Published on Nov 16, 1998
Up until the time I was about 17 years old, I hated Led
Zeppelin. Don’t ask me why; I just couldn’t stand them. The truth
was that I had never really heard their music, but being young,
narrow-minded in my tastes of music and fairly stupid, I wasn’t
willing to give them a try.
Then, the revelation occurred. Every year in the Chicagoland
area, a special used record sale is held to help benefit research
for a cure to ALS, or Lou Gehrig’s Disease. In the tent of the
Mammoth Music Mart, they had a few battered Led Zeppelin albums for
a dollar each. Figuring I wouldn’t be out too much if I hated them,
I bought the albums, and took them home. It just so happened that
the first album I gave a shot on the turntable was their untitled
fourth album. (Side note: Many people mistakenly assume that this
album is titled
Led Zeppelin IV, or that the runes that represent each band
member are the title — even though Billboard used them to identify
the album on their charts. In fact, there is no title for this
album.)
Pow — the realization of who this band was and their ultimate
power hit me like a cab racing to pick up a fare. What the hell had
I been thinking all these years? It took me far too long to learn
what people who first heard this album in 1971 knew: it’s a
timeless classic.
Led Zeppelin were coming off the critical drubbing they received
for
Led Zeppelin III, a more acoustic, experimental album for
the band. What guitarist Jimmy Page, vocalist Robert Plant, bassist
John Paul Jones and drummer John Bonham could not have realized was
that they were about to re-write rock history with their fourth
album. Still staying in a slightly acoustic vein for a few numbers,
it also marked a return to the blues for Led Zeppelin, albeit in
their own unique style.
The opening number, “Black Dog,” exemplifies their own style of
the blues, with a vocal from Plant that almost sounds free-form,
followed by the rest of the band punctuating what Plant said with
their riffs. Wisely, Page saves his guitar pyrotechnics for the end
of the song, allowing the whole band to shape the voice of this
number. The blues continues with an in-your-face 12-bar number,
“Rock And Roll,” and it completes the album with the plodding “When
The Levee Breaks,” a number that is driven by Bonham’s snare and
bass drums.
Acoustically, Led Zeppelin build on the styles they began to
develop on
Led Zeppelin III (although they abandon any country motifs
they had, as on “Tangerine”), and turn it into more of a folk vein.
Their collaboration with Sandy Denny (to my knowledge, one of the
few times that the band brought in an additional musician) on “The
Battle Of Evermore” was sure to shock the long-time fans of the
band — no guitars, just mandolin? Thing is, Denny’s vocals seemed
to be the perfect yin to Plant’s yang, and the instrumental
arrangement also works to everyone’s benefit. Likewise, “Going To
California” is a pretty arrangement, featuring guitar and mandolin.
It is one of Plant’s most moving vocal performances in his career
with Led Zeppelin.
The two tracks that return Zeppelin to a rock vein all their
own, “Misty Mountain Hop” and “Four Sticks,” are unique animals in
and of themselves, each one featuring a member of the band that
normally didn’t get the spotlight. Jones’s organ work is a driving
force on “Misty Mountain Hop,” which might seem a little too
hippy-drippy these days. Bonham’s incredible work on the drums is
evidenced on “Four Sticks,” pounding out a rhythm pattern that I’ve
never been able to figure out. If you want proof that Bonham was
one of the greatest rock drummers ever, this song is exhibit
“A.”
And then, there is “Stairway To Heaven,” possibly the most
played song in FM radio history — and also a song that has
never been commercially released as a single. (It was
released as a promo in 1971, and as a special 20th anniversary
promo in 1991 — I had that 1991 promo, and gave it to my father
earlier this year.) What can be said about this song that hundreds
of thousands of voices haven’t already said? I think what seals
this song’s eternal staying power is its slow build from minimal
instrumental arrangement into a grand piece with Page’s trademark
guitar solo at the end. Overlooked in this, I feel, is Page’s
acoustic work; his gentle chords in the first half of the song are
just as powerful as the intense electric work he throws in.
The drawback to releasing an album this good is that it’s bound
to get overplayed on the radio — and this particular album, to
some, has overstayed its welcome. True, oversaturating the airwaves
with these eight songs does tend to take away their power when you
listen to them in the guise of the album. That being said, there
still is something magical about hearing this album in its entirety
that radio will never take away from it.
There are few albums that I declare are works that everyone must
own — and this is easily the first one I’d tell people to pick
up.