Black gives way to blue

A love letter to Jerry Cantrell

Looking back, grunge seemed doomed from the off; a genre shaped by trauma. Andrew Wood’s death before the word had even escaped Seattle helped to shape the scene; Mia Zapata’s white hot force was taken from us far too soon; three years in the spotlight was enough for Kurt Cobain, the totemic icon of it all. As the years piled up, so too did the lost icons. Layne Stayley, Scott Weiland, Chris Cornell, Mark Lanegan. Those last two hit me hard, I really thought they were through the other side and would grow old with me. Pearl Jam stand as outliers, their contemporary line up remarkably untouched by loss compared to peers like Soundgarden, Screaming Trees and Alice in Chains.  

Alice in Chains have been one of the pillars of my psyche since I first heard Jar of Flies in 1994. Both floaty light and darker than midnight in a coal mine, the melodies and harmonic twin vocals drilled right into me. Then I got my hands on Dirt, their groundbreaking second album. I found layers and textures in those oppressive, stygian tunes. Way down in the depths, my aural landscape opened up into glorious widescreen. If Nirvana were my first beer, Alice in Chains were my first trip. Britpop came along and turned my head with all that bouncy optimism, but Jar of Flies was never far from the tape deck in Christine, my knackered old MkII VW Golf.

By the turn of the century AiC were halfway to hiatus already. Over the years there had been a couple of new tunes and an incredible Unplugged set, but Layne Stayley had become a recluse, barely leaving his Seattle condo. In April 2002, after his accountants noticed his bank account had gone untouched for two weeks, he was found dead, aged just 34¹. I thought that was the end for Alice in Chains, such was Stayley’s aura and importance to their sound. 

But I was wrong. The surviving members regrouped a few years later to raise money following the Boxing Day tsunami of 2004 and the fire was still there. William DuVall came in on co-vocals and the new look Alice in Chains was born. It wasn’t about replacing Layne, it was about honouring him. They’ve released three albums since; like the rest of us they’ve mellowed with age, however their trademark swirling darkness is still there.

Credit: Kerrang

The thread running through it all is, of course, Jerry Cantrell. Founder, lead guitarist and principal songwriter. In 2024 he’s an elder statesman. There’s a real stoicism to Jerry’s solo stuff; a man comfortable in himself and his years, just doing whatever he wants. I strive for that sort of comfortable balance. Recently I’ve had his new solo album, I Want Blood, on heavy rotation. It’s much darker than 2021’s Brighten; at times it veers closer to AiC’s sound than any of his previous solo works. It’s replete with beautiful riffs and hooks² and features appearances from guest musicians such as Duff McKagan, Mike Bordin and Greg Puciato - all dudes who’ve had me banging my head with their own work.

Quick aside: sometimes when I sit here working, listening to music and headbanging along, I can still feel my long departed hair flinging back and forth. I’ve heard of phantom limbs (AiC have a song titled as such) but is phantom hair a thing? I think so. Prove me wrong, so called experts.

I’ve been doing a lot of reflecting since finding out I’m neurodiverse. You kind of have to – that diagnosis is a hard reset on everything you thought you knew. When I look back over my life Jerry has always been there, lurking in the shadows like a heavy metal guardian angel. Between his solo output and Alice’s oeuvre, he’s never been far away from my eardrums.

(Sheepishly, I have never seen either Jerry or Alice in Chains live. AiC are the biggest of the few live music unicorns that I have left to catch³.)

When I talked about stimming recently, I mentioned playing the same song on repeat, almost to the point of obsession. When I was at my lowest – or maybe you could say I was Down in a Hole – Alice in Chains were always there. Dirt is one of the bleakest albums you will ever listen to, with lyrics referring to heartbreak, death and substance abuse. Misery loves company; or maybe there was some comfort in knowing that there are worse stories in the world, maybe knowing the adversity that created such amazing tunes was a life raft in a stormy sea.

Credit: Consequences of Sound

There’s plenty of light in their output too, which has been even more of a comfort. The aforementioned Jar of Flies, the first acoustic EP to debut at the top of the Billboard 200, was intended to clear the cobwebs after two years of touring Dirt. While the lyrics detail alienation and depression, the mostly acoustic accompaniments are littered with progressive chords and uplifting strings. It’s a beautiful collection of music and contains one of my favourite songs of all time: No Excuses.

No Excuses is about Jerry and Layne’s fractured relationship. Over a hopscotchy bassline and gently syncopated drums, the two harmonise along to a cyclical, shimmering riff. The lyrics sing to a positive resolution to their problems. To me, No Excuses is synonymous with unconditional love. It is uplifting and hopeful, and just listening to it has pulled me up from the mental ditch more times that I’d care to count.

Cantrell’s songs do this a lot. Got Me Wrong, Heaven Beside You, even Down in a Hole – get past the downtuned gloom and all of them are actually, at their core, big old love songs. For a man who made his name peddling some of the weightiest guitar lines outside of traditional heavy metal, he’s a soppy old bastard really. That bendy old riff on Got Me Wrong always, without fail, softens my mood.

Perhaps, rather than just simple longevity, that’s the real reason I cherish the guy. After all, I outwardly present to the world as a burly old trooper, an extra off the set of Sons of Anarchy. Damn the man, fuck the world, smash the system. I’ve worked for the same company for 13 years, and some people are still scared of me. But all of that is a way to hide the sensitive soul within, the voice that I spent decades throttling until therapy got me to loosen the chokehold.

The title of this piece is the also the final song, and title track, from Alice in Chains’ comeback album. It is tribute to Layne Stayley. The title means, in Jerry’s own words:

Sometimes there are very dark and challenging times in life and it may seem like things will never get better. But if you stay strong and keep moving forward and look out on the horizon, you'll start to see a little point of light way out there. And slowly, the black would give way to blue.

The tail end of 2023 into the beginning of 2024 was one of the hardest periods of my life⁴. And while I didn’t experience any loss (never mind a loss as great as Jerry did when Layne passed) that explanation hit me in the cerebral cortex like a physical kick to the skull.

Stay strong. Keep moving forward. Black gives way to blue.

Thank you, Jerry.

1. Original bassist Mike Starr also passed away, in 2011. Drummer Sean Kinney added the initials LSMS to his kit in memory.

2. If I get to the level where I’m working my laptop with half the grace and skill Cantrell works his guitar, I reckon I’ll die happy.  

3. Alice in Chains, Rage Against the Machine, Deftones, Kyuss, Fugazi. Doubt those last two will ever happen, but hope springs eternal.

4. Next time out, we’re going to talk about the hardest.