Becoming Led Zeppelin (2025)

[bunniefuu]

As a kid

in England,

we were living in the shadows

of the Second World w*r.

Your parents

and your grandparents

had been through

two world wars.

And at the end of

the Second World w*r,

there was this great feeling

of hope towards the future.

In London,

there was lots of

damaged buildings

and craters and...

I mean,

it was an apres w*r zone.

There was rationing still.

I remember

uh, getting eggs and milk

and butter and stuff

with a little book with coupons.

People were recovering.

Outside of

London, in the West Midlands,

it was a post-w*r,

sort of semi-suburban

quiet life.

So America was my dream

because it was

a totally different world

to the one that we were in.

I was listening to this

marvelous rock and roll

coming in from America.

And you're hearing all this

electric guitar playing.

I mean, it was almost like

it was coming from Mars,

even though it was coming

from Memphis.

But here in Britain, we were

stuck with these musicians

who were really safe,

until this force of nature

called Lonnie Donegan arrived.

I was so mesmerized

by having seen

Lonnie Donegan play.

It was like a portal.

It gave some access

to the sort of freedom that you

hadn't witnessed in England.

Give it up, Jimmy!

So, one day I come to school

and I see...

this fellow standing up

in the field

with lots of people around him.

His name was Rod Wyatt,

and he's playing

the Lonnie Donegan songs

on an acoustic guitar.

So I went up to him and said,

"I've got one of those

at home."

And he said, "Bring it along

"and I'll show you

how to tune it up."

And then he showed me

some chords as well.

I was absolutely

inseparable from the guitar.

You know, I'd play it

before breakfast

and then play it

on the way to school.

I'd go there

and want to practice,

but it would be confiscated

and given back

at the end of the day.

My father was like,

"Well, I don't

really understand

all this guitar business,

but...

"I'm with you on it,

"providing you keep

all your schoolwork up."

But my mum was

really supportive to the idea

of me carrying on

and starting in a group,

and she really believed in me.

I mean,

it was really a big deal.

My parents

were in vaudeville.

My mum was the straight singer

in the evening gown

and my father was a comedian.

He would play the piano.

And so I used to travel

around with them

to all the bases,

where they'd entertain

the troops.

And there would be just one

international act after another.

Accordion players

and banjo players.

I took all this in.

So I was from

that musical tradition.

And it was all the basis

for everything I ever did

afterwards.

I grew up

in the West Midlands.

My father's bloodline

is from there,

and my mother's side of

the family are Romani Gypsy.

My childhood

was very sheltered,

until my parents sent me

to a big school in a big town.

Studied to be

a chartered accountant.

I mean, I'd really dug a lot

of what was going on at school,

but when Little Richard

appeared,

it was so provocative

and all-consuming

and hypnotic

that it kinda knocked everything

else out of the water.

I knew then that

all I wanted to do was sing.

I mean, that was it.

The syringe was in the arm.

Forever.

Oh, well, I'm John Bonham.

I always liked making

drum sounds when I was a kid.

I got my first drum kit

when I was ten.

And we went to see a film

with Gene Krupa,

and it was just amazing.

Up here

in the Midlands,

I used to buy completely

different records, you know.

Johnny Kidd & the Pirates

were a strong influence then.

You heard it

on all the jukeboxes.

Of course, they've got those

huge 15-inch speakers.

That's about all you could hear,

was the bass.

I heard that and thought,

"That's a sound

I would really like to make."

When I told my father,

he said,

"Bass guitar

is a novelty instrument.

"And in two years' time it will

never be heard of again.

"Get yourself a saxophone,

you'll always work."

So I said, "No.

I want a bass guitar, Dad."

He heard me practicing

and went,

"Hmm, you're coming with me.

"All you've got to do

is watch my left hand."

On the piano. So...

I learned all the standards

from that.

I had a little band.

We were playing

at the youth club.

And I got talking to their

very go-ahead young priest.

He went,

"We'd really like an organist."

I said, "Well, I could be an

organist for you, if you like."

Not thinking anything of it.

He went, "Yeah. Okay."

In church music

you have to improvise.

But as I wasn't very good

at playing from music anyway,

I just improvised everything.

I learned the hymns.

I could figure out

what the hymns were.

I'm not particularly religious,

but it was a good gig.

All right?

And he was a really cool priest.

And so I became organist

and choirmaster at 14.

Which paid me

the princely sum of 25 a year,

which bought me a Fender bass.

I used to go and jam

on Thursday night

at the Marquee Club.

And after a period

of doing this,

this band called Carter-Lewis

and the Southerners

came up to me and asked me

if I'd like to play

on their record.

I said, "Yeah, sure.

That sounds really good."

So I went along with my kit.

The DeArmond foot pedal

and the amplifier

and my brand-new

Gibson Les Paul.

And the band would say,

"Well, just make something up

for the solo."

By the second run-through,

I've already got a part for it.

And the buzz

must have gone around

about this young guitarist,

because I started to get

calls for more studio dates.

When I got into

this session world,

I was, like, seven years younger

than anybody else.

And they didn't have somebody

in the old guard,

or the current guard,

who really knew

all the influences

and the points of reference

that the young bands had.

So, of course, I knew all of it,

whether it was, like, R&B

or whether it was blues

or rock, whatever it was.

Everybody was getting

these records

that originally came over

maybe with the American

merchant vessels.

The R&B boom had kicked in.

I went to see

Sonny Boy Williamson

at the American Folk

Blues Festival.

It was around the time I was

learning to play harmonica too.

So it was just this

amazing onslaught

of music from whence

we had no idea.

Sonny Boy

was almost everything

that's become my whole entire

musical bloodstream really.

But in my own hometown,

I had my own hero,

and it was Perry Foster.

And he had this kind of setup

called the Delta Blues Band.

And, um, somehow or another,

I managed to blag my way

into this band.

I was prepared to be a mod

or a rocker

or a beatnik or anything

so long as I could sing

and gather these looks

around me,

just trying to make it

stick on the wall.

I used to play and

I used to have a job as well.

I used to be working with my

father in the building trade.

Used to be good builders then.

But, you know,

the job gradually gets less

and the music more, you know.

That's what seems to happen.

You know, we left school

and we formed small groups,

and things like that,

and played locally

and everything.

You know, for me, soul music

was a strong influence then.

James Brown

was a big favorite

because, you know, the drum

sound was just amazing.

I thought,

"I'm gonna get that sound."

When I was 16,

I went to see a group

with Robert singing.

The gig went incredibly well

because he was bloody great.

In the crowd

watching this

was some larger-than-life guy

with his beautiful girlfriend.

He got a hold of me afterwards

and he said,

"Well, you're okay,

"but you'd be a lot better with

a proper drummer behind you."

And I thought,

"Jesus Christ. Here we go."

The first time

we played together

we were about 16.

And it was really good.

John was amazing.

He was a really

powerful drummer.

I watched him

with absolute amazement.

He was just fantastic.

But it's so competitive

playing locally anyway.

You'd, like, have a time

going on the road

and everything would be roses,

and then all of a sudden,

no more gigs, no more money.

You're back to where

you started, you know.

One time, we were

running out of fuel

and I had to siphon gasoline

from another car

and I was caught by the police

in the middle of the night,

sucking a piece of rubber

into a can.

And him sitting in the back

shivering,

thinking, "What the hell

will Pat say?"

Pat became his wife,

and she used to say,

"Don't you dare play

with that Planty.

"He's a complete disaster."

I left school at 16.

I failed most of my exams

because I'd been playing

all night in some club

the night before my O-Levels.

And my dad was saying,

"Well, I can get you a job

as a clerk somewhere."

"No, no. I'll find a band,

Dad. I'll find a band."

So there used to be a place

in London

called Archer Street.

And every Monday morning,

all the local musicians

would congregate for work.

And so I went there as a kid.

Every Monday morning,

I was there.

And I started getting

booked with bands

and in the session scene.

Here comes Jimmy Page

with his electric guitar.

That's my Les Paul,

my Black Beauty.

And this guitar was the guitar

that I played most of

my sessions on.

There we are.

Going in there to see

what I'm gonna be faced with

on that music stand.

Sessions were a lot of fun

in those days, actually.

When I started, I ended up

playing a lot of sessions

together with Jimmy.

The Goldfinger session

was at Abbey Road.

Jimmy and I

were in the rhythm section.

There was a full orchestra

and Shirley Bassey.

The whole energy...

Just to be in there...

I mean, you know,

I'm still a kid, really.

And it's,

"Wow. It's Shirley Bassey."

While you were playing,

you could see her.

And she did the whole thing.

Like that.

It was wonderful to watch.

These studios would work

with ruthless efficiency.

So you couldn't be the one

to mess up

so they went into overtime.

Of course, if you messed up,

you wouldn't have

been seen again.

There'd be, like,

a pocket diary, like this,

that I'd be carrying with me.

I played on sessions with

the Rolling Stones,

David Bowie, Petula Clark...

I was on the Kinks' records.

The first Who record.

I mean, it goes right

across the board.

But I didn't do anything

with the Beatles.

I did quite a lot

of work with Donovan

and I really enjoyed

working with him.

And Mickie Most

was his producer.

These sessions were great

'cause I could watch

and I could ask questions

about things,

and I certainly did.

I made it my business

to ask engineers

how certain effects were done,

like tape echo and reverb.

And you could see the way

that they were miking

various instruments.

And, basically,

that's what I could do.

I was allowed

to sort of do that.

Not only that, I got a chance

to have a solo as well.

So that was good.

I went up to Mickie Most

and said,

"Do you need an arranger?"

"You do..."

"Yeah, I do arrangements.

"Yeah. All the time." And...

I hadn't really

done that before.

But my dad had always taught me

never turn down work, right?

And had a great working

relationship with him.

He used to drive by

in his yellow Rolls-Royce

and drop an acetate

through my letterbox

with "You know what we want.

It's Friday." And that was it.

I'd be playing bass in sessions

all day, seven days a week.

So I had to write arrangements

at night.

And then

nine o'clock in the morning

I'd go to the session

and do the songs.

I did all the arrangements

for Herman's Hermits

and Donovan,

and had quite a lot

to do with Lulu.

'Cause I did all

her arrangements

with Mickie Most as well.

I even did

film work with her,

like To Sir, With Love,

which was a big hit in America.

This was considered the

pinnacle of the music business.

My dad was incredibly proud

when people he knew

and respected

would come... "I saw your

John on so-and-so session

"the other day. He's okay.

He's good, you know."

And...

Puffed him up a lot.

I was in

a lot of different bands

around that time.

And I did a couple adventures

in recording studios.

But my parents,

they weren't that keen at all.

In fact, when I cut my record,

the first single on CBS,

they didn't know anything

about it, 'cause I, um...

I was given the alternative

of staying in the world of

academia and...

my article...

Training for my articles

as a chartered accountant or...

you just go out into the world

and do what you gotta do.

So I did.

So I waved everybody goodbye.

I knew

there were singers

who had more chops than me,

but I was just out there,

throwing it up in the air.

I had caftans, painted faces,

bells ringing, incense blazing,

...and was just...

Robert used to get into

more trouble and mischief

than any other friends

I have up here, you know.

It's ridiculous, you know.

John came up to me and said,

"Well, what's all that about?"

So I said, "Yeah, you're right.

What is that all about?"

It was the end of '67.

We got back together

and the playing

went incredibly well.

So we formed

the Band of Joy.

We wanted to mix the blues

with psychedelia.

We wanted to be a part

of that huge movement.

We played at Frank Freeman's.

We played Middle Earth

in London.

We went down to Tin Pan Alley

and we recorded Memory Lane,

which was my first adventure

in songwriting.

Sadly, we never

got it released.

And not many people liked us.

But we liked us.

Pat was screaming

at John, saying,

"I told you

to stay away from him.

"He'll get you nowhere."

And so he went off with Tim Rose

and played I Got a Loneliness

and Morning Dew.

That's how

it used to go, really.

I mean, we had a kid then.

So you'd end up

having to get a job

in a professional group

to get a little bit of money

to sort of live with, really.

I just fell from favor

everywhere.

Things were pretty tough

for me then.

I had a brown suitcase

and some penicillin,

and I was homeless.

I had nowhere to live.

So I...

I got a gig with this band

called Obs-Tweedle.

I was totally accepted

in the world of being

a studio musician.

I had been caught up

doing the things

that all of the real old-timers

when I joined in were doing.

Like Muzak.

Muzak is what they would

call, like, lift music.

You know? Um...

Very, very difficult to do

a Muzak session,

'cause you'd have

a whole ream of music

and you'd have to keep

turning it and playing it,

and turning it and playing it.

To do that, to actually

get halfway through

without being physically sick

was quite a miracle.

So I knew

that it was time

to sort of come out of there.

All my friends, like Eric

and Jeff, were all in bands

and they were having

a great time.

And I thought, "I've got

a lot that I really want

"to be able to offer."

And Jeff Beck said,

"It'd be really good if you

came in with the Yardbirds."

So I thought, "How would

you really like to play

"if you had the chance?"

"Right. You do it. Do it now.

This is your opportunity."

Going into the Yardbirds

with Jeff,

it was touring with a friend

and having, you know,

a really good time.

But in the middle of

an American tour,

he left the band,

and I was quite shocked.

But it gave me the opportunity

to try a totally new direction.

So I took over on lead guitar.

Nobody was interested

in the Yardbirds

over here in England anymore.

So we started to really grow

our underground following

in America.

And it was just a thrill,

an absolute thrill,

just really getting a feel

for the West Coast music scene.

But we were up against

Mickie Most,

who was our producer,

so we were recording

all these awful singles

for the AM radio,

which was the pop radio,

and I didn't want to be

making singles anymore.

Being in America

and seeing the advent of

the FM underground radio,

which was playing

whole sides of albums...

I knew that this was gonna be

the way to go in the future.

So that was my plan.

To make albums that

would be played,

a whole side,

on the FM stations.

I had this new sound

for the Yardbirds

already worked out in my head.

I already knew exactly what I

wanted to be doing, guitar-wise,

on the new stuff

that I had in mind,

like Dazed and Confused,

which was inspired

by Jake Holmes.

That guitar

was given to me by Jeff Beck.

I painted it.

I consecrated the guitar.

This is the guitar that takes

the full journey,

like Excalibur,

the mythical sword.

I went to a palm reading

in LA.

And the palmist said,

"You're gonna be

making a decision very soon

"which is gonna

change your life."

A meeting happened, like, two

or three days after the palmist,

where the rest of

the group said,

"That's it. We wanna fold."

I mean, it was a shock.

I immediately went, "Well,

now I know what I'm gonna do.

"I'm gonna form my own group,

"and I know exactly what it is

that I wanna do with it,"

and I just needed to find

a powerful vocalist.

And so there was a singer

called Terry Reid.

He registered with me

and I thought,

"I'm gonna aim for him."

I asked Peter Grant if he could

track down Terry Reid.

Peter Grant was the manager

of the Yardbirds,

and, bless him,

he really believed in me.

This is the thing,

that once the Yardbirds folded,

and I said,

"Well, I wanna start a group,"

he was there. You know?

He said, "Great," you know?

And "Whatever help I can give."

Peter Grant and Mickie Most

were in the same office,

and they had two desks,

and they more or less faced

each other across the room.

The next thing that I hear is,

"Unfortunately Terry Reid's

signed a solo deal

"with Mickie Most."

And I... "Oh, yeah?"

-Off the press?

-Right. I know that one.

-For you.

-Right.

I thought,

"Wow. This is super ruthless."

But nevertheless,

Terry Reid suggested

a singer from the Midlands

in a band called Obs-Tweedle.

And I thought,

"This is an unusual name.

This is a bit odd."

He and Peter Grant came up

to have a look at me.

He asked me if I knew where

he could find Robert Plant.

And I said, "Yeah. Right here."

He was doing some wonderful

improvised vocals

and I thought

they were marvelous.

So I invited him

round my house.

I still had nowhere to live,

sadly.

So I took my suitcase

and got a train to Pangbourne

and knocked on another door.

Yeah. We had

a really good connection.

And, uh, I think he was sort of

looking through my records...

"I've got that one." You know?

And I played him

a Joan Baez version

of Babe I'm Gonna Leave You

and said, "Well, if you

can sing that top line there,

"I've got an arrangement

that goes with it."

And it just really, really

dovetailed together.

It was beautiful.

He just sang beautifully.

We knew something

was in the air.

I could feel this stuff

around me.

Jimmy's guitar playing

was just tremendous. Amazing.

Jimmy then said to me,

"Well, we've got

this drummer lined up."

And before he went any further,

I said, "Wait a minute.

"There is no drummer

on the planet

"to compare with John Bonham.

"He's magnificent."

He was playing with Tim Rose.

Jimmy said, "Well,

if that's the case,

"let's go and see him."

And I said, "John, you've

got to listen to Jimmy play.

"He's amazing."

John said, "Not a chance."

I said, "You gotta be crazy.

"You don't wanna do this stuff,

playing electric folk."

"Come with me."

He said, "Pat would k*ll me."

"Don't say that."

I said, "I'll talk to Pat,

and your mom."

My wife Mo read that

"Jimmy's forming a band.

"You should give him a call.

"See if he wants a bass player."

Like, "No. I can't...

"I've got this to do,

I've got that to do.

"I got these... and albums..."

"No," she said.

She just insisted.

"Give him a call, please."

So I did.

And I said, "Hey, Jim.

Heard you're forming a band."

He went, "Yeah, yeah."

I said,

"Do you want a bass player?"

He went, "Well, actually, yes.

"But there's a problem."

I said, "What's that?"

He said, "Well, the drummer

is playing with Tim Rose

"and he's getting 40 quid

a week. Can we best it?"

So we decided, yeah,

we probably could.

Peter Grant managed to

get a two-hour rehearsal space

in Gerrard Street.

So we all get there and

I've got my equipment set up.

John Paul Jones is there

with his session equipment,

uh, and John's got his drums.

It literally was just

wall to wall amplifiers

and we just picked one up...

"Hello. How are you?"

"Right." You know?

"I'm so-and-so.

He's so-and-so else."

It was

quite strange, really,

meeting John Paul and Jimmy.

You know, coming from

where I'd come from, you know,

I'd sort of thought, you know,

it was a bit of a joke,

getting telegrams and things,

you know.

There's a chance of becoming

one of the Yardbirds.

It's like a gift from heaven,

wasn't it?

I said the first number

that I want to do

is Train Kept A-Rollin'.

Train Kept A-Rollin'.

"Do you know it?"

I went, "Nope." He said,

"Well, it's a 12-bar."

"It's got this riff."

"Okay. Count it in."

And that was it.

And the room just exploded.

We just kept playing it

and doing, like, solo breaks

and all the rest of it,

and Robert's improvising.

I'd never heard

anything like it.

I was expecting

some cool soul singer

and there's this

screaming maniac

with this fantastic voice

and a fantastic range.

You know, I was like,

"What are you doing up there?

"You'll hurt yourself, man."

It was devastating

because it seemed like

that had been

what I'd been waiting for.

I was pretty shy.

The best thing to do when

you're in a situation like that

is not to say much

and just soldier along

and suss it all out,

sort of thing.

Well, being a bass player,

and he was probably thinking

the same thing,

you know,

because rhythm sections

are very sensitive creatures

really...

Um...

I just needed to know that

we could work together.

The first time

we played together, you know,

you could tell it was

gonna be a good group.

You know, not being

sort of flashy about it.

But I am.

Marvelous.

When it finally came to a halt,

I'm absolutely convinced

that everyone knew that that was

a life-changing experience.

And I think there was

so much kinetic energy,

so much energy that needed

to come out for everybody.

"Let's take it to the next stage

"and let's take it

to Pangbourne."

Pangbourne is on

the River Thames.

I remember when I first

came across this boat house,

I just thought,

"It's absolute magic."

It had a good energy to it.

And it was just a cauldron

of creativity.

And this is the house

that I lived in

in 1967 through to 1970.

We set up initially

in the upstairs of the house.

Where those windows are

at the top,

there's a largish room

and that was where we did

the rehearsals.

We were overlooking the river.

It was beautiful.

And we just got to know

each other

and worked pretty hard.

We weren't slackers.

Our aim wasn't to be seen

on the telly.

We all wanted to play music

very badly.

We were working on

the material for the album,

and then we were putting in

other material as well

that was gonna fill out the set.

We were rehearsing for days,

and it would have been

pretty loud.

You'd hear it.

You'd hear it over here.

And I did expect somebody

to be knocking on the door

to complain, but nobody did.

We got together

very quickly

because there was

already sort of a tour

that had to be done

by the Yardbirds,

which was a few dates

in Scandinavia.

It was convenient that,

lo and behold,

there was this tour

that we could do.

So we could go there

and have the benefit

of playing in front of

an audience

away from London

and all the rest of it.

Off to Scandinavia

we went

for our first concert

as the Yardbirds.

And we went on an airplane,

me and John sitting next

to each other

having a cigarette,

seeing lots and lots

of silverware,

knives and forks

in front of us.

Stuff that we would normally

have stolen

was there in profusion.

Couldn't have even got

enough of it in our bags

to get off the plane without

having somebody help us.

It was great.

Everything was there.

Gin, tonic, people.

People being kind and charming.

Air conditioning.

It was... Off we went.

Because you couldn't...

What could you do?

Couldn't go back to Mommy then.

When I told

my colleagues

and the people that employ me

that I'm giving up

session work,

I'm gonna join

a rock 'n' roll band,

everybody said, "You're mad.

You're completely crazy."

On bass guitar, John Paul Jones.

John Paul Jones.

On drums, John Bonham.

Lead guitar, Jimmy Page.

And myself, Robert Plant.

Yes! All right!

Yes!

Yeah!

Yes!

It went

so well, really,

that, you know, the group

started to make the album

straight after coming back

from Scandinavia. You know.

How long had we been together

about then? What, a month?

We went

into Olympic Studios

at night over a few weeks.

The very first time we go in

is the 25th of September

in 1968.

"Arrival time

from 11:00 p.m. onwards."

Let's take one.

Right.

There's Glyn Johns, dear Glyn,

at the controls of

the Helios desk

that was custom-built

for Olympic Studios,

and he was doing

the engineering on it.

Drumming set one.

John, Jimmy,

and John Paul

were much more connected

in these sessions than I was,

because they were

recording it live.

They had to make it work

on the floor.

A take is a take.

So it was an electric

atmosphere.

And I just tried to land

on top of it all.

John Paul Jones brought

the most amazing bass playing,

and he was quite a force to be

reckoned with, musically.

I was very much in love

with John's right foot.

I had great respect

for it.

And I used to try

and highlight it

and help it along

and give it space.

Uh, take three.

So I could be doing a riff

and just leave a note out

and something of his

would pop through

and the rhythm would just

suddenly come alive.

Well, I was gonna throw

everything I could at it.

You know, I was gonna play

acoustic guitar,

I played pedal steel guitar,

I played slide guitar,

electric guitar.

I wanted to have so many

different textures

and moods on it

that the whole album

would just

totally arrest the listeners

and take them to a realm that

they hadn't been in before.

The guitar's not on

a regular tuning

on Black Mountain Side.

It is very much like

a sitar tuning.

Jimmy and John Paul

were really

at the top of their game.

They'd played on so many

diverse pieces of music

that there was nowhere that they

couldn't find themselves

comfortably going to.

So that gave us a whole

magnificent bunch of colors

to play with.

Jimmy produced

the album.

Which was great, you know,

because it's got

a different sound,

and I like that.

He had all these ideas

of microphone placement

to get distance, so he knew

what he wanted to hear.

There were some

really complex things

that went on during the mixing,

like the backwards echo

that comes in You Shook Me.

When you turn the tape round

and apply the echo

and then turn it back over

and then you get the echo

coming in reverse.

I was cross-fading

from one song into another

and all these sort of tricks,

so that when people

listened to the whole album,

as I say, it would just

absolutely demand attention.

Well, I mean, it was amazing.

Yeah.

I had a pair of those

big quad electrostatic speakers

in my front room.

You could sort of sit

almost in them.

And I just used to play it loud.

If you finance

the album yourself,

you're in a much better position

than if you're going in with,

like, a demo tape.

So, if you knew what you

were doing,

it made sense

to complete the album

and then go round

and do a deal.

The American producer Bert Berns

had really done a great PR job

for me at Atlantic Records.

When he took me there in 1964,

and I said we should

aim at Atlantic...

So that's what we did.

Yeah.

Yeah. We'd done our bit,

and Jimmy and Peter

were going to convince people

that they really needed it.

Jimmy had the kind of keys

to the beginnings of a kingdom.

And he went off to New York

with Peter,

and through them,

they got to see Jerry Wexler.

We put it on,

and that was a great moment

to actually be able to play it,

regardless of what they thought,

to actually be playing it

to, you know, Jerry Wexler.

Atlantic wasn't allowed

to remix anything.

It was perfect. It was done.

The sequencing was perfect.

There was nothing...

Certainly no singles

are gonna be taken off it.

Having seen a situation

whereby singles

have broken the spirit

of a band,

I didn't want it to break

the spirit of this band.

And I made a point of saying,

"We're an album band.

"We're not doing singles."

We could call the shots

because we owned the album.

And here I am,

signing a contract.

Then there's Peter,

looking really cool.

Looking quite like a Mafia don.

Peter Grant and Jimmy

had fixed it

so that Atlantic had no say

in what we did whatsoever.

They went there saying,

"Look, you want this band,

"and we're gonna give you

the music." But...

Peter Grant wouldn't let

any record executives

anywhere near the studio.

Or the band.

And they were terrified of him,

which was brilliant.

To have that freedom...

I mean, it was unheard of.

Rather than

keep the Yardbirds name,

the group became strong enough

to start fresh,

and it was a decision that

we'd change the name.

Keith Moon had suggested

a name, Led Zeppelin.

I thought that'd be

a great name to use.

I thought, "Yeah.

That's a terrible name.

"Nobody's gonna remember that."

But I couldn't come up

with a better one,

so Led Zeppelin we were.

So, suddenly I was a dad

and I was nearly married.

And I was in this group that

was now gonna be called

Led Zeppelin.

So I went back to my parents

with an open heart.

I called up my mom and dad

and said,

"You might like to meet

your possible,

"most probable,

daughter-in-law-to-be."

And so, of course,

they opened the door.

November the 9th, 1968,

we played Middle Earth.

And just to celebrate the fact

that we did that gig,

I got married on the same day.

Trying to get as many things in

in a day as I can.

The car broke down

on the way to the gig.

All that stuff, you know.

We'd figured out

what we were gonna play

and how we were gonna play it.

And the first three numbers

were just bam, bam, bam.

You could see people going,

"What on earth is going on?"

It's a funny thing,

you know.

You couldn't play big gigs

in England.

You know, you'd say,

"Do you want to take

some dates on Led Zeppelin?"

and all this sort of thing.

People wouldn't even

book the band.

So Atlantic decided that

the record is gonna come out

on the 12th of January,

but only in America.

So Peter gets a tour

together for us.

It was Christmas Eve,

I think, we had to leave.

You suddenly find

the album's coming out

so we sort of had to go

to America to play.

I was concerned I wouldn't

feel home there at all.

Pat kept saying,

"I told you

not to work with him."

But she and my wife Maureen

were really good friends,

so they had the mutual overview

of celebration

for what John was doing

and what I was doing.

We just rolled with it.

Going to America was my dream,

for every reason.

We're supporting

Vanilla Fudge to begin with,

and they were the only group

that took us under their wing.

They're good friends,

because they were friends

when we had nothing, you know?

Carmine and John Bonham

picked up

such a great repartee.

They used to watch each other

and mimic each other

and play little parts.

It was a great exchange of

energies between everybody.

Denver was

the first show.

Like playing

in an aircraft hangar.

There wasn't that many

people there either.

I thought, "Oh, boy."

But I said, "Look,

let's just group together

"as though we're playing

in a club,

"and just play to each other.

"Don't worry about

whether the place

"is half full or totally full.

"Let's just play for ourselves

to get a feel."

From the handful of dates

with the Fudge,

then we go to

the Whisky a Go Go in LA

and then we're going

to San Francisco.

The album is already

being played

on the underground radio

and people are really curious

to see this band

that they're hearing.

So we were gonna go in there,

like, with a hatchet

and just play like

we'd never played before.

Just throw everything

that we'd got into it.

We're backstage

at the Fillmore,

and, um, Peter Grant says,

"Well, whatever happens,

"if you don't crack it here,

it's over."

We knew after that one

that we were on the right track.

Everything is traveling

like wildfire.

The whole thing

is just building.

People were bashing down

the doors to get in

by the time we played

Boston Tea Party,

'cause we were working

across the States

from the West Coast to the East.

On FM radio

they would play

one side of your record

and back announce that side,

have one word from a sponsor,

and then play the other side.

People would just listen to it

and they'd go, "And they're

playing in your town tonight."

And so

they'd all come on down.

Rock 'n' roll with Led Zeppelin.

Robert Plant is here and I know

you feel real good now.

I'm gonna put another caller

on the phone here.

-You're on the air, dear.

-Is this Robert Plant?

- Occasionally, yeah.

- Oh, God.

I want you to know that

I'm having heart failure.

Oh, good God.

Don't tell me.

You need a doctor.

I just want you

to know that you are so sexy.

-It's unbelievable.

-Okay, dear.

- Thank you very much.

- Bless you.

- Next? Next?

- Hello?

I was gonna go see you

last night,

but I couldn't get tickets.

It was really good

last night.

What's your name?

Oh, forget it.

- Hello?

- Hi.

Hi.

Hi. Guess what.

I think you're a fox.

What's that mean?

It means you're

a very good-looking man.

Far out.

I really dug

the concert.

I really liked it.

I just really think

you're a fox

and keep on doing

what you're doing.

That's very nice of you.

We will.

The anticipation

was overwhelming.

I mean, really overwhelming.

To come back to England

with what we'd experienced,

I just had to keep quiet.

I mean, over here,

the record wasn't out yet.

So I just didn't have

anything to say.

People would have laughed at me.

So Bonzo and I

used to get together and go...

"Well, what was that?"

"Well, I don't know."

"What happened?"

"I don't know."

Crikey. It was just

amazing. Just ridiculous.

I mean, we came back

from America

and we'd gone through

a big change.

You know, we were feeling

really good, you know.

But it does affect you,

you know.

I mean, think about it.

We're 20 years old,

and suddenly there were drugs

and there was a lot of girls,

and so many characters that

suddenly arrive on the scene.

This huge sort of sub-subculture

that spins around fame.

Especially fame

in its very early stages.

'Cause that's the place

where you can smell

something new coming.

It felt good. As it might.

Especially as we were doing it

without the press,

who didn't seem to like us,

the few reviews

we did seem to get,

the obvious one being

the Rolling Stone review.

I remember reading that review,

thinking, "Who are they

talking about?

"Do they mean us?"

A lot of those writers

at that time,

I don't know whether they were

studying the music

to criticize it or whether

they were more concerned

about the sort of

social activities.

But do you really care

about other people's responses

if you're playing like that?

Well, the answer is,

unfortunately, yeah.

That's where you can

come unstuck.

Fortunately, as four guys,

we did not care that much.

We were more caring about

how we turned ourselves on.

The first album,

it just got ripped to pieces.

Like, loads would say, "No.

"I don't like Zeppelin's

sort of music,"

for some reason, you know?

So we all thought, you know,

it was a bit of a joke.

We worked really, really hard,

and people got it,

and you could see they got it.

Then they told their friends

that they got it.

"Get some too."

The venues are jam-packed,

so what people are hearing,

as opposed

to what they're reading,

is what really makes the band.

It was exciting

to be doing these concerts

and being able to have

this communion

with the four of us

and be able to just change,

you know,

things with a sense of humor

or an intensity

or a level of aggression

or whatever.

And this is how connected

we are,

that we can be moving

in any direction

and everyone's following.

If the guitar's leading,

they're all following.

I can just hold back

and change this.

I mean, the improvisation is

just at an extraordinary level.

With Dazed and Confused,

the intensity is building.

It's positively evil.

Uh!

Oh! Ah!

Hey!

I knew what we had

and I just really wanted to

knock everybody dead with it.

I had a whole vision

for the next album.

It was going to be

very cinematic

in its approach to how the music

is done in the first place,

let alone what the overdubs

and the layers are gonna do.

So I called for a rehearsal

at the house,

and we rehearsed two new songs,

Whole Lotta Love

and What Is and

What Should Never Be.

Jimmy would sit down

with an acoustic guitar

and we'd work the songs out.

He just comes in

and plays what he's written.

And then we, all together,

suss it all out.

We went into Olympic Studios

in April,

and we're just really excited

to be back in the studio again.

My songwriting capacity

is starting to kick in

because of the color of

the playing that surrounded me.

So, with Whole Lotta Love,

Jimmy had done some work

on the chorus.

He showed me his riff,

which was incredible, really.

And for the verse,

I just sang

a Willie Dixon lyric.

And, you know, it was like...

I was finding the best bits

of Black music

and putting it

through the wringer,

one way or another.

I think there's no point

in having Whole Lotta Love

and then having another riff

which was pretty much

the same sort of sound.

So, the thing with What Is

and What Should Never Be

is that it's got these

laid-back, gentler verses

and then it comes in with...

I won't call them

a power chorus,

but it's more intensity to it,

so that you could

then illustrate

John Bonham's power

and the group's power as well,

the whole thing.

We had this tour coming up

and I think it's gonna be

really a hoot

to be able to record

in various locations in America.

The idea was to be inspired by,

you know,

the love of the people

and to get the reaction

of the audience.

It was just a joy

to be able to go into studios

in the States.

You've got the energy

of being on the road

and you're actually

documenting it

within whatever

you're recording.

John Bonham's kit

was gonna be spread

right across the stereo picture.

So then you could have

the placement

of the instruments within

and the layering within.

He knew how to tune.

He had the science

of tuning the drum.

So that when he hit it,

it just resonated

out of the top.

It just projected.

And he played with his wrists.

It's not all this

forearm smashing.

But he could also do an accent

on the bass drum

and you'd feel it, you know,

more or less in your gut.

He was so inventive.

And inspiring to play with,

you know.

You'd hear the stuff and,

well, I don't wanna just go

over that.

I want to do something that'll

fit in really well with it.

That's what I used to like

to do best, is to fit in.

So everybody could be heard.

That was the important thing

for me,

that everybody could be heard,

what they were doing,

on a Zeppelin record.

We just recorded

what we liked.

I mean, Zeppelin always had

completely different

influences.

We all listened

to different things.

And I always said

that Led Zeppelin

was the area in the middle.

In between us all.

It was very encouraging

to peel back

the vulnerabilities

of starting to create a writing

partnership with Jimmy,

where we were breaking down

the sensitivities

and the possible

embarrassments.

Writing is a very

intimate thing.

You expose yourself.

I'd written some lyrics

on the first album,

and also on the second album,

but I wasn't as confident

about my lyrics

as I was about

my guitar playing.

I had to start

thinking about

what do I do as a singer

and as a guy

who's gonna bring melody

or even a story to something?

The idea was to inspire him

through the music

to be inspired lyrically.

And then he came with

these lyrics for Ramble On.

Yeah, this is...

a rough shot of Ramble On.

"Leaves are falling all around.

Time I was on my way."

That is the story of my life.

I was really keen to have

a lot of texture and layering,

certainly on behalf

of the guitar, with Ramble On.

It has these various

guitar parts that go in it.

You know, there's,

like, guitar rolling

that is moving over

some of the verses.

Then there's the whole texture

of the solo.

It was just a joy to be able

to do these tracks

and everyone do their part

and then come back

and go, "Wow.

What's he done with this?"

There were so many

diverse places

that it was coming from.

The very fact that we were

able to be intimate in writing,

that's the big breakthrough,

because it's a total exposure.

As a kid, my parents took me

to every mystical mountaintop

and every beautiful ruin and...

all that sort of great

resonance of another people.

Well,

that's what that song's

all about, really.

Me, you, and the other people.

Gig after gig,

night after night,

maybe we had 20 songs to choose

from at that point in time.

Soon we'd have 40.

We'd opened a door to America

and there was a glint of light,

and, obviously, you're gonna

sort of kick the door open

and go in and really...

It's a massive continent.

And we really wanted

to get the word across

through live performances.

We toured horrendously at first.

We toured for months on end,

pretty much.

Three of these guys

had families already

at that point in time,

and this is our fifth tour

in seven months,

so they were away from

their children for a long time.

It is difficult

when you've got a family.

I flew with my wife Mo

to all the good spots.

She'd come to New York.

She'd just take

the kids shopping.

Go to shows. It was great.

But then they'd go home

and leave us

to get on with

touring the rest of the country.

There weren't tour buses

or any niceties in those days.

It was just like getting

whatever transport you can,

get to the gig, play it,

then try and have Richard Cole

find the next venue,

or even the city sometimes.

You could always tell,

when he was like...

You'd get at a junction

and see him going like this...

You'd go, "No.

We're lost again."

It's so much easier

to tour around England.

If you're in America, you're

all day in a hotel somewhere,

having arguments with bloody,

you know,

turdheads and everything.

You know, it does affect you,

like, what's happened

previously in the day.

It was

all commercial airlines

so you had to get up

early in the morning and go

and sit in some airport waiting

for a plane to somewhere.

But that's how everybody

got to hear us in America.

We came back

from America

and everybody wanted

to book the group.

And it was like

a change of tune, you know.

There was no publicity

and, strangely,

you'd get to a British show...

"How did these people

know we were coming?"

We figured out

it was just word of mouth.

I just liked the idea

of the stimulus

of travel and attention.

What do you know

if you don't seek?

You've got to go out

and have a look for it.

We were playing

festivals in America

two years after

the Summer of Love.

I know that really has

no real significance,

but to me

it had every significance,

'cause I was in a place

that I really wanted to be,

emotionally.

I can remember John

doing a sound check

at Newport Jazz Festival

and I could just see

all of James Brown's drummers

coming out of different doors

going, "What the...

What is going on here?"

And he's going...

He's going, "Yeah. I know.

I know who's watching me."

But it was great.

You know.

It's what made

Zeppelin unique in that way.

It's just the way

he approached rhythm

and what he did.

We recorded

all the songs

for Led Zeppelin II

on that tour.

It was like

a kind of hurricane.

A whirlwind of energy

and release.

We hadn't really had a chance,

obviously,

with the amount of time that

we were spending in America,

to concentrate that much

at home.

So we came back

and actually played

our first British festival.

Would you welcome,

please, Led Zeppelin?

And, of course,

you still wonder,

is this gonna

have any resonance?

Is this gonna bring it on home?

Wow.

I've seen a photograph

of the first Bath Festival

but to see moving images of it,

well, that's absolutely amazing.

That was probably

the first festival

that we'd done in Britain.

And it didn't rain,

so it was really good,

and it was fun.

But how long

do you want off

in between a tour and a tour

and a tour? Not long, really.

I mean, we had no idea

of fatigue.

There's just energy and power.

At 32 minutes past the hour,

liftoff on Apollo 11.

That's one small step for man,

one giant leap for mankind.

I can just remember

we were in a tent

and somebody landed on the moon.

I mean, can you imagine

just being in America,

as a kid, more or less,

and just looking up...

You got this thing going on

with the music

and you look up

and there's a man on the moon.

You know,

it's a big old world out there,

and I'm sure that 99% of people

are far more interested

in the fact that these guys

got back safely from the moon.

But the day they got back,

that was a big day for us too.

That is the biggest deal

if you're a kid

and you want to be a singer.

You get a gold record.

I mean, what happens next?

Doesn't matter, does it?

I just really wanted

to make sure that

this album was just really

gonna get everybody excited.

I wanted it to be something

that they hadn't heard before.

The acoustics and the electrics

and the more radical

and even avant-garde.

So, when it came

to doing the mix

for Led Zeppelin II,

I'd mixed it with Eddie Kramer

at A&R Studios in New York.

I think he did an amazing job.

And, as was the case

with these mixing things,

there was often more than

two hands on the desk.

I really wanted to do something

with Whole Lotta Love

to stop it being a single.

So it was gonna have

a radical avant-garde section

in the middle that began with

a sonic wave.

Then when I put

the overdubs on it

for what was gonna go

in the middle,

I de-tuned the guitar

all the way down

and I was just pulling

the strings across and across.

And then there

was lots of panning.

That means moving things

from left to right.

And so that was it.

Led Zeppelin II was completed

and ready to be delivered.

January the 9th, in 1970,

we played the Royal Albert Hall

in London,

and if we're thinking back

a year,

January the 9th, 1969,

is when we were playing

in San Francisco.

So this is

a whole year's progress.

It was far out.

I mean, I was just having

a great time.

No chartered accountant here.

This is like a London concert,

so, of course,

this is where the families come.

Yeah, it's like a gathering

of the clans.

Just to go in there

and tread those boards

was just something else,

you know? It was fabulous.

And it was our own show,

so we just went out there

and did it.

Led Zep!

Led Zep! Led Zep!

Led Zep! Led Zep!

Led Zep! Led Zep!

Led Zep!

Thank you very much.

Led Zep! Led Zep!

Led Zep! Led Zep!

Led Zep! Led Zep!

Led Zep!

My dad came to see that show.

He was really proud,

which was great.

Said, "He's got great passion

and fire and all that."

It was really nice.

John Paul and me,

you know,

we get on really good.

I mean, we all do, you know.

Each member of the group,

they're quite different,

personality-wise, but they're

good lads, actually.

They're, like, a category

on their own, really.

Um, it was at least

the middle of '69

before I got to really know

each of them.

It's a gradual thing, isn't it?

I could talk

about Robert forever

because I know him so well,

really, that it's ridiculous.

You know? And Jimmy's

pretty shy, actually.

But knowing him like I have,

he's really great, you know.

I like each of them

for what they're doing.

And, you know, I always love

playing in the group,

so I don't need to do

anything else.

We got there

in the first place,

on the first day,

playing Train Kept A-Rollin',

'cause we were drawn

to that moment

and it worked.

But all the preamble to that

was just out there,

throwing it up in the air.

So why should it ever stop?

If you have something

that you know is different

in yourself,

then you have

to put work into it.

You have to work

and work and work.

But you also have

to believe in it.

But as long as you can

stay really true,

your aim is true,

you can realize your dreams.

I do believe that.

I believe that that can be done,

'cause this is what happens.

Thank you.