The riotous peak of the Strokes’ get-out-the-vote concert rally with Bernie Sanders on Monday night came at the very end, when the opening notes of “New York City Cops” ripped through the Whittemore Center Arena in Durham, New Hampshire. Within seconds, fans were storming the college hockey arena’s stage, and a few New Hampshire cops were trying in vain to shut it all down as Julian Casablancas howled about their big-city colleagues: “They ain’t too smaaaaaaaaart!”
“My head’s spinning a little,” Casablancas tells RS after the show, relaxing backstage in sneakers and a promotional T-shirt for Spike Lee’s Do the Right Thing. The decision to play that protest/party-rock song — famously excluded from the U.S. release of the Strokes’ classic 2001 debut for political reasons — was a spur-of-the-moment choice as the venue’s curfew arrived: “It was not on our set list,” the singer adds. “The cops had turned the lights on, so we were like, ‘Let’s just play “New York City Cops,” then, as a farewell.’ One of them grabbed my arm. I was like, ‘Oh, damn, am I about to get arrested right now?’”
With New Hampshire’s primary vote taking place Tuesday — and recent state polls showing the Vermont senator in a close race with former South Bend, Indiana, mayor Pete Buttigieg — the Sanders campaign pulled out all the stops for Monday night’s “Bernie Beats Trump” rally. The lineup at the University of New Hampshire was a veritable Lollapalooza of the left, with a crowd of about 7,500 on hand for stirring stump speeches from Cornel West, Nina Turner, Cynthia Nixon, Rep. Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez, and Sanders himself in between performances by the Strokes and Sunflower Bean.
The Strokes were more than happy to offer their services when the Sanders campaign reached out about a concert for the cause last month. “How can you say no?” asks Casablancas. “He’s the only noncorporate candidate, so by default, he’s the only person who you can trust what he’s saying.”
The fact that the Strokes were preparing to announce their first album in seven years, the Rick Rubin-produced The New Abnormal, on Tuesday was just another reason to get on board. “It’s not about trying to sell records,” Casablancas says. “Whatever energy an announcement can give, [we wanted] to get that attention to Bernie. That’s way more important. We would do probably anything he asked.”
By 5 p.m. on Monday, the frosty concrete outside the Whittemore Center Arena was packed with people waiting for the show. One grey-haired gent in a parka was explaining Hannah Arendt and the fate of empires to a new friend; another was hawking off-brand Bernie buttons to people in line.
Most of the crowd, though, was made up of young people, like Alex, 23, a Rochester, New Hampshire, resident in a pink beanie who liked Sanders’ positions on ending student debt and legalizing marijuana. “And he seems like someone who’s actually a human being, not a parasite,” Alex added. “So that’s pretty cool.”
Jake Boynton, 32, a musician from Needham, Massachusetts, said he’d volunteered to help the Sanders campaign connect with other local acts. “He speaks to regular people,” Boynton said, citing the senator’s support for universal health care and getting money out of politics. “There’s a lack of protest music in modern times, but artists like to get behind revolutions.”
Inside the venue, a brisk business was going in limited-edition Bernie/Strokes T-shirts — a great deal at just $27, as long as you sign the Federal Elections Commission disclosure form — and other assorted campaign merch.
Sunflower Bean opened the show around 7 p.m. with a blast of elemental glam-rock excitement. The highlight of their set was a cover of the Who’s “My Generation,” remaking the song’s nihilistic snarl as a statement of defiant optimism, with the kids up front moshing for the promise of the future.
The musicians in the New York band, all aged 24, are ardent Bernie supporters. When the call came for them to help him get out the vote in New Hampshire, they canceled all other plans and got in the van. The night before the Strokes show, they got to meet Sanders after playing another rally with him in Keene, New Hampshire. “He thanked us for playing, and we thanked him for doing what he’s doing,” says lead guitarist Nick Kivlen. “He’s so brave. He’s taking on every position of power to do this for the working people of this country.”
Sunflower Bean’s activist commitment goes deep. Kivlen has been phone banking for Sanders every day for months — “I’m a musician, I have free time” — and singer-bassist Julia Cumming has interviewed Rep. Ocasio-Cortez for her Anger Can Be Power series. (She was also “Sexy Bernie Sanders” for Halloween last year.) For them, there’s only one candidate worth devoting that kind of energy toward.
“This is the campaign that has the energy of the youth,” says Cumming. “In indie music, we’re not big rock stars living in mansions. We do what we do because we’re in the pursuit of our own truth.”
“There’s a common thread between truth in art and truth in politics that people are starved for,” agrees drummer Jacob Faber. “Bernie is the realest candidate.”
Back onstage, the speakers argued forcefully for Bernie’s vision of democratic socialism. Nina Turner delivered a fiery riff on Franklin Delano Roosevelt’s 1936 “We welcome their hatred” speech. Cynthia Nixon drew boos when she said she’d supported Hillary Clinton in 2016 — “Oh no, we’re not gonna do that here,” she admonished the crowd — that turned into cheers as she described her dream of a better tomorrow in Bernie’s America. Cornel West, master crowd-mover, got some of the night’s loudest applause as he preached the value of human life from Tel Aviv to Gaza to New England.
Each of these speakers used their ample rhetorical gifts to make the case that a fairer society is not just possible but necessary — and that Bernie is the only candidate who can get us there. “Progressive ideals are in vogue,” crowed Rep. Ocasio-Cortez. “Who put them in vogue?” The answer, of course, was Bernie. “We’re not going back,” she said. “We’re going forward.” The crowd roared.
Ocasio-Cortez was the night’s clearest star outside of Bernie and the Strokes, her adroit, persuasive, sharply intelligent speech a reminder of why some see her as a potential presidential candidate a few years down the road. (Casablancas is one of them: “I mean, I would definitely vote for her, but I’m an East Coast-biased, New York-biased, coastal elite,” he tells RS.)
Sanders took the stage a little after 8:30 p.m., surrounded by his family and the idealistic mantra of John Lennon’s “Power to the People.” He’s been campaigning hard in recent weeks, but he seemed blessed and unstressed in New Hampshire, expertly leading the crowd through his greatest hits. He denounced Trump as a pathological liar, a bully, a racist, a sexist, a xenophobe, a homophobe, “the most dangerous president in modern American history.” He got big boos for Amazon’s nonexistent tax bill and equally big cheers for canceling all student debt.
Sanders spoke in clear moral terms that cut through the Washington double-speak his supporters have been hearing all their lives: “It’s time for Wall Street to help the working class of this country”; “Our administration will believe in science”; “It is women who must control their own bodies, not the government, end of discussion.” Huge applause followed each iron-clad declaration.
When the Strokes took the stage at 9:15 p.m., the crowd called for more: “BERNIE! BERNIE! BERNIE!” They wanted an encore, and they got one when the senator returned to the stage with his family to embrace the Strokes.
At last, the night’s musical headliners were onstage. The Strokes raced through an energetic set that began with a cover of Talking Heads’ “Burning Down the House,” spun through a couple of songs from their new album, and hit maximum velocity each time they played an old favorite from their first album. “Someday” had the same winning combination of world-weary regret and youthful insouciance that it had 19 years ago, getting a crowd response as enthusiastic as anything besides Medicare for All.
As the older campaign volunteers went home, the crowd’s energy intensified. By “Hard to Explain,” they were so rowdy that Sanders campaign workers had to hurriedly remove the metal barricades in front of the stage before anyone got hurt.
The stands had substantially thinned out by the time the Strokes debuted their new song “At the Door,” a languid, droning electro lament accompanied by a trippy video, and announced their new album’s April 10th release date. But the true believers up front weren’t done for the night yet.
“New York City Cops” brought the show to an appropriately exuberant, populist close. Casablancas was not, in fact, arrested for this act of musical disobedience. As the song crashed to its halt and the band left the stage, the fans were smiling.
It was a Strokes show like no other — a much smaller room than the festivals and major-league arenas they normally haunt, but one with much more wild, anarchic energy. “It was strange,” Casablancas tells me afterward. “Like a Sixties show. It reminded me of movies about the Doors or something.”
He sounds tired from the show, but energized for what’s to come. “People believe what he’s saying,” he says of his chosen candidate. “They feel like he’s honest, and that’s so different and refreshing.…You need revolutionary change right now. People sense that. And Bernie’s the only one going there.”
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Sometimes, when a woman is very unexpectedly put at the top of the ticket, things very unexpectedly go right.
Now, in the course of reviewing Linkin Park‘s first full comeback concert to feature the group’s new female lead singer, I promise not to make too many more electoral comparisons. It would be a stretch to find too many correlations between what happened with Kamala Harris being abruptly elevated to the head of the Democratic ticket and the rather more elongated process that led to Emily Armstrong being hired into Linkin Park, filling the vocal shoes of the late Chester Bennington. But the analogy goes at least this far: in both these cases, what might’ve initially seemed like a hail-Mary pass has turned out to feel like an honestly shrewd move.
Is it a touchdown? November may tell the tale in either case. Just as in the political realm, there is still some yardage to go with Linkin Park — since almost no one has yet heard the new album that the band recorded with Armstrong, “From Zero,” which won’t be released till Nov. 15. The band is preceding that by introducing the new lineup by doing a short series of shows without debuting any of the fresh material, apart from the single that just came out, “The Emptiness Machine,” which is a promising if not definitive start.
But the reconstituted and reconfigured group passed a serious test Wednesday night at the Kia Forum, powering through two hours’ worth of legacy material, with Mike Shinoda vigorously fulfilling his co-frontman duties and Armstrong stepping into the newly created role of co-frontwoman. Whatever controversies have been attendant with this all-important new addition — and there have been multiple headlines to make it clear not everyone is on board with her — when it comes to the actual matter of the music, you would’ve been hard-pressed to find a soul in the galvanized Forum crowd who would have told you this risky gambit wasn’t paying off.
You didn’t even necessarily have to be a committed fan of Linkin Park to join in the celebratory, often downright joyful feeling inside the building. You just had to be a fan of phoenixes.
It’s hardly unheard of for women to front heavier-leaning bands, but it has been a challenge for any femme-fronted hard-rock groups to make it to the upper echelons. (OK, it’s hard for any rock band to rise to the level of stardom that’s accessible in other genres nowadays, but that’s a discussion for another day.) Put it down to sexist bias or just the lack of opportunity at the right time, but it really has seemed as if, for the idea to succeed on a massive level with the aggro-loving public, it might have to involve drafting someone into an already highly successful outfit. There’ve been a couple of tantalizing what-ifs in that regard — namely, when Van Halen reportedly invited Patty Smyth to replace David Lee Roth, and got turned down, and later, when the group brought in Sass Jordan for a few months in ’96, supposedly with the idea that she might fulfill the Sammy Hagar replacement role that ultimately went to Gary Cherone. In the end, neither probably had the court-jester quality that was expected out of a Van Halen singer, but they still seem regrettable as near-misses, in that we had — and lost — the opportunity to see what would happen if a woman’s touch was added to one of the most stereotypically testosterone-driven bands in history.
We’re finally getting a roughly comparable example of that with Armstrong’s infusion into Linkin Park, and there are reasons why this is a more suitable match than anything Van Halen could have probably done anyway. For starters, Bennington’s whole persona was essentially emo, not macho, so it’s not as if a woman assuming his duties feels like playing so much like playing against type. If you’re more than the most casual fan of Linkin Park, chances are that you likely sit in that intersection of music fans who want to be slammed against the wall by power chords but also sit deep in your feelings… as Bennington did to an ultimately tragic extent. You could say that that’s one reason why “the part” almost begs to be played by a woman, although of course the best reason is going in an obviously different enough direction to disinvite the direct comparisons that still make it tough for some to sit with the men that now front other bands that are still carrying on after facing the same situation, like Alice in Chains, Stone Temple Pilots and Sublime.
So the question with Armstrong was, while bringing an innately different presence, could she fulfill dual roles that Bennington brought to the band in performance — as alternately a singer and a shredder? She can, and then some, most obviously in the songs that call upon the latter. Armstrong is, to borrow a term from a different medium, a scream queen. And if you have a taste for that as a vocal talent, there were many, many moments in Thursday’s Forum show that were thrilling to behold, even as they made you wonder what kind of vocal coach Armstrong has that has assured her she can get away with doing that to her vocal cords over the course of tours to come. That’s her problem (if it is one; let’s hope not), but for as long as she’s got that magnificently ravaged rasp within her, it’s to our benefit.
Does she do it exactly the way Bennington did, in tone as well as sheer force? Of course not — there was a soulfulness to his loudest, angriest and most anguished moments that was partly his unique range, and partly a function of him as lyricist. But there’s something about her ferocity in those most howling moments at the Forum that made her seem like an actual punk singer. I do mean it as a compliment. It’s hard to know what Bennington would think of Armstrong as a raging interpreter, but I think he’d be proud. Arthur Janov might be even prouder.
When she wasn’t crouching in a primal bellowing position, Armstrong established that she can stand up straight and sing sweetly and melodically, too, which is an equally important part of the job listing, if not as much the unicorn part of it. An acoustically based section late in the show kicked off with “My December,” a song not played at a Linkin Park show since 2008, with Armstrong singing alongside Shinoda and not much other accompaniment. At that moment, as she settled into a gentle side (but still a deeply melancholy one — this is Linkin Park), it felt like she was home for the holidays.
If there was one thing that didn’t yet feel completely settled in Armstrong’s performance, it was the inevitable conflict between how much to be an alpha female in that leading role and how much to have a deferential presence when she wasn’t howling. It’s understandable that she would want to go light on the cockiness, as the new stepmom that’s been drafted into the family. There’s a reason why, at every Queen + Adam Lambert performance, the singer gives a short speech about how he doesn’t try to fill Freddie Mercury’s shoes; humility is a default position in this situation. And she did have an easy rapport with Shinoda, who did most of the talking, as the one who’s going to explore shared history with the audience, and try to make them feel that this new family dynamic is going to be OK — not that the Forum crowd seemed to need any persuading in that regard.
As much as the introduction of Armstrong is the most intriguing element here, there’s no mistaking that it’s only partly about her, and that it was just as interesting to focus on the glee that Shinoda and the other returning members were clearly feeling at being back in business after leaving the franchise dormant for seven uncertain years. Shinoda was always the good cop to Bennington’s… well, not bad cop, certainly, but let’s say tortured cop. This isn’t to say that there aren’t any shadows on his side of the street, or that his half of the music is depthless, but his combination of rapping and singing always added a sort of propulsive approachability to Linkin Park, when Bennington’s unleavened passion — and, frankly, depression — might have been harder to take. This band is his baby, too, and there was something about his presence at the Forum show that came off almost as surprised to be happy. A fan base that had waited in the wings for the last seven years knew exactly how that felt.
Dynamics are a big part of why Linkin Park was such a success for its original 17-year run, when not much else massive was happening in rock in the 21st century. The dynamics of constantly shifting duties between Shinoda and Bennington, but also the dynamics of being soft and loud within a song — which Linkin Park could do a lot more subtly than some bands that employ sudden volume shifts for shock effect — and eventually, over their career, small evolutions back and forth between their metal, alternative and electronic impulses. Those all continued to be in play in Wednesday’s show, with firmly anchoring bassist Dave “Phoenix” Farrell and sampler/programmer dude Joe Hahn continuing in the fold, and Colin Brittain now taking over on drums and Alex Feder stepping in as their new touring guitarist. (Hahn continues to be the only guy in the group to get his name in a “song” — “Joe Hahn Solo,” an electronic interlude that kind of serves the trippy function in a set that Mickey Hart’s “Drums” section does in a Dead show.)
Wednesday’s L.A.-area show was the first of six Linkin Park is doing as a super-brief introductory arena tour this year, to be followed by just one other U.S. show on Sept. 16 at New York’s Barclays Center, at New York’s Barclays Center on Sept. 16, followed by dates in Germany, the U.K., South Korea and Colombia. A full tour will follow in 2025, and the band indicated in a Billboard cover story that they’re looking at stadiums for that run.
Can a band that has lost its most magnetic presence return, and sustain, that big? It’s possible that the ecstasy generated among the crowd at the Forum was part of a bubble, just as it’s possible that the surge for Kamala Harris is its own bubble. (Sorry, I said I wouldn’t go back there, and then I did.) Maybe the controversies over this renewal will prove too much for a portion of the old fan base Linkin Park needs to maintain. Maybe factions will object to what they’re hearing about the new singer’s religious affiliations, or about her past associations with one of that religion’s disgraced adherents (though she issued a statement disassociating herself, once that angle started to blow up). Maybe some just won’t want to hear a woman in that role. Some have already expressed the notion that it’s wrong for the band to carry on with any “fill-in.” And, sure, perhaps the new album could suck.
It’s not our place to address every single one of those issues here. But when it comes to the core issue of whether to carry on with different members taking on the duties of keeping repertoire alive, or to let sleeping bands lie… given the choice between preciousness and music, isn’t it always advisable to pick the latter?
And there’s something transformative that has happened with Linkin Park’s music after a seven-year interval. Perhaps the biggest danger in the band coming back was whether touring these old songs by Bennington (on top of Shinoda’s contributions, obviously) would feel like Clinical Depression Cosplay… happy campers at play replicating some of the most relentlessly despondent songs ever committed to record.
I’m relieved to say it didn’t feel that way at the Forum. There’s ongoing catharsis in the powerful expression of this sometimes personally agonized material, whoever wrote all of it, as the sing-and scream-alongs would indicate. Armstrong is able to convey this material with a roar that doesn’t undercut its essential seriousness at all… even as the band is clearly ebullient in the moments when exultation feels like a natural response to this revitalization. At the risk of using memorial-service cliches, this feels like a celebration of life — of Bennington’s, yes, but also of everyone else in the band who deserves a chance to carry on and thrive. And to make 17,000 people a night (or maybe 60,000 a night, next year) very pleased to still be on the planet.
Setlist for Linkin Park at the Kia Forum in Inglewood, Calif., Sept. 11, 2024:
Somewhere I Belong
Crawling
Lying From You
Points of Authority
New Divide
The Emptiness Machine
The Catalyst
Burn It Down
Waiting for the End
Castle of Glass
Joe Hahn Solo
When They Come for Me/Remember the Name
Lost in the Echo
Given Up
One Step Closer
Lost
Breaking the Habit
What I’ve Done
Leave Out All the Rest
My December
Friendly Fire
Numb
In the End
Faint
Papercut
Keys to the Kingdom
Bleed It Out
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