Led Zeppelin Quotes

Well, I sort of don’t trust anybody who doesn’t like Led Zeppelin.

The last I saw of Percy and Annabeth, their Prius was turning the corner on First Avenue, Percy singing along with Led Zeppelin on the radio, Annabeth laughing at his bad voice. Alex crossed his arms. "If those two were any cuter together, they'd cause a nuclear explosion of cuteness and destroy the Eastern Seaboard.

Mellow is the man who knows what he's been missing

These are the seasons of emotion, and like the winds, they rise and fall.

Sing loud for the sunshine. Pray hard for the rain.

Heavy Metal would not exist without Led Zeppelin, and if it did, it would suck.

Maybe she feels like a jerk about leaving him at Pitch Manor on Christmas Eve. I know I do. The vibe here is very, Let's kill a virgin and write a great Led Zeppelin album

As it was, then again it will be; though the course may change sometimes, rivers always lead to the sea.

Yes,there are two paths you can go by, but in the long run, there's still time to change the road you're on.

If the sun refused to shine, I'd still be loving you. If mountains crumble to the sea, there will still be you and me.

Who knew knights wore flannel shirts and Led Zeppelin tees?

So, if you wake up with the new sunrise and all your dreams are still as new. And happiness is what you need so bad, girl, the answer lies with you.

Many times I've lied, many times I've listened, many times I've wondered how much there is to know.

I remember saying to Tony [Iommi], ‘Did you hear how heavy that Led Zeppelin album sounded?’ Without missing a beat, he replied, ‘We’ll be heavier.’

Well, there's a light in your eye that keeps shinin', like a star that can't wait for the night.

Many dreams come true, and some have silver linings

Nobody hears a single word you say, but you keep on talkin' till your dying day.

Call it inevitable, call it the doomed fate of love. Call it karmic, fucked up, the dance of the wolves. Live it, love it, call it life. Call it Led Zeppelin. Yeah, yeah. Really, I don’t really, really don’t fucking care.

And as we wind on down the road Our shadows taller than our souls There walks a lady we all know Who shines white light and wants to show How everything still turns to gold And if you listen very hard The tune will come to you at last Where all are one and one is all To be a rock and not to roll.

Yes, there are two paths you can go by, but in the long run there’s still time to change the road you’re on.

There's a feeling I get when I look to the west, And my spirit is crying for leaving. In my thoughts I have seen rings of smoke through the trees, And the voices of those who standing looking. Ooh, it makes me wonder, Ooh, it really makes me wonder.

If the sun refused to shine I would still be loving you When mountains crumble to the sea There will still be you and me

Then as it was, then again it will be. Though the course may change sometimes, rivers always reach the sea.

To be a Rock, and not to Roll...

The kids cheered every time the lights went on and a spotlight revealed Jimmy [Page] bowing his electric guitar, eliciting stygian growls and demonic shrieks, as if to draw the Dark One from his lair in hell. Invariably, some of the more astute of Led Zeppelin's listeners realized that what they were watching was in part a magic show.

On the TV screen right now, it's 1975, and Jimmy Page is playing like a man who answers to nobody. A man existing in that seductive state of extended adolescence that rock legends bask in, a man connected to something in the universe larger than even the sum total of the legendary Led Zeppelin, playing guitar because that is so clearly what he was put here to do. And it's wrong to expect that kind of divine moment to last forever, and to expect an artist to stay in 1975. Fact is, ten minutes ago I saw the guy onscreen right downstairs, coming off the trading floor of the stock exchange with a banker carrying his guitar cases for him. I sit cross-legged on the floor on a workday staring into my cereal bowl, thinking about how we all change. We all grow up. We all move on, one way or another, whether we want to or not.

Rest now within the peace. Take of the fruit, but guard the seed.

Are the Holy Rollers playing at the fair?” “This lame scene? Nah.” He kicked the ground. “They wouldn’t book you?” “They said we sucked. But people thought Led Zeppelin sucked, too.

While the sound mixing was underway, Bonzo was on the loose, taking care of buisness his own way. One night he showed up backstage at a Deep Purple concert at the Nassau Coliseum on Long Island. Bonzo was drunk and in very high spirits, and was wobbling on his feet in the wings when he noticed a free microphone during a lull in the music. Staggering forward, Bonzo walked out onto the stage before the Deep Purple roadies could grab him. The group stopped playing, amazed, as Bonzo grabbed the mike and shouted, 'My name is John Bonham of Led Zeppelin, and I just wanna tell ya that we got a new album comin' out and that it's fuckin' great!!' Then Bonzo turned to leave, but before he went he turned back and gratuitously insulted Deep Purple's guitarist. 'And as far as Tommy Bolin is concerned, he can't play for shit!!

Led Zeppelin created their music from a diet of Bert Jansch, Memphis Minnie, John Fahey, Billy Fury, Phil Spector, Richard 'Rabbit' Brown, Moby Grape, Manitas De Plata and Om Kalsoum. Those who came afterwards were content with a diet of Led Zeppelin, which is not the same thing at all.

The band was no Led Zeppelin, but they had smart lyrics, a great drummer and that reckless shine that bands did have, back then, when no one had anything to lose and the fact that you didn’t have a snowball’s chance in hell of making it big didn’t matter, because throwing your whole heart into this band was the only thing that stopped you being just another futureless dole bunny moping in his bedsit. It gave them something: a drop of magic.

- You know I don't like Limp Bizkit. I prefer good old rock: Beatles, Black Sabbath, Led Zeppelin, Grand Funk Railroad. OOMPH! and In Extremo, at the very least. - Oh, come on. If everyone were like you we'd still be apes. Why do you hate new things?

Her sister Lea had an ancient book of myths and legends, and there was all kinds of info in there - of course Lea had written that book herself, so how much could it be counted on for accuracy? For instance, under the heading of "Gods and Demigods,” you could find entries for The Beatles, Pink Floyd, and Led Zeppelin. She'd also added a new "tribe" consisting of her favorite cartoon characters, naming them The Animatus.

These are the seasons of emotion And like the wind, they rise and fall This is the wonder of devotion I see the torch We all must hold This is the mystery of the quotient, quotient Upon us all, upon us all a little rain must fall

Look at this fog. The damp gets right into your bones. It's doing my chest no good at all. I'll need a vapour bath." Bryant pulled down his scarf and peered over the sodden hedge. Dew had formed on his bald head and ears. He resembled a minor Tolkien character. "You're getting old before your time," warned May. "I can't imagine what you'll look like in your eighties." "I'm ageing gracefully, which means not trying to look like a member of Concrete Blimp." "I assume you mean Led Zeppelin...

And it's whispered that soon, If we all call the tune Then the piper will lead us to reason And a new day will dawn For those who stand long And the forests will echo with laughter

Then she asked me who the lead singer of Led Zeppelin was. I told her zeppelins could not be made of lead due to the obvious weight issues. She said, “Case closed.” Led Zeppelin is a band. I know that now.

A semi came screaming around a bend in the road, interrupting my thoughts and reminding me suddenly of why walking by the side of the road on a country lane was best reserved for historical romance and Led Zeppelin songs.

I was petrified of making a mistake—head-banging to the wrong song or not hard enough, or thinking a guitar solo was over when it wasn't. A rule of thumb is that if the guitar solo is by Led Zep or Lynyrd Skynyrd then it's not over. Ever.

Led Zeppelin was the rock band's rock band, but it was Plant who made it special. He had the knack of taking a seemingly inconsequential string of words, adding a searing shriek, and knocking the listener back on his heels. This was no less impressive on stage than in the restaurant.

We go in and sit on the sofa by the fire to dry out, and she plays her favourite records, lots of Rickie Lee Jones and Led Zeppelin and Donovan and Bob Dylan - even though she was sixteen in 1982, there's definitely something very 1971 about Alice. I watch as she jumps around the room to 'Crosstown Traffic' by Jimi Hendrix, then when she's out of breath and tired of changing records every three minutes she puts a crackly old Ella Fitzgerald LP on, and we lie on the sofa and read our books, and steal glances at each other every now and then, like that bit between Michael York and Liza Minnelli in Cabaret, and talk only when we feel like it.

As for Crowley, his reputation grew and grew. His gospel of “Do what thou wilt”—modified and transformed—appealed strongly to the socially liberated sixties generation. He resurfaced as a countercultural icon; his photograph appeared on the cover of the Beatles’ album Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band, and his ideas influenced everyone from Dr. Timothy Leary to the rock group Led Zeppelin. He was hailed as a prophet before his time for bringing together eastern and western esoteric traditions, and although he could never quite escape the “Satanist” tag that he had gained in the Edwardian newspapers, this ensured his present-day popularity.

Led Zeppelin! I clapped my hand over my mouth. This big, strong man, wearing a muscle shirt and cargo pants, sang rock songs to a toddler in the middle of the night. I was so toast. Game over. And it was doubly terrifying, considering I had no idea how to make him stick around. He would leave and take his sweetness and his Pepto and our hearts.

selected a disc, and turned the volume up louder than he’d ever pushed it. A gentle guitar riff; a tap-tapping of some percussion instrument—he pictured a man hitting a wooden spoon against his legs; a solid male voice, and the song broke into something more, a beat that filled his head with cool images and colors. “What is it?” “Led Zeppelin,” she said. “‘Ramble On.’” He sat against the wall, his eyes trained on the space in the corner, while she selected more songs, rocking back on her legs and staring at him intently. “Free Bird.” “Roundabout.” “Sympathy for the Devil.” “Time.” “The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald.” “Brass in Pocket.” “Bad Company.” “Limelight.” “Crazy on You.” “Voodoo Child.” “Take the Long Way Home.” “Thank you,” he said. “Where have I been hiding all this time?

Robert Johnson, whose primitive licks hid behind the chords of almost every Led Zeppelin and Yardbirds song ever recorded. Who, according to the legend, had gone down to the crossroads and sold his soul to Satan for seven years of fast living, high-tension liquor, and streetlife babies. And for a jukejoint brand of immortality, of course. Which he had gotten. Robert Johnson, supposedly poisoned over a woman.

I Can't Quit You Baby" I can't quit you babe Woman I think I'm gonna put you down for a little while I can't quit you babe I... think I'm gonna put you down for a while I said you messed up my happy home Made me mistreat my only child You built my hopes so high Baby then you let me down so low You built my hopes so high then ya let me down... so low Don'tcha realize sweet baby? Woman I don't know... which way to go Woman I can't quit you babe I think I'm gonna put you down for a while

I’m not one of those guys who can hear a band and immediately cite their influences and probable heroes. There are guys like that out there. Play them the first drumbeat and they’ll start banging on about Led Zeppelin or Limp Bizkit or how everything can be traced back to the man who wrote the Birdie Song. Dev can do it with videogames. He can take one look at a game and tell you what it’s trying to be, where it got the idea, what it’s been crossed with and how well it’s done, but I just can’t. Because I’m the other sort of person. A Type 2. One that judges everything on its own merits. Not because it’s the right and just and fair thing to do, but because there’s something about me that doesn’t quite have that passion. That need for peripheral knowledge. I like a little of everything; I don’t need it all. It can make conversations with the Type 1s a little strained. A Type 1 will have all his opinions ready to go and probably alphabetised before he even gets near you. A Type 2 will then shrink behind his sandwich.

I can't believe you all had so much fun being young. I just want to be old. I want to be old and rich and smell like butterscotch." You would have thought I'd said something super awful. Like that I hated Led Zeppelin. Or worse, that I was a Republican. Dad unfolded his feet, let down his legs, and pulled my face to his. "Can't you see how you have the whole world in front of you, Maggie?" First of all, that's not even possible because just as much of the world is in front of me as is behind me because that's just how geography.

Благодарение на съгласуваността и професионалисма си Led Zeppelin се радват на невиждан триумф, докато велики групи като Cream се разпадат, защото членовете им не могат да се понасят помежду си. През същата година The Beatles прекратяват съществуването си, а The Rolling Stones са заменили Брайън Джоунс, който малко по-късно умира в басейна на къщата си. Led Zeppelin обаче сякаш успяват да избегнат самодоволния егоцентризъм на останалите поп звезди. Те са способни на трезва самооценка и си поставят дългосрочни цели, които ги карат да вървят напред. Като отказват да се появяват по телевизията и да стрелят на сигурно с хит сингли, музикантите успяват да се преборят с установените норми, които по принцип изглеждат невъзможни за заобикаляне. И четиримата са напълно различни един от друг, но нещо тайнствено и мистериозно ги държи заедно. Докато Пейдж и Джоунс са професионални и цинични лондонски студийни наемници, Робърт и Бонзо са наивни провинциалисти, които се занимават с музика по-скоро от любов, отколкото за пари. Пейдж и Джоунс се държат като самовглъбени единаци, а Робърт и Бонзо са достъпни и открити. Пейдж и Джоунс са търпеливи, със сухо чувство за хумор и винаги се контролират. Плант и Бонъм пък са шумни, забавни и се оставят да бъдат манипулирани от останалите двама и от Питър Грант." "Led Zeppelin: Чукът на боговете

The explosion of government and spending under Obama insured that while the rest of the nation continued to suffer stagnant job growth and slow housing sales long past the time when a recovery should have been underway, one city was booming like a five-year-long Led Zeppelin drum solo: Washington, D.C. According to the 2014 Forbes ranking of the ten richest counties in America, none were in New York, California, or Texas. Before Obama took office, five of the richest counties surrounded Washington, D.C. Now, seven years after Obama took office on his promise to rid the place of big money lobbyists, and Democrats assumed complete control of the White House and Congress for two years, six of the richest counties surround Washington, D.C. Bear in mind that unlike Texas or California, where money is generated by creating products people actually need, such as oil or computers, Washington, D.C., produces nothing but government. In other words, six of the ten richest counties in America got that rich by being parasites. A case could be made that under the current leadership, crony capitalism is more rewarding than actual capitalism. And with all that government around business people’s necks, it’s certainly a heckuva lot easier.

Not long after I learned about Frozen, I went to see a friend of mine who works in the music industry. We sat in his living room on the Upper East Side, facing each other in easy chairs, as he worked his way through a mountain of CDs. He played “Angel,” by the reggae singer Shaggy, and then “The Joker,” by the Steve Miller Band, and told me to listen very carefully to the similarity in bass lines. He played Led Zeppelin’s “Whole Lotta Love” and then Muddy Waters’s “You Need Love,” to show the extent to which Led Zeppelin had mined the blues for inspiration. He played “Twice My Age,” by Shabba Ranks and Krystal, and then the saccharine ’70s pop standard “Seasons in the Sun,” until I could hear the echoes of the second song in the first. He played “Last Christmas,” by Wham! followed by Barry Manilow’s “Can’t Smile Without You” to explain why Manilow might have been startled when he first heard that song, and then “Joanna,” by Kool and the Gang, because, in a different way, “Last Christmas” was an homage to Kool and the Gang as well. “That sound you hear in Nirvana,” my friend said at one point, “that soft and then loud kind of exploding thing, a lot of that was inspired by the Pixies. Yet Kurt Cobain” — Nirvana’s lead singer and songwriter — “was such a genius that he managed to make it his own. And ‘Smells Like Teen Spirit’?” — here he was referring to perhaps the best-known Nirvana song. “That’s Boston’s ‘More Than a Feeling.’ ” He began to hum the riff of the Boston hit, and said, “The first time I heard ‘Teen Spirit,’ I said, ‘That guitar lick is from “More Than a Feeling.” ’ But it was different — it was urgent and brilliant and new.” He played another CD. It was Rod Stewart’s “Do Ya Think I’m Sexy,” a huge hit from the 1970s. The chorus has a distinctive, catchy hook — the kind of tune that millions of Americans probably hummed in the shower the year it came out. Then he put on “Taj Mahal,” by the Brazilian artist Jorge Ben Jor, which was recorded several years before the Rod Stewart song. In his twenties, my friend was a DJ at various downtown clubs, and at some point he’d become interested in world music. “I caught it back then,” he said. A small, sly smile spread across his face. The opening bars of “Taj Mahal” were very South American, a world away from what we had just listened to. And then I heard it. It was so obvious and unambiguous that I laughed out loud; virtually note for note, it was the hook from “Do Ya Think I’m Sexy.” It was possible that Rod Stewart had independently come up with that riff, because resemblance is not proof of influence. It was also possible that he’d been in Brazil, listened to some local music, and liked what he heard.

The perfect girl what can I say; to be so close yet, feel miles away. I want to run to her, but have to walk out the door going the other way. The only words spoken to her are- ‘Have a nice day.’ I think about her and the summer, and what it could have been with her. It reminds me of- sixteen, you are on my mind all the time. I think about you. It is like a vision of the stars shining, ribbon wearing, bracelet making, and holding hands forever. All the sunflowers in the hayfields and kissing in the rain, no more brick walls, no more falling teardrops of pain, and no more jigsaw puzzle pieces would remain. True love should not be such a game; does she feel the same. She is everything that I cannot have, and everything I lack. What if every day could be like this- Diamond rings, football games, and movies on the weekends? It is easy to see she belongs to me; she is everything that reminds me of ‘sixteen’ everything that is in my dreams. Everything she does is amazing, but then again, I am just speculating, and fantasizing about Nevaeh Natalie, who just turned the age of sixteen! Nevaeh- I recall my first boy kiss was not at all, what I thought it was going to be like. I was wearing a light pink dress, and flip-flops that were also pink with white daisy flowers printed on them. I loosened my ponytail and flipped out my hair until my hair dropped down my back, and around my shoulders. That gets A guy going every time, so I have read online. He was wearing ripped-up jeans and a Led Zeppelin t-shirt. He said that- ‘My eyes sparkled in blue amazement, which was breathtaking, that he never saw before.’ Tell me another line… I was thinking, while Phil Collins ‘Take Me Home’ was playing in the background. I smiled at him, he began to slowly lean into me, until our lips locked. So, enjoy, he kissed me, and my heart was all aflutter. When it happened, I felt like I was floating, and my stomach had butterflies. My eyes fastened shut with no intentions of me doing so during the whole thing. When my eyes unfastened my feelings of touch engaged, and I realized that his hands are on my hips. His hands slowly moved up my waist, and my body. I was trembling from the exhilaration. Plus, one thing led to another. It was sort of my first time, kissing and playing with him you know a boy, oh yet not really, I had gotten to do some things with Chiaz before like, in class as he sat next to me. I would rub my hand on it under the desks- yeah, he liked that, and he would be. Oh, how could I forget this… there was this one time in the front seat of his Ford pickup truck, we snuck off… and this was my first true time gulping down on him, for a lack of a better term. As I had my head in his lap and was about to move up for him to go in me down there, I was about to get on top and let him in me. When we both heard her this odd, yet remarkably loud scream of bloody murder! Ava was saying- ‘You too were going to fuck! What the fuck is going on here? Anyways, Ava spotted us before he got to ‘Take me!

That's bad, but even worse, dreadful hipster bands like Slint and Pavement have given music fans every excuse to limit their listening to antique arena-rock from the likes of Led Zeppelin and Queen.

The vibe here is very, Let’s kill a virgin and write a great Led Zeppelin album.

The founder of the Rolling Stones, Brian Jones (born Lewis Brian Hopkin-Jones), had Welsh blood. David Bowie’s real name was David Jones. Ray Davies. Robert Plant and Jimmy Page both had Welsh ancestors, and even retreated to Wales to write music for Led Zeppelin. “Bron-Yr-Aur.

the survivors got a bit hardier. Kotter was like an inoculation that toughened everyone up for Olivia Newton-John, who in turn prepared the cosmos for Billy Joel. So as the music got marginally less awful, the mortality rate paradoxically dropped. And by the time they started exploring the FM frequencies, most Refined beings were ready for what they found. By then it was mid-1978. The FM dial was jammed with what we now call Classic Rock, and some stations occasionally played entire albums from start to finish. The last big die-off occurred when WPLJ broadcast both sides of Led Zeppelin IV. And anyone who survived that had what it took to safely listen to even the most stellar rock ’n’ roll.

The term micro-hub didn't have much to do with the size of the drones. It was nomenclature Hail's crew used to refer to a drone's heritage. The main drone was Foghat, which dropped off the hub called Led Zeppelin or its mini-drone. The next group of hubs that were released by Led Zeppelin was referred to as micro-hubs. If those hubs parented more hubs, then those would be called nano-hubs and so on until pico has been used. Hail's drone laboratories had never nested drones deeper than pico, so there was no need for any further classification. The inventors of the metric system in 18th century France, had little need for any terminology smaller than micro, because they didn't have instruments fine enough to measure more minute increments. But in later years, pico, femto, atto, zepto and yocto metric increments had been established in case Hail's team ever needed them.

He laid the new records on the table. One, two, three, four. Sacred music by Pérotin, Tosca by Puccini, James Brown’s “Ain’t It Funky Now, Parts 1 and 2,” and Led Zeppelin IV.

Any harder edge may also have been a subconscious reaction to the accusations of ‘dinosaur rock’ that were being thrown at bands like Led Zeppelin, Emerson, Lake & Palmer and ourselves. We were all aware of the arrival of punk – even anyone who didn’t listen to the music could not have failed to notice the Sex Pistols’ explosion into the media spotlight. Just in case we had missed this, locked in our Britannia Row bunker, Johnny Rotten kindly sported a particularly fetching ‘I hate Pink Floyd’ T-shirt.

A duvet is no match for Led Zeppelin. He was caught red-handed undercover.

There was Francis Grasso, who was an anomaly: a straight DJ at a gay club, the Sanctuary, who liked to play the orgasmic interlude from “Whole Lotta Love,” by Led Zeppelin, on top of the drumming section of “I’m a Man,” by Chicago.

Asteria’s Ship’s Library Sailing Books Admiralty, NP 136, Ocean Passages of the World, 1973 (1895).  Admiralty, NP 303 / AP 3270, Rapid Sight Reduction Tables for Navigation Vol 1 & Vol 2 & Vol3. Admiralty, The Nautical Almanac 2018 & 2019. Errol Bruce: Deep Sea Sailing, 1954. K. Adlard Coles: Heavy Weather Sailing, 1967. Tom Cunliffe: Celestial Navigation, 1989. Andrew Evans: Single Handed Sailing, 2015. Rob James: Ocean Sailing, 1980. Robin Knox-Johnston: A World of my Own, 1969. Robin Knox-Johnston: On Seamanship & Seafaring, 2018. Bernard Moitessier: The Long Route, 1971. Hal Roth: Handling Storms at Sea, 2009. Spike Briggs & Campbell Mackenzie: Skipper's Medical Emergency Handbook, 2015 Essays Albert Camus: The Myth of Sisyphus & Other Essays, 1955. Biographies Pamela Eriksson: The Duchess, 1958. Olaf Harken: Fun Times in Boats, Blocks & Business, 2015. Martti Häikiö: VA Koskenniemi 1–2, 2009. Eino Koivistoinen: Gustaf Erikson – King of Sailing Ships, 1981. Erik Tawaststjerna: Jean Sibelius 1–5, 1989. Novels Ingmar Bergman: The Best Intentions, 1991. Bo Carpelan: Axel, 1986. Joseph Conrad: The End of the Tether, 1902. Joseph Conrad: Youth and Other Stories 1898–1910.  Joseph Conrad: Heart of Darkness, 1902. Joseph Conrad: Lord Jim, 1900. James Joyce: Ulysses, 1922, (translation Pentti Saarikoski 1982). Volter Kilpi: In the Alastalo Hall I – II, 1933. Thomas Mann: Buddenbrooks, 1925. Harry Martinson: The Road, 1948. Hjalmar Nortamo: Collected Works, 1938. Marcel Proust: In Search of Lost Time 1–10, 1922. Poems Aaro Hellaakoski: Collected Poems. Homer: Odysseus, c. 700 BC (translation Otto Manninen). Harry Martinson: Aniara, 1956. Lauri Viita: Collected Poems. Music Classic Jean Sibelius Sergei Rachmaninov Sergei Prokofiev Gustav Mahler Franz Schubert Giuseppe Verdi Mozart Carl Orff Richard Strauss Edvard Grieg Max Bruch Jazz Ben Webster Thelonius Monk Oscar Peterson Miles Davis Keith Jarrett Errol Garner Dizzy Gillespie & Benny Dave Brubeck Stan Getz Charlie Parker Ella Fitzgerald John Coltrane Other Ibrahim Ferrer, Buena Vista Social Club Jobim & Gilberto, Eric Clapton Carlos Santana Bob Dylan John Lennon Beatles Sting Rolling Stones Dire Straits Mark Knopfler Moody Blues Pink Floyd Jim Morrison The Doors Procol Harum Leonard Cohen Led Zeppelin Kim Carnes Jacques Brel Yves Montand Edit Piaf

LED ZEPPELIN HATED Rolling Stone, and me in particular.

Please listen to the hi-hat on the recorded version of Led Zeppelin’s “When the Levee Breaks.” Listen through once. Allow yourself to be trans- ported back to the time or place when you first fell deeply into that trance of sound, so wide and powerful it gave a new depth to your life, a depth you had not known to search for. Or maybe this is the first time you are hearing the song. In that case, I imagine you prefer different music altogether. Maybe you discount rock and roll as ego-driven, disconnected from that channeled light of Bach or Satie or Django or Monk. No matter. Allow the resistance to rise here as well, then wait for the moment the song breaks through, rings that same truth, that same transportive bell of beauty, that hyp notic atmosphere music offers. How beautiful to find lessons in our resistance. This may be a foundation of spiritual practice, to dive into the center of no and investigate. All those pronouncements and walls dis- solve like so much dust under the microscope of mind. The trance of song—loud, immense, gorgeous—does the same.

By the end of his life, Bobby Hastings was just skin and bone, dirty all the time—you could smell him—and he wore the same Tee-shirt, day in and day out. It had a picture of the Led Zeppelins on it. His eyes were red, he had a scraggle on his cheeks that you couldn’t quite call a beard, and his pimples were coming back, like he was a teenager again. But she loved him, because a mother’s love sees past all those things.

I wasn’t afraid of crossing into what some of the players might have considered their private territory–hairstyles and jewellery. I never understood why players would want to have long hair when they spend so much effort trying to be as fit and quick as possible. Anything, even a few extra locks of hair, just didn’t seem sensible. I had my first issue with a player on this topic when Karel Poborský came to Manchester from Slavia Prague in 1996, looking as though he was going to play for Led Zeppelin rather than United. I did manage to persuade him to trim his locks but, even so, they were always too long for my taste. There were other players who would be wearing necklaces carrying crosses that seemed heavier than those the pilgrims carry up the Via Dolorosa in Jerusalem. I banned all those. However, there wasn’t much I could do about tattoos since it was hard–even for me–to argue that they added any weight. Eric Cantona started that particular craze when he arrived one morning with the head of an American Indian chief stencilled on to his left breast. Since Eric was venerated by his team-mates, several other players followed suit. I was always struck by the fact that Cristiano Ronaldo never chose to deface his body. It said a lot about his self-discipline.

You know you shook me, you shook me all night long.

The pain of war cannot exceed the woe of aftermath, just ask Led Zeppelin.

Led Zeppelin was a very sensitive and beautiful animal beast.

Listening to Led Zeppelin's Heartbreaker while reading your own book, sipping a beer after midnight, is a satisfying feeling...however fleeting.

Well, I can no longer hear the silence.” But that’s okay, because you are mildly amusing and I am enjoying hearing you ramble on like a Led Zeppelin song. “Oh my God!” “What is it this time?” “Your subtext changed!” Jared’s smiles were always

of the Led Zep rarities 145 words Led Zeppelin (1969) 'Heartbreaker' (Live). Few meaningful alternative takes exist for the band's quickly assembled debut album. So for the companion disc, Jimmy Page chose tracks from

took an instant dislike to him and this impression was to remain with me for many years, until I met him under completely different circumstances and came to realize what an exceptional man he was. If you want a great read you should get his book, written with Robert Greenfield, called Bill Graham Presents. It is a fascinating autobiography of an extraordinary man.

Yngve came in and said that John Bonham, the drummer in Led Zeppelin, was on one of the songs.

Using a double bass drum in rock came about as a way to emulate what John Bonham of Led Zeppelin managed to do with one bass drum. His foot was so fast that it took most drummers two kick drums and both feet to mimic it.

Scot Adams, author of “Dilbert” — “Science shows that when you fake a smile long enough, you’ll eventually be happier”. I know that when I listen to music I smile. So I’m listening to Kashmir by Led Zeppelin right now. And smiling.

When you're in the clutches of a drinking problem you don't really sit around thinking, I should really knock this shit off and go get my Eastern philosophy on. On your to-do list, pursuing a higher state of consciousness doesn't really rank. It's more like, put on Led Zeppelin 4 and hand me some of that Root Beer Schnapps.

So if you wake up with the sunshine, and all your dreams are still as new, and happiness is what you need so bad, the answer lies with-in you.

My favored stick of rock was glam, where Bowie, T. Rex, Roxy Music, Sparks, and Cockney Rebel provided the soundtrack to my youth. Each had an individually captivating sound, and together they told the story I wanted to hear through those times in Britain. Other kids at school were lost in a haze of Pink Floyd and Genesis, or were queuing endlessly to secure Led Zeppelin tickets. We were all members of different factions, but wherever you belonged, the music was inspirational. It was an important voice in our culture, a way for our generation to express its singularity.

Get the Led Out . . . to . . . get outta Bed

Sometimes I need to Get the Led out . . . in order to get Outta the right side of the bed

And yesterday I saw you kissing tiny flowers, But all that lives is born to die. And so I say to you that nothing really matters, And all you do is stand and cry. I don't know what to say about it When all your ears are turned away, But now's the time to look and look again at what you see, Is that the way it ought to stay?

There is little point in getting a dog and barking yourself.

The showmanship of Chuck Berry was like nothing they had seen before. One impressionable young fan in the audience would be downright inspired. It was none other than a young Jimmy Page, the future guitarist of Led Zeppelin, who was in attendance during this grand musical spectacle. Musicians who were more immediately using their Chuck Berry influence

Sure enough, a door opened to a narrow stairwell exactly where he’d expected it. A patch of light flooded from above like a stairway to heaven. He half expected angels to sing. Or at least Led Zeppelin.

For my mother, the experience was emotional. When my music was evolving, I hadn’t allowed her to hear it. For years up on Cloverdale, I had always locked myself in my room, not letting anybody hear what I was doing. Then, after I moved out, I never invited her to hear me working in the studios. So, when Let Love Rule was released, she was completely shocked. She could hear how everything that I had experienced on my journey came alive in that album: Tchaikovsky; the Jackson 5; James Brown; the Harlem School of the Arts; Stevie Wonder; Gladys Knight and the Pips; Earth, Wind & Fire; Miles Davis; Jimi Hendrix; Led Zeppelin; KISS; the California Boys’ Choir; Prince; David Bowie; Miss Beasley’s orchestra; the Beverly Hills High jazz band; the magical spark between me and Lisa; the spirit of our daughter. More than anyone, Mom knew that I had poured every aspect of my life into this effort. That was enough to make her proud. But what blindsided her—and me as well—was the sight of thousands of fans singing lyrics that I had written—and most of those fans didn’t even speak English.

never thought pro wrestling was high entertainment. Led Zeppelin is high entertainment.33

Highway to Heaven” by Led Zeppelin

...and it makes me wonder.

The Wizard” was like if the Who fucked Led Zeppelin and Blue Öyster Cult at an orgy after an opium-laden game of Dungeons & Dragons.

So I learned from my neighbors, my friends, romance novels, Judy Blume, Cosmo, and Led Zeppelin.

Spent my days with a woman unkind Smoked my stuff and drank all my wine Made up my mind to make a new start Going To California with an aching in my heart Someone told me there's a girl out there With love in her eyes and flowers in her hair Took my chances on a big jet plane Never let them tell you that they're all the same The sea was red and the sky was grey Wondered how tomorrow could ever follow today The mountains and the canyons started to tremble and shake As the children of the sun began to awake Seems that the wrath of the Gods Got a punch on the nose and it started to flow I think I might be sinking Throw me a line if I reach it in time I'll meet you up there where the path Runs straight and high To find a queen without a king They say she plays guitar and cries and sings La la la la Side a white mare in the footsteps of dawn Tryin' to find a woman who's never, never, never been born Standing on a hill in my mountain of dreams Telling myself it's not as hard, hard, hard as it seems

Having started when everything had to be recorded at once, I have never lost the value of musicians interacting with one another as they play. This can be so subtle, and invariably is nothing more than a subconscious emotive reaction to what others are playing around you, with what you are contributing having the same effect on them. When a musician overdubs his or her part onto an existing track, this ceases to be a two-way reaction. With only the musician who is added being affected by what he or she is playing to. Recording equipment was originally designed to capture the performance of a piece of music. Now it influences the way music is written and performed.

Fifteen minutes had already passed, and Tolkachev had one more request. He handed Rolph a piece of paper. When Rolph looked down, he saw it was printed in English in block letters: 1. LED ZEPPELIN 2. PINK FLOYD 3. GENESIS 4. ALAN PARSONS PROJECT 5. EMERSON, LAKE AND PALMER 6. URIAH HEEP 7. THE WHO 8. THE BEATLES 9. THE YES 10. RICK WAKEMAN 11. NAZARETH 12. ALICE COOPER

That is the sum total of what “rock” is now for the people who listen to rock radio and attend festivals like Rock Fest—an inscrutable equation that plugs old-world rock hedonism passed down fourth-hand from Led Zeppelin and Aerosmith into the bludgeoning, sadomasochistic sonic textures of post-grunge and nu metal. It’s party music for people who hate their lives.

By then I’d played with a couple of college bands, doing clumsy covers ofrock staples. There were other bands that would produce note-perfect imitationsof songs by Led Zeppelin or Pink Floyd and drive audiences wild. If a bandcould play something exactly as it was on tape, the consensus was that they mustbe good. But after a period of proving themselves this way, most bands became alittle more ambitious, and a day would come when they’d go up on stage duringa college festival and introduce a song with the dreaded words, ‘This is anoriginal composition.’ Almost always, these originals were listless pastiches ofthe covers the band played, the lyrics apparently not about anything at all. Thesewere skilled musicians, but their chosen form seemed to preclude any realengagement with their own lives or the lives of their audience. This was mostevident in the Death Metal bands, where you might have a good Hindu boygrowling menacingly about his affinity for Satan. This was a cargo-cult, amimicking of someone else’s rebellion.

The sun was peeking over a row of beeches like a pastoral equivalent of the classic graffiti of Kilroy and his wall, and the owls of the valley had just handed the avian noise baton over to the Dawn Chorus. This morning the band, which was rapidly becoming one of my all-time favourite British ones, right up there with Led Zeppelin, Pentangle and the Stones, was working on a fuller sound: lots of new session players were chipping in and trying out new ideas, including a pheasant, the ensemble’s answer to a notoriously unreliable bagpipe player who stumbles in, still drunk from the night before, blows a couple of off-kilter notes, then leaves. Still in my pyjamas,

No one should ever underestimate the influence that Pete Townshend has had on popular music. There is no question in my mind that both he and The Who were every bit as influential as The Beatles and the Stones as the UK invasion took America and the rest of the world by storm. He was equally as innovative as a musician and lyricist, finding a way to state the feelings of the mod generation he and the band represented. The combination of these four unlikely cohorts interpreting Pete’s writing was something to behold, each of them contributing in his own original way. The seemingly uncontrolled explosion of energy they produced, glued together by exceptional musicianship.

John had recently appeared in the Stones’ Rock and Roll Circus in a supergroup that was an unlikely combination of him, Keith Richards, Eric Clapton, and Mitch Mitchell. It was unrehearsed, and the performance was just a bit of fun really. I was in my booth, way up in the gods, recording the sound for the show, and the area on the set where they were playing was obscured from my view. All was going well until I heard this extraordinary noise that sounded like someone stepping on the cat. I panicked, thinking that a piece of equipment might be malfunctioning, while peering at the screen trying to see if it was adversely affecting the guys onstage. All of a sudden a picture appeared of a small figure with a black bag over its head with a mic cable disappearing into it. It turned out to be Yoko, who had decided to contribute to the proceedings. How anyone could have considered her intrusion to be in any way musical is a complete mystery to me.

As it turned out, none of this mattered, as in the end, after the group broke up, John gave the tapes to Phil Spector, who puked all over them, turning the album into the most syrupy load of bullshit I have ever heard. My master tape, perhaps quite rightly, ended