When they wanted to take the guitars down a little, they moved toward a brooding, post-hardcore vision of electronic music that let Bennington flex his inner Depeche Mode fan while retaining a sense of anguish that, it turns out, didn't need aggression to find expression. Heavy as it could be, the music was almost never macho, trading in hard-rock pomp for the arty vulnerability of emo and synth-pop. But part of the reason the band survived was that they were always more versatile than their moment. Hybrid Theory was a once-in-a-generation album, arguably the commercial and creative pinnacle of rap-rock. On a deeper level, the choice set a kind of metaphorical course for catharsis: Linkin Park were angry, but their anger burned clean. It was more that in avoiding blunt, four-letter expressions of frustration, Shinoda and Bennington could challenge themselves to lean into-and lay bare-their pain in ways that cussing only covered up. It wasn’t just about keeping their audience, a portion of which might’ve had trouble slipping Parental Advisory stickers past their parents. When Mike Shinoda and the late Chester Bennington were writing lyrics for Linkin Park’s 2000 breakthrough, Hybrid Theory, they made a pact: No cussing.
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