When I first heard that rock hero Chris Cornell was teaming up with the company of Timbaland and the Pharell Brothers on his new solo effort, I felt the same emotions running through me as you probably did. I was stunned, disappointed, enraged, bitter, humored, and intrigued all at once, gravitating more toward terrified of what was to come than anxious to explore Cornell’s new direction.

So here arrives ‘Scream’, the third installment of Chris Cornell’s solo endeavor, and eleven tracks later I don’t know what to say. W-O-W, really Chris? Who is this guy and what has he done with the real Chris Cornell?

‘Scream’ will most certainly make you do just that. I can hear it now, the echo of a sea of shrill, gut-wrenching “Why, why, why!” cries from disheartened fans worldwide, just like the brutal wails of Nancy Kerrigan following her 1994 attack. Chris Cornell shamefully careens from one third-world song to the next, painstakingly forcing his vocals into this pop-savvy alter-ego which he has adopted. Cornell further turncoats his intrinsic gift by flooding his pipes with waves of synthetic, dead-end effects, colorings, and trickery that do nothing other than make you cringe a little bit more.

As if Chris Cornell’s vocal performance wasn’t disgraceful enough alone, the cheap Casio loops and beats he sings overtop of only add to the wasteland. Cornell must have shopped the B-sides catalogues of acts such as Maroon 5, Girltalk, Ricky Martin, Akon, and even the late schizo-loco Wesley Willis, making some fine purchases that would become the begging-to-be-ridiculed ‘Scream’.

Look, I understand good and well and respect Chris Cornell’s intentions with ‘Scream’. Consider for a moment that Chris Cornell’s journey through music has been like having a hot hand at Monopoly and conquering each space on the board with houses, hotels, and, in Cornell’s case, skyscrapers. The man cemented himself a grunge legend in his Soundgarden days, took us for a whimsical, spacious ride with Audioslave, and got down on some up-tempo blues for two solo affairs. By owning so many properties (yeah, he’s even got the railroads and the pair of utilities to his name), Cornell has been able to dominate the music world for more than two decades. But as he keeps passing GO and keeps collecting his purse, and like many of us can relate, there’s always that one property that seems to elude Cornell, the nurtured for top 40 disco-pop serving as his Park Place or Boardwalk.

In some weird, twisted way, ‘Scream’ is Cornell’s own piece of personal justice; be it is steered by the desire to complete a repertoire or the desire to purchase a few more European homes. ‘Scream’ is horrific, you know it, and I know it. But in the end, Chris Cornell is unquestionably entitled to all the carte blanche he wants, whether we choose to keep listening or not.