If you were around in the aughts, Linkin Park might’ve been the soundtrack to your life. Along with his bandmates, rapper/singer/producer Mike Shinoda may have gotten you through something. They got a lot of people through things. But having already introduced himself across the world, Shinoda’s now in the unique position of having to introduce the world to himself—as himself. Alone.
Following two decades of music with Linkin Park, the death of bandmate Chester Bennington last July made it unclear what the band’s fate would be. But after a few months of silence, the group re-emerged in October, to over 17,000 fans, with a nearly three-hour set at the Hollywood Bowl. The set held a global audience. The band was accompanied by a quartet of strings. Shinoda performed a new song, “Looking for an Answer,” written eight days after Bennington’s passing. It was hell of a reemergence, with one eye on the past, and another on the future—and then, radio silence. No one knew where the band would go. The question is still up in the air.
But we had no way of seeing, then, that Shinoda would follow that performance with a handful of singles. And those singles would ultimately lead to what would become his first record under his own name—Post Traumatic. After and throughout the tragedy, Shinoda did what he’s done his entire career: He innovated, persevered. Because life went on. Because it has to. And Shinoda is on the cusp of what, despite decades in the music industry, will be a very new chapter for him.
GQ: So how are you doing? How have you been?
Mike Shinoda: I’m good. I mean, you know, I’ve been trying to say, “I’m doing well today,” you know? And I feel like the good news is that when I kind of check-in, and I think about that, I have more good days than bad.
At what point did you know that you wanted to make a solo record?
I’m always creating stuff. So if it’s a long car ride, if it’s a night off in the hotel, if I’m flying somewhere, I’m always on my computer. I’m always writing words, making beats, creating beds of music. And it kind of never stops. Like, I could just be walking around somewhere, have an idea, and I’ll sing something into my phone. It could be a beat, or a melody, or words. Whatever. So that’s just normal for me—that’s everyday for me. And it wasn’t any different in the last nine, ten months in terms of the process, and the frequency of writing.
But in terms of topics and things like that, it felt much different. And “the moment” was probably five or six months ago, I think. It was probably somewhere around August or September. I was listening to some of the stuff I was making and thinking, “Gosh, I think this is a solo record”.
That was a little scary. At the time, it wasn’t even what I wanted to do. And it came down to the fact that grief and the path out of grief are personal things. This record was inevitably going to be a personal, autobiographical journey. To me, the only way to present that process was a solo album. I just thought that was the most appropriate. In terms of even the path out of—it’s laid out semi-chronologically. The earlier tracks were in fact written and recorded earlier, while the later tracks were recorded later, and you’ll find that, conceptually, it starts in a dark place and comes out of that, to some place a little more open and broad and bright.
The record feels like a journey. Altogether, it felt like a record of resilience? And constantly moving? Never really getting there, but not feeling stagnated, either.
Yeah. You go through days where you have different moods, so the songs have different moods. A friend of mine was joking that as soon as he heard me get into battle-rap mode, he knew I was gonna be okay.
Because that’s what I grew up on. It’s what I grew up doing. And it’s a very enjoyable thing for me to do. In fact, I used to have to focus energy on not doing it, because I would just immediately go to that place when I was writing songs. And I could look back at it and say, “The song, minus the one verse, the song is about something else, but the one verse turns into like a battle-rap.” [laughs]
It ends up being inappropriate or just random. So yeah, to be able to get into a little bit of that by the end of album is a good feeling for sure.
Were there any themes that you were looking to avoid when you were crafting the record? Or had you just decided to take whatever came out and fine-tune it later?
I made a point not to avoid topics, or to shut something down before I saw it through. My philosophy on the record was whatever I was feeling each day was appropriate. It was true. Just make a song about whatever you’re thinking about or you’re feeling. Later on, if it’s not something I wanna put out in the world, then I just won’t put it on the album. And that opened up the possibilities to a lot of the things that you hear on the record, in terms of the really personal stuff.
Like, little daily realizations about conversations with other friends. Or an awareness with how the things that have happened—and the things that I’m doing—affect my lifetime body of work. It’s all chapters in a greater book. So I don’t wanna take it to lightly, and I also don’t wanna stifle myself.
It’s an easy trap to get into to be scared to do things, because anxiety and fear of uncertainty plays such a major role when you’ve gone through something traumatic.
The record feels really organic. Like, mid-way through the album, when you mention being at your six-year-old’s birthday, and things come up, and they just fuck up the vibe?
At the end of the day, I didn’t feel like I needed to edit out anything. The only things I left off the record were things that I felt were redundant. I had a few songs that were kind of about the same thing, I just chose the one that was better. And there was one—early, early on—I think it was only a couple of weeks after Chester had passed away, and I wrote a song called “Looking For an Answer.” And we played that, later on in October at the tribute show that we held at the Hollywood Bowl for him. After we played it, in the weeks that followed, I tried to capture a good studio recording of it, and it just never kind of came together.
That was one of those elusive moments that maybe, at some point, we’ll revisit.
Releasing this record as Mike Shinoda, as a solo artist, how did you know when a song came together? And not just the lyrics, but all of the components—without being able to bounce it off of multiple band members or multiple lyricists? Did the process feel significantly different to you?
The process was very similar to what I always do with the band. My process is very open. It’s very non-linear, in a sense. Because the song could start from a weird vocal recording on my phone, or it could start from a beat on my computer, or it could start from a piano, or core production. And I just ask myself, “What does it need?” and follow inspiration as it comes. Sometimes, that means taking twists and turns and experimenting with something that, in the end, doesn’t work out. Other times, you stumble onto something that you didn’t expect, and you love it, and you change the entire song just to include that thing. I do that whenever I’m writing a song, regardless of which album or what group it ends up being associated with.
The real difference, I think for me, was that, having gone through something that was so big and devastating, I felt out of control. As anyone does in these situations. It just feels like the foundation has been pulled out from under you. You want to have things that you can count on. Things that are predictable and under your control. Making music for me is that way, but also when I decided to release it under my own name, I knew that I was the sole maker. And that was reassuring, to a large degree. If I’m looking for ways to make things a little simpler, and a little more predictable, in a sense, then if I’m the one making the decisions that achieves it pretty well. It’s a really good feeling to know that I could do it that way.
And to be super-clear, I love the guys [in Linkin Park]. We have a wonderful relationship as friends and as bandmates, and like any group or friends or brothers, you don’t always agree. So sometimes when you’re writing a song, or deciding on a tour, or a variety of things, I could feel one way and somebody else could feel another way, and we have to find that compromise. Until you find that compromise, things are at a bit of a stand-still usually. And that could be five minutes, or that could be months. Who knows?
So doing it on my own, from a practical standpoint, felt like it was healthy for me.
Totally. What were you listening to as the album was coming together?
[laughs] That’s a great question because I don’t have any idea. I listen to so many things, and sometimes the things I’m listening to won’t really heavily influence an album. I’d say that the things that really surprised some people were more of the ‘80s, new-wave influences. Things like Tears for Fears, and Phil Collins and Genesis, and a little bit of Talking Heads and Depeche Mode. I’ve always loved those bands. And those things have always been inspiring to me. I don’t think a lot of the keyboard stuff on Hybrid Theory would’ve existed if not for Depeche Mode.
But, you know, you start mashing that up with me rapping and singing, and some beats that are very modern, and some live instrumentation—and you’ve got a new kind of animal.
Have you played any of the songs live yet?
Yeah, I just did my first show. I did a double-header in L.A. I’d already confirmed a headline show at City Hall, for a Pan-Asian Festival, because there’s a few Asian communities here in L.A.—
For APAHM?
Yeah. So I was super-happy to be a part of that. And it’s the perfect way to kick off this whole thing in more of a down-home, communal way. I have a song called “Kenji,” which is all about Japanese internment during WWII. My family was interned, and I’ve never gotten a chance to play that song in its album version before. So I got to play that, and it was really special. And I also—a few weeks before the show was gonna happen—I got asked by the radio station to play their show as well. So it worked out that I could do an earlier set for them. We ended up setting up a stage in the crowd. And instead of standing away from them, I ended up in the middle of the people.
So we had a set in the middle of the afternoon, in the middle of the crowd, and we went to City Hall afterwards. They were two completely different shows, and a really nice way to kick things off.
Do you think that the set-list will shift as you tour and play the record? Some of the tones across the record vary so wildly that I’m wondering how you’re gonna put it all together live?
I’m expecting to be able to play with the set-list a bit. My first version of the set-list is a bit of a journey, and when I first looked at it on paper I thought, “Is this too heavy?” Like, in terms of emotions. Is it gonna be asking too much for a group of fans that might just be there to have a good time? [laughs]
And I decided to just risk it. And I feel like, at its best, it’s almost like a spiritual experience. We’re talking about real-life times, and really, sometimes, heavier stuff. And we’re honoring our friend who passed away. And in the case of “Kenji,” we’re telling stories about my family, and what that means in the larger picture of the world now. All substantive topics.
Do you think you’ll keep putting out solo records? Or more Linkin Park work? Or other groups, with other artists?
Yeah, well… is it true that the aborigines in Australia do walkabouts? Is that a real thing?
I can’t say.
The idea is that, the concept about it that I love, is that it’s a rite of passage to just leave your town or wherever, and to just walk away. And to come back whenever you’ve decided to come back. There’s no timeline. There’s no goal. There’s no destination in mind. You just leave and you see what you see.
And that’s kind of what I’m doing. I have some simple goals. I want to get out and play shows. I want to do my best to support the music I’ve made. So if that means talking to people about it, or doing some performances here or there, or TV, or whatever, then great. I am absolutely all about doing that.
But, on a deeper level, I don’t know what the next steps are beyond those steps, but I’m happy to continue doing those steps until I figure it out. I just think that there’s a lot of blue sky, and I’m willing to take my time in investigating where the path may lead. It’s more about the journey than the destination, I guess is what I’m saying.