Here’s something a bit different.
On October 24th, 2000, a quirky rock band from Agoura Hills, California released Hybrid Theory, a “nu-metal” record that blended rap, screaming vocals, hauntingly beautiful harmonies, electronic soundbites, and shredding guitars to shake up multiple pockets of the global music industry at once. Nearly three years later, a very young version of me purchased the band’s follow-up album, Meteora, with his own money, and like many around the world, his life was altered forever.
To celebrate today’s milestone and take a break from writing about videogames for a minute, I thought this would be as good a time as ever to break my nine-year dedicated music article drought and count down my top 25 favourite Linkin Park tracks.
This will of course be a very personal ranking, as music lists often are. However, to ensure the page doesn’t simply resemble a playlist of Hybrid Theory and Meteora on shuffle, I listened back through every album over the last few weeks and tried to balance my thoughts on musical composition and legacy against my own emotional leanings and ingrained memories of time and place. The latter still features prominently, or else the list wouldn’t be worth writing, but every album except One More Light features in some way (I still find that one a difficult listen due to what happened right after its release).
Regardless, the countdown has only one clear rule: Linkin Park, especially in the early years, were famous for remixing and re-releasing songs, so only one version of each track can make the list. Let’s get started.
25. Session
It feels right to kick off the list with something from Meteora, and I also wanted to include at least one of Linkin Park’s customary instrumental tracks. Cure For the Itch may be more iconic, Drawbar more emotional, Wake more thematically impactful, any one of A Thousand Suns‘ many linking interludes more immediately engaging. But Session, well, it’s just cooler than any other LP instrumental. From the moment it turns reverb into a halfway-pleasant sound effect to the percussion rollercoaster atop low synth to the manic scratch climax, Mike Shinoda and Joe Hahn’s indulgent flex straddles Y2K edge and prophetic late-2000s EDM to satisfying effect.
24. My December
I’ve always valued the softer side of Linkin Park’s sound quite highly, and if you ask me the group stumbles just as much when they neglect it as when they shelve the screams and distortion walls. Yet the band is renowned for weaving quieter, heart-bleeding moments between loud bursts of energy; nothing on the first two albums was quite willing to commit 100% to anything even approaching a full ballad. Enter ascended demo / Hybrid Theory bonus track My December, a song that I like precisely because it has always felt more like an experimental proof of concept than a fully-fledged potential B-side. It sure sounds like a Linkin Park track, though: that deliberate beat complete with accompanying whisper-rap, the echoed scratch effects, and the un-garnished, inimitably sad Chester Bennington vocal line. Listen out for that hauntingly restrained bridge.
23. Somewhere I Belong
It definitely feels weird to single out one song in particular for its “nostalgia” value – pretty much this entire project is all about that very emotion – but the opening zipper-tone of this track just hits me on a more fundamental level than any other Linkin Park song. This was, after all, the first of their music videos I saw as a kid, naturally on top-40 countdown staple rage at about 6am one morning in 2003, and so was an absolutely massive factor in my decision to make Meteora the first album I ever bought with my own money. As a song, however, I don’t think the relatively basic composition holds up as one of the band’s very best, so it may not even have made the list if I had discovered the lads any earlier or later. Still, I can’t help but love it, and chances are if you like this one you’ll probably enjoy a whole lot more of the band’s output.
22. The Emptiness Machine
I tried to include more than one song from LP’s latest, um, LP, as I really do like a lot about how they’ve handled the tricky challenges of a post-Chester world. But as much as I enjoy the likes of Casualty, Overflow, and Two Faced, I find myself coming back to the first song of the Emily Armstrong era as its best work thus far. Maybe it’s the impact of that deftly-handled livestream that re-introduced Linkin Park last year with this song; or the way Emily doesn’t even make her presence known on the track until every other classic Linkin Park element has flexed its muscles; maybe it’s the fact there’s just a good, catchy hook at the centre of the song, and it changes up perfectly right before the end. Yeah sure, The Emptiness Machine represents a promising new future for one of my favourite bands of all time, but it’s also just good on its own.
21. No More Sorrow
Minutes to Midnight represented a significant step away from the nu-metal sound of Linkin Park’s first two albums, which needed to happen for the sake of the band’s longevity and artistic growth but proved a source of controversy at the time to say the least. Suddenly the electronic elements were replaced with steel drums, organs and raw piano; the lyrics were less personal and more political; Mike Shinoda was actually singing; Brad Delson was even writing guitar solos! But the largest perceived sleight among the young fanbase was the drastic reduction in loud Chester anthems, and No More Sorrow felt like a built-in apology for that. Hurtling in right on the two-thirds mark within the eclectic album’s tracklist, my fourth-favourite Minutes song never fails to deliver with stadium-tuned panache. The sheer venom in that “thieves / and / hypocrites” line was burned into the neurons of my brain in 2007, and has remained there even since.
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