THERE'S a kaleidoscope in my mind, and with the right stimulation, I can sometimes refocus it on one, glorious, fractured picture. Mind, it has to be absolutely the perfect stimulus. Ain't no game of horseshoes: almost just don't count. Just at this moment, the stimulation is pretty damn good: I'm mellowed down on a Monday afternoon, it's 90-some-odd degrees of Southern California gorgeous, and there's a low-wattage electric spark to the music on the radio that keeps my ears tuned but not obsessed. There are so many memories of so many of these perfect California days. I do believe it's a memory drill just to sort them out -- a droop-eyed Zen mnemonic device peculiar to warm climates and nostalgia. On June 27,1977, Led Zeppelin played their last L.A. gig. It was the final assault on El Lay by the Vikings responsible for the Riot House Capers, etc. etc. etc. ad nauseum. I lived 1/2 block off Sunset Blvd. and the decadent-rockstar-groupie-manic-depressive bullshit was way too close to be amusing or romantic. The underbelly was my front yard and it waren't purty! So I wasn't interested in any of that when I saw Zeppelin. I knew too many of the stories and scenes. What I was interested in was the music. I was 23 years old, in a cornucopia of sex, drugs, & rock Ôn roll, and I couldn't have tripped harder than I had on the sheer aural power of Physical Graffiti. At the current distance of 23 years, some of the details have blurred, but never the immensity of that concert. It was the yardstick by which I would measure any and every show I've seen since. I remember the Forum and it's dome. Funny, the last time I was there, it didn't seem as big as my memory of it---- kinda like the steps in elementary school: always in recall so much larger. Second section, stage left, above floor level, first row. Close enough to get high without worrying too much about trying to focus through binoculars. The stage was huge from there; the lights a blaze of electric raspberry; Bonham's drums were an assault. Plant was the golden lion of legend, Page the pied piper of devil worship-----every cliche you've ever heard about Zeppelin. It was there right in front of you, and I didn't impress easy. "Kashmir" was, without a doubt, the jewel in their crown: the stage exploding with violent yellow light, the vocals larger than life. There was Jimmy Page on his knees in a green pyramid of laser light, bent backwards with the violin bow raised during the "Dazed and Confused" solo: the only part of that signature tune he played that night. It was an immense concert, spanning hours, and albums of music. The acoustic set was remarkable, adding Muddy Waters to the mix. Page's three solo breaks were a kind of musical witchcraft. Ever hear about 20,000 people so mesmerized they didn't dare to breathe? "Communication breakdown" sounded like a runaway train. "In my time of dying" left me spellbound in my grave. Pretty awesome stuff!! Plant was a little thin after so many nights, but his power was undeniable, his range haunting. The duet of voice and guitar with Page illustrated an intensity of musical bonding that cut through the clouds of pot and adrenalin. We all were aware that Moon had been onstage with them not four days earlier.....plus there was the added measure of Eddie Van Halen's critique of Page's playing: ah, the years of guitar-hero wars!!! They were funny, if commercial. It is, with an odd, maternal nod at my own youth, a strange thing to recall. The L.A. crowd was utterly insane with old testament zeal to prove their conquerors the king. They weren't watching a performance, they were worshiping. We all knew it. When the Crowes announced the charity gig with Page, I drooled over any pictures I could find on the internet. There are times I really hate the internet, but that's a whole Ônother story. I'm not that much different that I was then---still crazy after all these years, etc. When they announced the gigs, I was at the computer, poised like a warrior about to charge into battle over the keyboard. I didn't do too badly for the 10/19/99 show at the Greek Theatre: row U Section 2, I think. I don't know. I didn't use those tix---I was lucky enough to have won 9th row seats thru Artist Direct (and now a word from our sponsor........) I'd heard "Dying" on Netaid and I was impressed. A lot. Jimmy looked adorable.....played like an angel. I almost forgave him the "kashmir-rap" thing. (again, another story). Chris knocked my socks off. A little voice in the back of my head looked up and said, "well?.........more please!" All the memories of that glorious 1977 show resurfaced, wrapped in a golden halo of youth and past. It's hard to explain how one can have such decidedly silly idealism attached to a concert. I know that only someone who's life-reflections are measured by the tune could understand. I was, quite frankly, terrified. Terrified it would be horrible. Terrified it would be great. Terrified my guitar-hero would fall. Terrified that my own memory had deceived me. The Greek is one of my favourite venues. I love the outdoor setting, the intimacy of it. I've seen everything from Nureyev to Red Cross on that stage. I adored the Crowe's 'High as the Moon' tour set. It felt like a big, backyard bbq. Great seats had been provided by Providence (who seems to be a Zep fan herself). I was ready! Listening to Chris tear into the 'sacred texts' was like standing next to a self who was still 23. I was awed. "Dying", I expected of him and "Whole Lotta Love" had also been heard. I was utterly lost during "Nobody's Fault but Mine". Then, he scared me to death: he started "You Shook Me". And he was outsinging the golden idol of my youth. He added 'southern' to the blues of "The Lemon Song": it had a sly wink and a tongue-in-cheek charm that had never pierced through the Zeppelin cut. Help!!! MY MALIBU-NOSTALGIA DEAMHOUSE IS COLLAPSING! Then there was Jimmy Page. He superimposed over his younger self with ease. The things about Page's playing that I've always loved are his vicious manner of attack, and his ability to use dissonance within a melodic line. I also like things loose---Clapton is a genius, but sometimes he's just too damn neat!! In fact, Page himself was showing me the same truth that Chris' vocals, the triple-trades of lead guitar, all of it was showing. The thing that truly separated this show and the "queen of shows" in my mind, was the fun. It had been apparent, from the opening number, that the Crowes were not only capable of the Zep catalogue, but able to play it without becoming a cover-band. They played the music. (Isn't it funny how people still forget about the music!?) And they had fun doing it. Page was clearly enjoying the hell out of himself and letting himself smile from a depth that was never there during the manic days of Zeppelin's last US tour. That musical smile extended from the stage and spilled over into the audience. It was a mixed bag, nervous about it's polarities of age. I guess that is something rock will always have with it's psychic roots in adolescent angst. Anyway, the angst was there: those brutal, driving rhythms that fuel Page's writing. There was Steve Gorman, who is either one of the most amazing drummers to live or was possessed. For everyone's sake, I believe it's the former. Hell!! I hope so! But there was something else too. There was Chris Robinson, with his spiky, intelligent charm, softening the angst by mentally lounging around on the front porch and blowing a little light into Zeppelin's "book of shadows'. It wasn't the Crowes. It wasn't Led Zeppelin. It was a whole new kinda animal playing Jimmy Page, Robert Plant, John-Paul Jones & John Bonham's music. It was precedented on the here-and-now. And it was so much fun, my memory self began to dance, and it took three days to wipe the grin off my face. I have only one question for everyone involved: why the hell did it take 22 years to hear that music live again!!!???? The 1977 Zeppelin show remains on its throne in my mind. Nothing can tarnish its brilliance or significance to me. And 10/19/99 is right up there in the 'most memorable' list. Both shows were amazing. Both were historic. Both resulted in something wonderful for music. I couldn't choose between them, because they are mutually dependent. Without one, the other couldn't exist. But it's pretty strange to find that perfect kaleidoscope picture I was talking about. Kind of like having a mandela recreate itself long after the sands have blown away. And if that isn't a very stoned, wise and Zen way to see it, well......why have you read this? © Briony James Grindlinger |