Kurt especially, just seemed a little tired"). While the book tells the band's story, it's less of a history and more reflective of Peterson's own experience. 

As Peterson recalls, Minor Matters Founder Michelle Dunn Marsh defined the book’s direction, believing Peterson's "artistic sensibility and how it moves the viewer and portrays the power of the music" set his work apart from the thousands of other images taken of Nirvana. 

Peterson spoke with GRAMMY.com about the stories behind five images in the book. "And like I say in the introduction, go put on a Nirvana record before you look at this book, and you really get that idea of immersion in the music," the photographer advises.

All images © Charles Peterson/Minor Matters Books

Kurt Cobain, University of Washington, Seattle, Jan. 6, 1990

Peterson Got Up Close & On Stage With Nirvana

Peterson had ready access to the band in their pre-Nevermind years. "It was great, in these early days, to be able to just crawl around on the stage, go do whatever I wanted to," he says. "It does bring an intimacy that you lose later on when you’re stuck in a position like the pit or off behind a PA or something."

In his early days of photographing Nirvana, Peterson had free range of movement and often stood behind the band or close at their side. The musicians had also become a lot more active on stage compared to when Peterson first saw them. 

Krist Novoselic, University of Washington, Seattle, Jan. 6, 1990

"I don't know what it was, if it was having Chad [Channing] as their drummer or the addition of Jason Everman for a while [on guitar]; maybe that allowed Kurt to worry a little bit less about hitting the chords perfectly so that he could jump around and go face down on the stage and roll around and do all that," Peterson says. "Even so, he’s not holding the audience’s attention. They’re not looking at Kurt; they’re all looking at something over there, which must be somebody stage diving or something.

"It’s all those little details that you pick up on that are great; there’s a piece of crumpled paper in front, and another photographer up in the back," Peterson notes. "And again, in the Krist shot, he's looking at me yet everyone else is looking away. There’s all this other stuff going on that you don’t even have to pay attention to the band. There’s feet in the air here. A lot of Converse in the photos!"

Crowd shot, Motor Sports International Garage, Seattle, Sept. 22, 1990

Nirvana's Audience Was Just As Important — And Interesting

Peterson always focused his lens on the audience as much as the bands. "I love this one because you’ve got a Nirvana shirt there. One person is looking at me; nobody else is. Bare chests. A lot of sweaty, sweaty hair," he says of the above photo, taken at a makeshift venue that was actually a parking garage.

"Seattle crowds, we’re some of the best. And it just didn’t seem right to isolate the power of the bands from the effect that they were having on the audiences," Peterson reflects. "I found that the photos had just that much more power if you could anchor the band in their time and space with the audience, and see what that reaction is between the two, versus it just being the beauty shot of the singer." 

Peterson says there was both a symbiotic and cathartic relationship between Nirvana and their fans. "People would be like, ‘Oh my God, look at those audiences in Seattle!’" The photos distill the essence of that relationship. "The bands are great, the personalities in the bands are great…that idea that it’s a complete scene, that the participation of the audience is just as important as the participation of the bands."

Peterson recalls standing next to the PA at stage right during this show.

"What I would do is, with one hand, lean out holding the camera upside down over the audience. And then I would have my flash in the other hand, so that the light gave a nice kind of mottling to it. Not looking through the viewfinder, just photographing. I do a lot of that," he says. "The camera takes the picture whether you’re looking through the viewfinder or not." 

Kurt Cobain, Commodore Ballroom, Vancouver, BC, Canada, March 8, 1991

Peterson Sensed This "Smells Like Teen Spirit" Shot Was Something Special  

Peterson knew immediately that something special had occurred when he took this picture. "I remember pushing the shutter on this shot and going, What just happened? But then the show moves on." 

A few days later, Peterson was in his darkroom developing the film and finally saw the impact of the moment he captured. He printed the image and a proof sheet, and gave them to Nirvana’s Seattle publicist Susie Tennant, who shared them with Cobain. The picture is on the back of Nirvana's "Smells Like Teen Spirit" single. 

The photo became one of Peterson’s most widely reproduced images. "I think what makes a photo iconic is that the photo reads easily and at the same time is larger than life and dramatic," he says. "And despite the fact that it reads easily to the eye, there’s a lot of other stuff, hidden stuff going on that you need to think about. 

"It’s also a photo that you can sort of transport to any time and place. It doesn’t necessarily have to be locked in with this particular show or anything. It really goes beyond that and then that ends up standing the test of time."

Krist Novoselic and Kurt Cobain, Beehive Music & Video, Seattle, September 16, 1991

By '91 Nirvana Inspired Mosh Pits Everywhere, Even In Stores

Peterson calls this in-store appearance, a week before Nevermind was released, as "a watershed moment." 

"This was the last time I saw them play on a floor, which to me makes for great photos because you’re right there at the same level as them. It really is in your face," he says. "What was totally surprising was the subsequent mosh pit in the store, with people being hoisted on shoulders." 

There were also signs of how things were about to change for the band, Peterson recalls. "Kurt was besieged by autograph seekers outside the store. It was the first time I think that really happened to him. He was definitely overwhelmed by it."

Peterson had some challenges in the darkroom when developing this film, which led to a "weird graininess" that differs from many of his other images. "At the time I was like, ‘Oh God!’ But I think it has a unique look that you just don't get with digital now, unless you really manipulate it."

Kurt Cobain, Reading Festival, Reading, UK, August 30, 1992

Kurt Cobain Cared About His Peers

By the time of this show, Nirvana were a bonafide international sensation. The band were plagued by stories of drug use and rumors about an impending break-up, while Courtney Love had just given birth to her and Cobain's daughter. All of which attracted huge media interest in this performance. 

"I was a little shocked when I went into the press tent; I had never been to a festival like this before and there were 96 photographers listed on the dry board!" Peterson reflects. "Photographers that were shooting from the pit in the front of the stage, they would bring them out and give them five minutes each."

That was not going to work for Peterson. 

"And all of a sudden, Nick Cave finished and there was this huge rush to the stage. And [Nirvana’s UK publicist] Anton Brookes grabs me by the wrist and he’s like, ‘Dude, come with me!’ And we all start running up onto the stage, up the ramp. I was taking a few snaps and then everybody settled into their place. There was Eric Erlandson [from Hole] next to me, and to the right was Mark Arm [from Mudhoney] and some members of L7," Peterson says. "I didn’t have an official stage pass or anything like that, but as long as I was with those guys, it was all cool. That was my spot, so I didn’t dare move from it.

"This photo was a really, really special moment. Kurt, in between songs, he just looked over at us, and mouthed something like, ‘How are you guys doing?’ And we’re like, ‘We’re fine.’ And then we started waving like back at him, like, ‘Go play, dude! Don’t worry about us,’" Peterson remembers. 

"It was like he wanted to check in with his peeps on the side of the stage. It’s one of my favorite photos."

A potential volume two of Nirvana photos is being considered, as is a retrospective of Peterson’s work, which includes photos of Soundgarden, Screaming Trees, TAD, Mother Love Bone, Beat Happening, and a multitude of others. But Nirvana invariably tops the list. 

"You can talk and write reams about the dramas and the ins and outs. But it’s the power of the music that keeps people coming back," he says of the band. "And the fact that it’s not rooted in a time and place; you can make the music be whatever you want it to be. I mean, half the time you don’t know what Kurt’s singing about or even what the words are, but you can shout your own words along to it if you want. It’s the music that really is that lasting, lasting legacy."

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