Review Summary: Somewhere we belong
When the average person thinks of Linkin Park, what comes to mind? The visceral emotional screaming, the rapid turntable scratching, the poignant piano melodies, the solemn synthwork, the slamming hip hop verses? As much as
Hybrid Theory stormed onto the nu metal scene with its crisp production and an amalgamation of these very elements that make Linkin Park so transcendent, 2003’s
Meteora launched Linkin Park’s immortality to new heights.
Meteora IS Linkin Park.
Hybrid Theory seemingly already perfected the nu metal formula, but
Meteora throws that perfection out the window and establishes itself as the iconic album atop the podium of nu metal. In the same vein as
Hybrid Theory, not a second is wasted on
Meteora, with few songs running past the 3:15 mark. Despite this brevity, each song packs plenty of unique sections within the verse-chorus-verse-chorus-bridge-chorus formula, with a few (Easier to Run in particular) even deviating from said structure. Even within this set framework, Linkin Park’s knack for heightening the emotion at the end of every song remains unparalleled; the simple lengthening of the “I” note at the beginning of Somewhere I Belong’s third chorus, the heartbreaking lyrical change in Breaking the Habit’s chorus, and of course the iconic verse-chorus blend in the outro to Numb all serve to end each song on a crescendo.
Don Gilmore’s production remains exquisite. The layered guitars (layered up to 10 times according to Linkin Park themselves) create a punchy, crisp low-end that roars to perfectly complement Chester’s screams in the heaviest sections. In Don’t Stay’s bridge, the immaculate mix blends Chester’s vocal distortion with the guitar distortion to create one seamless sound combination. The vocal layering on Numb evokes the general histrionics of loneliness in a different manner than the bitterness displayed elsewhere, instead showcasing a more touching side to the band’s trademark sensibilities of sentimentality. The short DJ-scratching in Easier to Run’s pre-chorus tracking with Mike Shinoda’s rapping rhythm is just another elucidation of the impeccable production elements on
Meteora.
While
Hybrid Theory’s more poignant moments were oftentimes eschewed in favor of heavier songs (She Couldn’t and My December were cut from the final record),
Meteora’s tone changes ever-so-slightly towards solemn despair instead of rage. That is not to say
Meteora eschews heavier sections; From the Inside’s bridge demonstrates Chester’s pure indignation, and Figure.09’s bridge emulates By Myself in a perfect call-and-response back-and-forth between Mike’s rapping and Chester’s raw screams. In fact, Chester’s sing-screaming technique is a lot more consistent and uniform compared to the
Hybrid Theory days, eliminating any grunge influence as found on songs like Forgotten and A Place for My Head and replacing it with a sound completely unique to Chester.
On the other hand, Breaking the Habit breaks new ground for Linkin Park, existing completely outside of their typical nu metal formula. Gone are the crashing guitars ubiquitous throughout the album, replaced by background strings and electronic glitches. Pushed even further to the forefront are Chester’s vocals in their purest crooning form all the way up until the bridge, where he switches back into his trademark sing-scream style to further evoke the pain in his voice. Breaking the Habit became a sign of things to come for Linkin Park, its electronic glitchiness evermore present on A Thousand Suns and demonstrating Linkin Park could create quintessential music outside of their established nu metal sound.
Lyrically,
Meteora triumphs in blending a certain vagueness with the ubiquity of its messages’ relatability, yet still feeling true to the band’s personal emotions. Mike Shinoda eliminates the complex lyricism found on A Place for My Head and replaces it with more streamlined, less metaphorical diction, further broadening its appeal. Hit the Floor’s visceral screams portray a powerful message of the vengeful desire for the failure of someone who has continuously put you down, a karma-wishing release of emotion. Additionally, the themes of paranoia and the inability to trust in anyone first mentioned in the very foundations of Papercut stretch far and wide throughout
Meteora, highlighted in From the Inside’s “I don’t know who to trust, no surprise” line. Compared to
Hybrid Theory,
Meteora’s lyrics do show hints of hope; Somewhere I Belong emphasizes the possibility of finding its titular place in society, a stark contrast to the unfiltered despair found in By Myself’s chorus.
In 2018, the first album I ever listened to front to back was
Meteora. As I remember each memory associated with my adolescence,
Meteora blasts as the soundtrack of that era of my life, consumed by uncertainty, passion, paranoia, and self-doubt. When
Meteora was first released, it functioned similarly to
Hybrid Theory as the voice of a generation of Millennials feeling those ageless sentiments; however, with the timelessness of such emotions,
Meteora will live on in immortality to appeal to each younger generation’s internal pain and anguish for millenia to come. After all, doesn’t everyone want to find somewhere they belong?
