It is clearly a Led Zeppelin day today.
I walk into the library with the wee ones, and the first book I see on
the presentation stand is "Hammer of the Gods", the infamous
piss-up-by-piss-up, punch-up-by-punch-up, groupie-by-groupie account
of the band's fortunes. Features a lot of silly waffle about Robert
Johnson and deals with the devil, but also some interesting stuff
about Jimmy Page's impressive capacity for screwing with the heads of
the people around him. Page was a big Crowley fan, of course.
Later on I start downloading old Led Zep tracks through Soulseek (I
own the vinyl, but no longer have anything I can play it on), and
playing along with guitar solos that used to fill me with awe and that
I still know large portions of note-for-note. On the one hand you
could argue that the fact I can now play all that stuff myself shows
that Page wasn't that great a technical virtuoso (not that he ever
claimed to be). On the other hand, it says something that it's *his*
licks I spent my teenage years and beyond practising until I could
replicate them without really thinking about it.
Quick peek in the TV/Radio guide, and I see that Robert Plant is on
Radio 2 at 9.30pm this evening talking about his career and new
album...
(Another index of Page's greatness is that he could make a hurdy-gurdy
sound incredibly sinister. My sister still aspires to own one. They
are actually bastard hard to play - not unlike patting your head and
rubbing your tummy at the same time.)
Dominic
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