A New Design (8)

I loved Linkin Park. I’m not saying this only because Chester died yesterday. Not at all. For one, their two masterpieces Hybrid Theory and Meteora took this 40-something parent of four wayyy out of his musical comfort zone, with a raw, powerful, intimidating and foreign blend of metal and hip hop that many my age wouldn’t go near. And then, there were Chester’s words, monumentally deep, torturous, desperate, desolate and wrenching, and yes, even you old man, you knew what he was talking about in there somewhere, even if you weren’t 15. But then there were the two boys Alex and Ben, a teen and tween respectively. They adored this enigma of a band, maybe for one of the reasons above, or neither, or probably just because it was loud and angry and pleading, or maybe because the divorces they’d endured made them gravitate to something that let them freely scream out their own pain and anguish, doing it privately yet defiantly within Chester’s wailing. Yes, it was the boys’ adoration that drove us to this bracing, brilliant, jarring, exhilarating music. But moreso, it was the first time the kids and grown ups could wrap their heads around the same music. We fell into the rock and roll euphoria together, we could ride the crowd and mosh it up side by side. Wow, what a concept. We took the boys to see Linkin Park twice, first time at the then-Nissan Pavilion, a big deal for all of us in our own ways. And after a Snoop Dogg opening set rife with obscenity and drug references (“Get high, get drunk and f–k!!!” Dogg blared, as we cringed and laughed), all of us ended up Wayne’s Worldesque dancing and pumping fists and screaming in unison along with this rock and hop force of nature that was LP. Mostly, you couldn’t help being mesmerized by their amazing, exhilarating, miraculous, and undoubtedly wounded lead singer. Stalking the stage pulling you into his agonized and elating howls. Yet you could make out his words perfectly. Sure, we got a couple of sly side eyes from the boys, a few ‘what are you doing’ glances. But deep down, I think they dug that we were all sharing something so powerful. So yeah, I loved Linkin Park. It’s not only because now at 56, and in the midst of another divorce, I can play Numb or In The End or, yeah, Somewhere I Belong, how fitting, and blast it in my car with the windows down, crying and feeling and trying to exorcise my own demons for just one minute. But more importantly, it reminds me of a beautiful, rare time when the magic of music bonded a generation together. It united us and our children in a way you dream about. At least for a moment, we got it, and each other. And in some ways, amidst a swirling whirl of change and emancipation for us all, God I hope we still do. 


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