Reprinted without permission from Request, October 1994  "Hey,
did you all have bratwurst?" Chris Cornell asks, playfully
taunting the capacity crowd filling Marcus Amphitheater on an
unseasonably cool July evening. The answer, of course, is, yes,
we did. After all, this is Milwaukee, Wisconsin, where Pabst
Blue Ribbon is on tap everywhere and the phrase "a day on the
links" has nothing to do with golf. "This is a PBR town,"
Cornell continues, generating a hail of boos for the local brew.
"Come on, don't try to pretend that you're beer connoisseurs or
something." Neither beer nor fashion, it turns out. Many of the
male audience members are turned out as carbon copies of the
Soundgarden vocalist in his pre-haircut days - flannel shirt,
combat boots, flowing locks, and insouciant tufts of facial hair
- making the first 20 rows look like a casting call for a grunge
production of The Three Musketeers. What they have come for,
Soundgarden delivers in spades. Without the benefit of a mosh
pit, the crowd thrashes as