By admin 
HangupsMusic.com – Los Angeles, The legacy of an iconic rock lineage can cast a profound shadow, a reality deeply understood by Lily Cornell Silver, daughter of the legendary Soundgarden frontman, Chris Cornell. For years, the prospect of creating her own music was daunting, burdened by an immense internal pressure. "There was this colossal shadow," Silver reflects, "making it feel like an expectation I could never meet. My musical aspirations felt incredibly sacred, almost too precious to expose." Yet, a pivotal shift occurred in the autumn of 2021 during her college years in Southern California. Encouraged by friends Luis Verdin and Alex Albrecht, the idea of forming a band, a notion she had previously dismissed, finally resonated. This marked a conscious embrace of what Silver, drawing on therapeutic insights, terms "opposite action." Despite the gnawing self-doubt, she recognized the joy music brought her, compelling her to pursue it regardless of her anxieties.
The burgeoning trio quickly identified their ideal percussionist: Graham Derzon-Supplee, whose Seattle roots mirrored Silver’s own, forging an immediate connection. They christened themselves Josie on the Rocks, a name that soon became synonymous with burgeoning creativity and camaraderie. The band swiftly dove into songwriting and began performing at intimate venues. For Silver, navigating the complexities of her mental health in the wake of the pandemic and still grappling with the profound loss of her father, the band became an anchor. "It genuinely saved me," she confides. "Having that daily focus pulled me out of my own head, out of my isolation."
However, this newfound solace was tragically short-lived. In July 2022, mere weeks after Josie on the Rocks had completed filming a music video for their track "Not You," Graham Derzon-Supplee’s life was cut short by an accidental drowning. The news plunged Silver and her bandmates into a vortex of profound grief. Despite her extensive work in normalizing conversations around mental health through her podcast, Mind Wide Open—which featured candid discussions with figures like Eddie Vedder, Duff McKagan, and various medical experts—Silver found herself utterly unprepared for the unique trauma of an unexpected, accidental death.
The aftermath pushed Silver to her lowest ebb. At 25, she made the difficult decision to enter inpatient therapy, a prospect that initially filled her with dread and internalized stigma. Yet, this challenging experience ultimately proved transformative, guiding her back to herself. The bandmates, now dispersed geographically and pursuing individual musical endeavors—Silver also dedicates time to managing the folk group the Brudi Brothers—recently united to release Josie on the Rocks’ completed recordings. Kicking off with "Not You" and an additional track, "Super Sonic," this release stands as a poignant tribute and celebration of Derzon-Supplee’s vibrant life. "Not You" unfolds as a gentle, reflective piece exploring the complexities of a toxic friendship, with Silver’s lilting vocals underscored by Derzon-Supplee’s steady, anchoring drum rhythms. Its lyrics, "I won’t wait around for you, It’s not why I do what I do," resonate with a quiet determination.
Guitarist Luis Verdin shared a powerful anecdote with HangupsMusic.com: "Days after the release, ‘Not You’ aired on an L.A. radio station. It was a monumental achievement for us as a band, and I was overcome with excitement. But as the song concluded, Graham’s absence felt more acutely painful than at any other point since the release. That feeling was always there; we were always meant to share these triumphs with Graham. But in that moment, there was a distinct finality." He added, however, that "there has also been a profound sense of catharsis and healing in sharing our music with the world." Bassist Alex Albrecht echoed these sentiments, noting, "The dream we had begun to construct as a band was just taking shape when Graham passed. His life ending while ours continued was incredibly crushing and disorienting as we tried to pick up the pieces. My gratitude for Lily and Luis, for the unwavering love and compassion we’ve extended to each other through the immense grief of these past few years, is boundless."
In her own reflective words, Silver recounts how therapy and the passage of time enabled her to revisit this tumultuous period of her life with a sense of peace. She first encountered Graham in college, where he was roommates with one of her close high school friends. Her initial impression was vivid: "He was perched on a beanbag chair in their dorm room, sporting Crocs and a Snuggie, engrossed in a National Geographic. I instantly knew I had to get to know him." Their quirky introduction deepened when he asked, "Do you want to see all my lizards?" — a nod to the local climate where he would scout campus, collecting lizards for the terrariums he meticulously maintained in his room.
Graham possessed an exceptional quality as a listener, paired with an innate, boundless curiosity. Silver, who typically guards her family history and her father’s legacy in social settings, found herself remarkably open with him. "He had a way of asking questions that, from anyone else, might have felt intrusive," she explains. "But with Graham, it never fazed me; his inquiries always stemmed from such a genuine, earnest desire to understand. With him, I could be a more uninhibited friend, and in turn, a more uninhibited musician." She recalls only one instance of him being genuinely upset with her: when she remarked that someone was "boring." For Graham, the concept of anyone being boring was simply unfathomable.
"Graham was undeniably the heart of the band; I believe we all would agree on that," Silver affirms. His drumming was exceptional, but his musicality extended beyond his instrument. "He didn’t play melodic instruments, but he possessed an incredible sense of melody." When writing, he would often discern a note he wished to alter. "I’d play a chromatic scale on the piano until he stopped me at the exact note he wanted," she remembers, a testament to his meticulous ear and dedication to "quality over speed." He radiated confidence, held strong opinions, and harbored an infectious, boundless excitement for music.
Silver admits to a lifelong internal struggle against her desire to create music. "I felt an immense pressure that any musical pursuit would forever be overshadowed by undue expectations, and after my dad passed, that it would inevitably be linked to the trauma of his loss." She never spoke publicly about Josie on the Rocks, cherishing the joy it brought. "I was afraid to tarnish something so sacred by inviting judgment from those who might form an opinion of me before ever hearing my music." It was Graham’s unwavering belief in her talent that ultimately allowed her to shed this heavy burden. His confidence helped her realize she could make music simply for the love of it. Witnessing the profound joy that playing brought to Graham, Alex, and Luis served as a powerful reminder that music didn’t need to carry such a weighty emotional load.
"Not You" holds special significance as the first song the band collectively composed. "It’s a pure distillation of how each of our musical contributions merged," Silver describes. The song explores the universal theme of pain inflicted without clear reason, a sentiment many can relate to. The second track, "Super Sonic," is a nostalgic homage to Seattle’s beloved, now-defunct NBA team—a passion point for fewer, perhaps, but emotionally resonant nonetheless. Silver feels incredibly fortunate to possess the "Not You" music video, skillfully crafted by her friend Hope Alexander. "We completed shooting it in July 2022, less than a week before Graham’s passing. That footage of him playing, of all of us together, proved to be an immeasurable gift."
Graham’s death was a "freak accident," utterly unexpected and devastating. In the wake of such a profound loss, their community instinctively rallied together. Silver recently had dinner with Graham’s parents and his brother, musician Cory Derzon, even drawing Cory and his friends to an annual Balkan music festival in Seattle. "The day Graham passed, amidst our shock and acute trauma, his parents turned to Luis, Alex, and me and said, ‘We’re adopting you guys.’" Their bond has remained unbroken, a testament to the Derzon-Supplee family’s extraordinary compassion. "Graham’s family has demonstrated more care and selflessness than I ever imagined possible in such circumstances," Silver shares.
A month after the tragedy, Silver, Alex, and Luis, along with most of Graham’s friends, had to begin their final year of college. Initially, they would convene for dinners or dedicated moments to openly discuss Graham. "Immediately after a loss, everyone tends to be on a similar page with their grief," Silver observes. "But as time progresses, individuals need to process in different ways. For some, it feels better not to dwell, while for others, all they want is to talk about it. Both feelings can be incredibly isolating."
Her podcast, Mind Wide Open, had previously offered a lifeline in navigating the grief of losing her father and other loved ones. The podcast’s mission was to democratize access to mental health resources by providing a free, centralized hub of expert insights and public figures’ experiences. Through these interviews, Silver gained invaluable personal understanding. She forged a deep connection with Taylor Momsen of The Pretty Reckless, who had toured with Soundgarden and held immense affection for Chris Cornell and the band. Momsen, in their interview, candidly discussed the accidental death of her dear friend and producer, Kato Khandwala, and how it dramatically altered her relationship with music, leaving her unable to listen for months. "She was among the first people I spoke to after Graham passed," Silver reveals, "and she remains a steadfast, beautiful presence in my life."
Several months into her return to college, a broken ankle necessitated surgery. The ensuing immobility forced her to confront her thoughts, precipitating "the worst depressive episode I’ve ever experienced." Silver now understands that "any sense I had that things happened for a reason was shattered." She struggled to find purpose, confronted by the randomness with which life’s most cherished elements can be snatched away. Panic attacks became a daily occurrence in class, and she found herself increasingly non-functional, yet desperately clinging to the desire to complete college alongside Graham’s community. Her mother, Susan Silver, Soundgarden and Alice in Chains manager, flew to care for her. "She’s truly a saint," Silver emphasizes, describing her mother as "likely the most giving, patient person on the planet." Desperate to find the right support, her mother consulted two psychiatrists who both recommended inpatient care. Silver’s immediate reaction was an emphatic "Absolutely not." She clung to the idea of finishing college, but also carried a heavy internalized stigma about that level of treatment.
"I consider myself very open about mental health, but I felt that the idea of going into treatment conveyed something frightening about me, both to others and to myself," Silver explains. "I didn’t want to be perceived as someone so broken that I had to be isolated from my environment to seek help." The entire process felt shrouded in mystery. She recalls Eileen Kelly’s podcast, Going Mental, as the only instance she’d heard someone her age discuss inpatient experiences. Though she couldn’t recall the specifics, the knowledge that someone she admired had gone through it and emerged on the other side made the prospect seem less terrifying.
Through a family friend, Silver ultimately found a treatment program. "As cliché as it sounds, it quite literally saved my life," she asserts. Acknowledging the high barriers to entry for such programs, she expresses profound gratitude for having the resources to access one that perfectly suited her needs. The program’s director, trained in neurobiology, provided Silver with an empathetic yet intellectual explanation of the chemical, biological, and neurological processes occurring within her—her nervous system, her fight/flight/freeze response. This clinical understanding brought a measure of peace. Though Silver initially pleaded for an outpatient option, the program staff were gently realistic. "They said, ‘You can accept help. You can be inpatient, and it doesn’t mean you’re a lost cause.’" They offered comprehensive support, from meals and medication administration to various therapeutic modalities, which Silver, despite her initial reluctance, now admits she desperately needed.
Entering the program, Silver held two firm convictions: "I’m not going to be here more than a month, and I’m not going to be able to make any friends." Both proved incorrect. "The people I met there were truly special—thoughtful, funny, and profoundly capable of holding space for the suffering around them, even amidst their own struggles." Looking back, she recognizes the heightened empathy one feels for others in similar low points. She even completed most of her college thesis from the inpatient program. Unable to be on campus for an initial presentation, her fellow patients graciously allowed her to present to them instead. "It was probably really boring," she muses, "but thinking about it still brings tears of gratitude."
The program also included a music therapy component, offered a couple of times a week. A facilitator would guide a group of patients, aiming to collaboratively write a song. There were no grand expectations; the goal was simply to create whatever music emerged collectively. The group spanned a spectrum of musical experience, from those who had never touched an instrument or were tone-deaf, to professional musicians. Most sessions culminated in a written and recorded song.
The first time Silver attended music therapy, she was still on crutches. "You know things are rough when the other patients in a mental health program feel bad for you," she quips. She was hesitant, her grief still raw and deeply intertwined with music. Yet, a therapist encouraged her. They wrote a collaborative song, and Silver sang and played piano. When the session concluded, she rose and walked out of the room. "I got halfway down the hall before I realized, ‘Oh, my God. I forgot my crutches. I forgot I can’t walk right now.’" That profound moment of forgetting her physical limitations, absorbed in the act of creation, was revelatory. "Music therapy was a significant part of what brought me back to my body and into the real world."
When she launched her podcast in 2020, three years had passed since her father’s death—"no time at all in the grief world." She learned the importance of self-empathy, eventually stepping away from the project when it became emotionally unsustainable. This experience informed her decision to enter inpatient care. "Just because I need this now doesn’t mean I’ll need it forever," she realized. "But if my body is saying I need space to sit with everything I’m feeling, there’s not much of a choice."
Years have now passed since Graham’s death, and Silver, Alex, and Luis remain "very much family." She fondly recalls, "The best time of my life was spent with those three boys, and I think the world of them." In the last year, they collectively acknowledged the profound sense of fulfillment that would come from releasing this part of Graham’s legacy—something he was immensely proud of—into the world, now that the immediate trauma has begun to recede.
Silver offers a nuanced perspective on grief and legacy. "After somebody dies, I don’t think it’s always beneficial to frame things through the lens of ‘They would’ve wanted this or they wouldn’t have wanted that.’" She notes this has often been imposed upon her, particularly regarding her father. "I think that can be more harmful than good a lot of the time." However, she candidly admits to contradicting herself in this specific instance. "I genuinely believe Graham would be disappointed if he knew that everything about our music had come to a halt once he was gone. He was so excited to release it." Her desire is for people to access the music, to see Graham playing the drums, and to hear the songs in which his essence is so deeply interwoven. Releasing this music marks a new, vital phase in their collective grief process.
Regardless of whether one subscribes to the belief that everything happens for a reason, Silver concludes, "all you can control is what you make of it." Putting this music out into the world feels like a powerful declaration: "The worst has happened. We’re still going to make art and make music and give it to the world."