I’m a lifelong Linkin Park fan. I grew up on the raging angst of “Hybrid Theory” and “Meteora” and even the sometimes misguided experimentation of “A Thousand Suns.” Now, in 2024, seven years after the tragic loss of iconic frontman Chester Bennington, LP is back and they are asking me to start over with them. Starting “From Zero” is even harder than it sounds.
Getting to know old friends
Linkin Park has taken their sounds back to basics in a lot of ways. The tightly wound mechanical production of their sound that blends rap and rock with screaming electronics and huge pop hooks will forever sound fresh to my ear. But this is not the Linkin Park of many people’s youths, at least not entirely. The sounds of new collaborators – lead vocalist Emily Armstrong and drummer Colin Brittain – have twisted the flavor into something different.
In many ways, this is welcome. Linkin Park was never a band content to stay put in one sound, and as of their previous record “One More Light,” it was clear they needed to break out of some creative constraints. In particular, the two new additions’ energy and heat they bring to many tracks lead the band to sound bright, fresh and even something Linkin Park has rarely been in the past: fun.
Like their nu metal cohorts, LP was typically a very dour band that sang out in agony and created their pop-rap-rock soundscape to match. Now, the lyrical content is not much different but the energy is more playful and pumped up.
This brings me to a real dilemma, particularly when it comes to the matter of vocalists. The color and character of Armstrong’s voice matches that of Bennington’s about 75%, her energy lights up a song effortlessly and she can bring out a new dimension of the band when needed. I cannot view her as a one-to-one replacement for Bennington and I do not want to, but it is undeniable there is a lot about her performance that works here. And that feels troubling after all the hours of discourse fans have poured into the choice to replace Bennington at all, not to mention the controversy surrounding Armstrong’s lifelong but somewhat obscured ties to the Church of Scientology. If there is anything that should not work about this new Linkin Park, it should be Armstrong, but it isn’t. It’s Mike Shinoda.
Shinoda, the bandleader from the beginning, turns in a performance on “From Zero” that strikes me as fine. Not great, not mind-blowing, just fine. Maybe it is just that much harder to get excited for the guy who has been rapping on the track for 25 years now, but to me, Shinoda sounds complacent, like he’s the one who forfeited the game, unlike Armstrong, who clearly knows she has a lot to prove and big shoes to fill. Any claims from outraged fans that the band should be ashamed of the cash grab reunion should be directed at Shinoda in the control room, not the easy scapegoat of Armstrong on the mic.
Tracks from zero to 10
For all the grandeur, “From Zero” is a short album, ringing in only around 32 minutes. One could see this as one of the band’s attempts to land a comeback in a world where pop music continues to get shorter and shorter – and there is some truth to that, there are a few songs which are sub-three minutes – but I also think it is realistic that the band just decided to only deliver their strongest punches to leave a short but solid impression of their new iteration.
“Heavy Is the Crown,” the second single from the album, was the first one to catch my ear. Lead single “The Emptiness Machine” confused me too much right from the title lyric. Any sort of conceptual approach from LP when they are in nu metal form is too heady for me and leaves the lyrics sounding over-involved and juvenile. For the first two albums, Linkin Park was juvenile but in a way that was simple, direct and accessible. When Bennington screamed, “Shut up when I’m talking to you,” it was childlike, but nobody had to guess how he felt. The bone-rattling sincerity of his pain is what kept everything running. I do not expect anybody really feels like they know what an “Emptiness Machine” is – possibly not even the people who wrote the song.
“Heavy Is the Crown,” conversely, keeps it simple. It’s a melodrama about reaping what you sow, something easy for the troubled teens of today to put their own faces to, mouthing the words in the mirror pretending they are on stage with the band. The synth-strings hook that starts the song off makes for a dense, full sound like any good LP rager should have. This is the proof of concept the new version of the band needed to justify the rest of the record.
Conversely, the single “Over Each Other” is a low point for the ambition displayed on “From Zero.” Rarely elsewhere on the album does LP so shamelessly embrace the overpolished slopscape of contemporary radio rock. This is one of the instances where echoes of the “One More Light” era rear their head, down to the fact the lyrics are reminiscent of the previous album’s “Talking To Myself” – tragic, considering that track was one of the more salvageable and emotionally honest of an otherwise dire batch.
“Casualty” is admittedly a real surprise moment from Shinoda vocally, featuring much harsher vocals than typical from him to match Armstrong’s style. It is fun to hear him punch it up to 11 in a way he said he decided against doing for a potential LP comeback long before Armstrong entered the fold. Still, though, the presence of Shinoda’s rock voice speaks to a larger problem with “From Zero.” The spectacle outweighs the substance. The band is flaunting in listeners’ faces saying, “Bet you didn’t expect that!” Even if they are right, even if it is a fun surprise the first time or two, after several listens I don’t want to hear Shinoda singing like this any more than I wanted that back when he said he wouldn’t.
Fittingly, the band continues to bring it back in the second half of the album with “Two Faced,” probably my favorite cut. Fully embracing the nu metal label, the band commits to the idea of a comeback and does it well. All members of the band lock into place in that signature Pro Tools automation level of cohesion that made the first two albums such legendary gems. Shinoda gives a glimpse into his prodigal past with some more forceful bars that bounce off of Brad Delson’s guitar track: “Your truth’s not rigid, your rules aren’t fair/The dark’s too vivid, the light’s not there.”
In the case of all these tracks, there is little in the way of original lyrical material. It’s all the same as it has been across the majority of Linkin Park’s discography: There is always some vague conflict between the speaker and the second-person target of the song, the anger builds and now it’s time to face off. This is a valid point of criticism of the record as a whole; simultaneously, I have no realistic suggestions for what I would rather hear either vocalist sing about. Love? Politics? The 26 lettaz of the alphabet? No thanks – LP’s function has long been to wail in pain and I won’t complain if they want to continue to do so, especially if they can do it effectively.
In most other regards of the album’s music, there is little new to say. The musicians of Linkin Park often were rarely more distinct than the instruments they used. Based on the live videos I have seen so far, it seems like Brittain is a solid addition on drums, maybe a little more fiery than his predecessor Rob Bourdon. Everybody else turns in their work and gets a B+. Production-wise, it remains strange to hear the distinct LP flavors and textures in a context so polished and modern, just as it was strange to hear the renewed version of “Lost” when it was released as a single for the “Meteora” 20th anniversary re-release. It still cures the itch (though the lack of actual record scratching remains as criminal as ever), but I cannot help but recognize the way the 2010s morphed the band’s production into something a little duller than before, squeezing into the space it is given rather than trying to break down the walls of each song’s own confines. Call it a fitting representation of the more comfortable mentality of the band’s new endeavors.
One small step (closer)
For Linkin Park to check themselves back into the “biggest rock band in the world” discussion after effectively ceasing to exist is impressive, to put it mildly. Many of their 00’s contemporaries would sacrifice limbs to have the resurrection LP is experiencing right now. At the same time, every post I see from the band on their social media is flooded with former fans demanding they relinquish the Linkin Park name altogether in consideration of the transformation the project has undergone. While I think the entitlement of these listeners is rather misplaced, I will not pretend I wouldn’t have preferred the same. Shinoda’s endeavors as leader of the alternative hip hop project Fort Minor as well as his solo work under his own name certainly bore plenty of resemblance to Linkin Park sonically and creatively; I see no artistic reason he would not have been able to form a supergroup with some of his former bandmates, Armstrong as the vocalist of Dead Sara and Brittain as a multi-hyphenate musician and songwriter, and led that new group on to put out a record that could sound much the same as “From Zero.” The difference, of course, is branding. Mike Shinoda and his Funky Bunch are not going to hit number one on the charts the way Linkin Park does and has for nearly the past two and a half decades. While I can sympathize with the position that puts a musician in, it still feels like a cynical solution to drag up and pack away so much old baggage. I have a hard time believing this was the only way for these certified industry dwellers to make this record.
To take the album as it is, though, is no tough pill to swallow. The highlights shine at least as bright as LP’s fondly remembered mid-career moments of rock success from around the time pop success exited the reach of just about anyone still using electric guitars. “Two Faced” and “Heavy Is the Crown” can easily kick it with “What I’ve Done” and “New Divide” – right down to the reach toward ever-more accessible and focus tested material. “Hybrid Theory” and “Meteora” remain as untouchable as ever in the face of “From Zero,” which lacks the magic those two records benefitted from, which was that of a young band for whom everything has gone just right.
Now, this new unit called “Linkin Park” has the opportunity to prove they are not content to sit at a point of second stagnation, doomed to revel alone in their own success by becoming the mediocre legacy act they promise not to be. That is one of the strongest points about “From Zero” as a whole, the storytelling of a band that really wants listeners to believe this will be the start of something worth their time. The way Shinoda takes the first chorus on “The Emptiness Machine” before being drowned out by the punch of guitars that lead us to Armstrong’s entrance, the clicking of a cassette tape before a couple seconds of “Fuse” play at the end of “Overflow,” the little spoken bits like Shinoda telling Armstrong to get her “screamy pants on” before Casualty opens up and even just the acknowledgement in the short intro track of the band’s embracing of their original name, “Xero.” Additionally, it warms the heart of my younger self who listened to “Meteora” enough times I could hear it playing in my dreams that the band revived the seamless transitions between songs, where a listener can hardly tell where one ends and the next begins.
With all that said, where does the story go next? If this was chapter zero, what on Earth is chapter one? Will the band seize their opportunity to continue being bigger and better, or will this be an era that punctuates all relevance of the Linkin Park legacy? From here, I think the band needs to look at what truly made them great in the first place. They became famous because they were accessible, but they were beloved because they were relatable – not just in terms of the lyrics, but the sound too. To survive and seriously compete in today’s music world, Linkin Park needs to turn a wise eye toward youth culture, the cutting edge of what is popular now and the failures and successes of their current contemporaries; using all this information could put them over the top to be the sound of the 2020s as they were of the 2000s, at least in the rock world. Maybe they could even be the saviors that rock heads seem to be looking for and never finding.
Personally, I don’t care much about saving rock nor youth culture. I am plenty happy to sit back and listen to a mix of favorites both old and new from one of my favorite bands. I start from zero every time I hear the first percussive punches of “Papercut,” and that is the way I like it; a little bit of “IGYEIH” next to it does me fine as well. I would advise both fellow LP fans and prospective new listeners to do the same. There is nothing wrong with zero, but it has nothing you haven’t heard before.
Charlotte King can be contacted at
cking@kscequinox.com
