Linkin Park: David Fricke Talks to Chester Bennington About ‘Hybrid Theory’ Success
Chester Bennington answered the phone on March 20th, 1999, at his home in Phoenix. The guy on the other end of the line, Jeff Blue, vice president of A&R at Zomba Music in Los Angeles, came straight to the point: “I’m going to give you your big break. I have a great band for you.” The band was called Xero, and they needed a singer. The date happened to be Bennington’s twenty-third birthday; Blue called him in the middle of a surprise party.
The next day, Bennington – whose L.A.-based attorney had recommended him to Blue – received a Xero package in the mail: a demo with the group’s previous singer and one with just the instrumental tracks. Blue told Bennington, “I want your interpretation of the songs.” Bennington wrote and recorded new vocals over the band’s playing and sent the results to Blue by FedEx.
Two days after that, Bennington was in L.A., formally auditioning for Xero at their Hollywood rehearsal space. He arrived with his favorite microphone, some clothes and the blessing of his wife, Samantha, who had stayed behind in Phoenix. He had also quit his job as an assistant at a digital-services firm.
“There was a lot of fear,” Bennington admits, smiling with love and relief at Samantha, seated next to him in a cozy booth in a restaurant across the street from the beach in Santa Monica. “We had a lot to lose – our credit to destroy, a relationship to destroy.” Both are in fine shape. Chester and Samantha, who were married in 1996, just bought a new home down in Redondo Beach and are expecting their first child, a son, in May.
“But when I got that tape,” Bennington says, “we looked at each other and went, ‘This is it, this is the one. It’s gonna happen, even if it takes five years.'” He was way off. Three years after he took that phone call, Bennington – a slender dynamo with black-rimmed eyeglasses, a ring piercing his lower lip and a shrapnel-laced howl that sounds like it comes from someone twice his size – is the singer in the hottest new band in rock.
After he joined, Xero changed their name to Hybrid Theory. They are now called Linkin Park.
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The arithmetic is breathtaking. Released by Warner Bros. in October 2000, Linkin Park’s debut album, [Hybrid Theory], has sold 6 million copies in the U.S. and more than 11 million worldwide. Twelve songs of compact fire indivisibly blending alternative metal, hip-hop and turntable art, [Hybrid Theory] was the best-selling record in America last year – trumping albums by Jay-Z, ‘NSync and Britney Spears – and still sells nearly 100,000 copies a week.
Linkin Park – Bennington and founding members guitarist Brad Delson, rapper Mike Shinoda, drummer Rob Bourdon, DJ Joseph Hahn and bassist David Farrell, a.k.a. Phoenix -are also up for three Grammys on February 27th, including Best Rock Album and Best New Artist. The band’s maiden DVD, Frat Party at the Panhake Festival, is a Top Ten seller, and an official fan club, launched in November, already has 10,000 members. “Each week, we’re in awe,” Bennington, 25, says with a deep gulp of air.
Executives at other record companies must be in tears. For three years, Linkin Park were rejected by every major label in the business and by a lot of indies, as well. Warner Bros. passed three times before finally signing the band in late ’99. Blue, who gave the group a development deal in 1997 after seeing just one show, recalls a Xero club date in Los Angeles packed with A&R scouts. They had all fled by the third song. “The place was empty,” says Blue, now a vice president of A&R at Warner Bros. and the executive producer of [Hybrid Theory]. “You could hear crickets.” When Bennington arrived in 1999, the band played forty-two showcases for labels and, the singer says, “got turned down by everybody.”
It is hard to imagine how the suits blew it. At a soundstage in North Hollywood, where Linkin Park are rehearsing for their current Projekt: Revolution Tour with Cypress Hill, they romp and roar with an invention and intensity free of gangsta affectation and devilmetal posturing – closer to classic Faith No More than mere electric Eminem. Delson, a wiry paragon of concentration who wears a bulky set of headphones as he plays, colors his power chords in “Crawling” and “Papercut” with ringing harmonics that betray his affection for U2 and the Smiths. Hahn scratches custom-pressed discs of his own samples (he does not use other artists’ records) with ambient brawn, often charging behind Delson like a second guitar. Over Bourdon’s tumbling funk in “Runaway,” Bennington and Shinoda shoot and share rhymes like they’re joined at the lip, their bodies rocking in spasms of conviction.
“We hit a lot of roadblocks – we could have easily given up,” says Delson, 24, during a chicken-dinner break at a nearby Popeyes. “But we said, ‘We know what we have is great. We’re gonna keep going until someone else thinks so.’ It should be inspirational for people to know that if you really go for something and are willing to bust your ass, then you can make it happen.”