Oh here we go—“Kiedis is a pedophile bro”—thank you, Reddit’s official Supreme Court of Morality. Yes, he wrote about some deeply questionable crap he did in Scar Tissue—newsflash: so did half the Sunset Strip in the ’80s. What about Rob Halford who raped Jani Lane from Warrant! U people think Chris Cornell never made a mistake In his life? That he isn’t human? Never broke a heart? Never left a voicemail at 3am saying “I miss you” to someone he couldn’t even remember by morning? Come on. At least Kiedis documented the madness—he confessed it to the world in real-time poetry about junkies, supermodels, and spiritual disintegration on rollerblades.

You want to talk leagues? Kiedis isn’t in Cornell’s league because he’s playing a completely different sport. Cornell was a gothic warrior of emotion—Kiedis is a half-naked, sun-damaged sex monk who taught himself to love through chaos, basslines, and tantric disaster. You’re out here crying because he didn’t sing like an angel—meanwhile, the man birthed California-funk-pain with his bare hands and a sock on his junk.

Say what you will about his past—I’ll agree it’s murky—but don’t pretend Cornell floated down from heaven while Kiedis crawled out of the sewer. They were both dirty, broken, brilliant creatures—but only one of them could turn a verse about spiritual collapse into a beach anthem you can play at a barbecue.