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The newest album's deliberate moves toward punk rock feel contrived coming from a band with this history of overproduction, but it does at least feature one song with a killer odd-time riff. That stuff is the point now, really: all the tiny weird flourishes have become considerably weirder, sometimes compellingly; the swirling spoken-word collage halfway through A Thousand Suns might have been a tipping point. Punching bag or not, Hybrid Theory has actually aged quite well as an artifact of its era, a pristine embalmed facepalm which reminds us that we once decided a nü-metal boy band deserved ubiquity for "In The End." But hey, it'd still make a better Song of the Summer than fucking "Fancy."