We told you we didn’t know much about Earl Greyhound, and after Wednesday night’s Paramount show, we’re still ignorant. (Will call tickets trickle in after the opening band takes the stage? Really?) When we finally made it in, Greyhound was pounding through their last song. We noted that singer/guitarist Matt Whyte had worked himself up quite a sweat. We got this photo. They exited stage right.

But late for the opener meant early for the headliner, Chris Cornell. Beating Cornell’s crowd got us close to the stage (yes!) and gave us time to realize we’d forgotten earplugs (no!). Then, precisely at nine o’clock, Cornell and Co. took the stage and kicked off 180 minutes of rapturous, deafening rock.

Cornell’s touring band—rhythm, lead, bass guitarists and drummer—was without a doubt talented and proficient in their frontman’s catalogue. They sounded pretty much like Soundgarden when Cornell steered them into the 90s ("Rusty Cage," "Spoonman," "Black Hole Sun," etc.), and basically like Temple of the Dog when he brought them to Andy Wood tribute-land ("Hunger Strike," "Say Hello 2 Heaven"). They struggled a bit when it came to Audioslave ("Original Fire," "Be Yourself," "Show Me How to Live"), if you can call complete and total Tom Morello-riff avoidance struggling. (We call it wise.)

While the crowd was entranced from the start—singing along and jumping around—it took Cornell and Co. about 40 minutes to match that comfy enthusiasm. Then, with "Outshined" something clicked. Cornell’s stage-prowling suddenly seemed more instinctual than deliberate; the band became more loose and mobile, obviously digging the frontman’s greatest-hits train. Guitar picks, devil horns and smiles were tossed around with equal fervor.

Cornell, without a stage break, slowed things down halfway through with an acoustic, solo set. There was a soulful cover of "Billie Jean," ("What is this crap?!" some ballsy dude yelled) and the lovey-dovey "Finally Forever," both from Carry On. The Katrina-aftermath-skewering "Wide Awake" from Audioslave and "Call Me a Dog" from the TOTD days. The crowd swayed.

When the full band reappeared, Cornell went back to pacing and screaming. They positively nailed "Jesus Christ Pose." There were drum and guitar solos. Cornell lost his shirt somewhere backstage. Females shrieked. (Our fiancé: "He’s a really good-looking man.") And just as we began to wonder how long we’d have tinnitus—about 24 hours, it turned out—they stuck a fork in the thunderous riffage of a Soundgarden medley with Zeppelin’s "Whole Lotta Love." Ho-lee shit.

We’d been a little dubious about a "solo" Chris Cornell appearance, given his wavering recent work. But he stayed away from that material for the most part—and sounded amazing, his signature ripping wail robust as ever. And Cornell’s band dutifully covered the well-oiled work of his hallowed former acts.

We would have loved to see Eddie Vedder appear for "Hunger Strike." And that Soundgarden-reunion rumor sure would have been incredible. But even the most earnest, nostalgic fans can’t judge shows on their lack of "special guests."

Cornell delivered just what we’d hoped for—and feared a little bit, honestly: big chunks of vintage Seattle music. Slightly mellowed and sweetened with age, but still a riot.

Next time we’ll remember the earplugs.