Meteora crashes and burns

posted April 14, 2003

by Michael Gold of Campanile

www.geocities.com

Linkin ParkÂ’s latest album, Meteora, does not reach its full capability and doesnÂ’t measure up to the bandÂ’s debut album.

A 13-second echo of trickling water and crunching glass opens Meteora, the latest album by nü-metal deities Linkin Park. This unlucky 13 seconds, however, foreshadows an album whose ill-fated 13 tracks merely echo the hugely successful formula of LP's 2000 debut, Hybrid Theory.

The latter truly was a musical phenomenon – for those who've lived the past few years in a cave on Mars, it masterfully utilized a winning blueprint of hard-rocking guitars, tight and catchy hooks, adolescent angst, and two commanding vocalists, singer Chester Bennington and MC Mike Shinoda. Yet this four-star album, based solely on the artistic envelopes it pushed, now finds a far less engaging and appealing afterlife on Hybrid Theory Part II, er, Meteora.

It's sad, though, as the men of Linkin Park, which also includes drummer Rob Bourdon, guitarist Brad Delson, deejay Joseph Hahn and bassist Phoenix, seem to be so far removed from the tired rock and roll game of modern times – the punked-out, party-till-you-drop mentality of Sum 41 or Good Charlotte, or the critically lauded mainstream disappointments of The Strokes, White Stripes, Hives, etc. Background interviews uncover a band whose life experiences could fill volumes of lyrical libraries – collectively, they've faced racism, drug addiction, sexual molestation and more, all of which has led them to eschew the usual rock lifestyle of sex, drugs and danger. They were lambasted by critics while Hybrid Theory climbed the charts, selling more than eight million copies and garnering shout-outs from rock gods Eddie Van Halen and Robert Plant. The songs themselves contained very little of substance – a bit of frustration, some regret, plenty of yelling on Bennington's part – yet the emotion was tangible, and it captured the minds of America's youth. So how does Linkin Park keep them coming back for more? Slap a new name on the old album. Meteora is truly about as similar a follow-up to the debut as this reviewer has ever heard, right down to the token synthesized instrumental track preceding the album's closer. On Theory it was the intriguing "Cure for the Itch"; on Meteora, let's get lazy and just call it "Session." Bennington's sensitive side on the hit single "In the End" here is all syrupy vanilla on "Easier to Run," where he serenely croons "Something has been taken/From deep inside of me/A secret I've kept locked away/No one can ever see." Sound a little ripped off? ("I've put my trust in you/Pushed as far as I can go/For all this/There's only one thing you should know.")

The lead single, "Somewhere I Belong," is a by-the-numbers rap-rock standard, sure to enjoy a fruitful life on pop radio for months. The harmonious instrumental loop takes backseat once the crunchy guitars kick in, but like the rest of the members, guitarist Delson falls short of his potential, never once bombarding listeners with a guitar solo the song desperately needs in order to feel original. Instead, Shinoda pulls through in fine form with some well-enunciated rapping, while Bennington's nasal whine has never felt more insufferable – "I want to heal/I want to feel/Like I'm close to something real/I want to find something I've wanted all along/Somewhere I belong." Shut up already.

From a production standpoint, Meteora is as close to godliness as one will find in modern music. The studio costs must be through the roof on this one – as Linkin Park is one of the biggest new cash cows for a struggling industry, Warner Bros., LP's label, have gone to great lengths to keep them satiated, including furnishing them with samples galore to choose from. The Asian-flavored "Nobody's Listening" features an airy, wooden flute swirling around in the background, while "Faint," one of the most energetic tracks on the album, sets Shinoda's mesmerizing rapping against a frantic violin sample.

Yet perhaps the most maddening aspect of Meteora's existence is its running time – clocking in at an anorexic 36 minutes, it's over before it even begins. For a band releasing a new album every nine months, this is excusable, yet Meteora has been in development for three years now.

LP obviously hasn't been putting in the time to stretch its own musical boundaries in directions its potential promises for the listeners – or if they have, the yields of that labor have been relegated to the circular file in some fancy Southern California studio. Now that's one garbage pail worth the 15-dollar price tag.