Soundgarden
– Down on the Upside
Down on the Upside is where Soundgarden steps out onto a ledge, peers over, and decides to lean into the fall. After the polished bombast of Superunknown, this album feels less like a follow-up and more like a deliberate sidestep. The edges are frayed, the mix is murky, and Chris Cornell sounds like he’s shredding his own throat just to get the demons out. It’s less about riffs and more about texture—grit in the gears, rust in the soul.
Best of…
They weren’t trying to be kings of anything anymore, and it shows—in the best way. There’s tension here, both creative and internal. You can hear a band trying to pull apart while still tethered together. It’s looser, weirder, sometimes uncomfortable. And yet that sense of not knowing exactly where the ground is becomes the album’s secret weapon. It’s a slow-motion implosion wrapped in feedback and falsetto.
This is Soundgarden embracing the mess. The hooks don’t always come easy. Some songs sprawl, others spiral. But buried inside that mess is some of the most haunting, inventive material the band ever touched. Down on the Upside isn’t their cleanest work, but it might be their bravest. It’s the sound of a band choosing to be vulnerable just as everyone expected invincibility.
Choice Tracks
Burden in My Hand
This is their twisted folk song from a sun-scorched desert. Cornell’s voice soars and seethes, as if he’s trying to bury guilt under melody. The acoustic guitar keeps things deceptively pretty, but the lyrics are all blood and dust.
Blow Up the Outside World
Slow-burn meets explosion. Starts like a lullaby, ends like a detonation. It’s the band’s quietest scream, and one of their most emotionally raw. Cornell sounds broken and defiant at the same time.
Pretty Noose
The opener bites hard. That snaking riff and swinging rhythm feel like a hangover from Superunknown, but there’s more bite, more snarl. It struts, sneers, and throws elbows without apology.
Zero Chance
One of the album’s most understated moments, and one of its most devastating. The band strips everything down to melancholy and resignation. Cornell doesn’t scream here—he sighs, and it’s crushing.
Tighter & Tighter
Atmospheric, brooding, and stretched out like a fever dream. The band takes its time, building layers of tension that never quite release. It feels like a funeral procession for the band itself—elegant and ominous.
Down on the Upside doesn’t try to tie things up in a bow. It leaves threads hanging, doors ajar. That restlessness, that refusal to conform even to their own myth, is what makes it last. Soundgarden weren’t just burning out—they were setting fire to their own rulebook.