led zeppelin reunion

faces of death

here's my latest column from the paper. :P

CARPE DIEM 12.8

By the time you read this, the much–anticipated Led Zeppelin reunion show may have already happened. It’s going down on Monday the 10^th at London’s O2 Arena, and just by reading this, a deluxe DVD box set has probably already been shipped to your house, and your credit card charged $79.99.

That’s not to say the whole thing is simply crass commercialism. The demand is certainly there for a Zep reunion; in fact, as natural showmen, the three surviving band members have coyly dropped hints about the possibility of more performances coming—by expressly denying that any such arrangements have been made. Another teaser-denial is circulating, with organizers of the Bonnaroo Festival denying that Zep will be playing there. Though the band has left the door open to playing more shows, bass player John Paul Jones for one has said that the band has been offered “hundreds of millions of dollars” to tour North America, but that he wouldn’t even consider it—if he didn’t think it would be fun.

We’ll see how much fun the aging rockers have, come Monday.

Originally the band was asked to play a 40-minute set, but deemed that too short. After all, as Jimmy Page told NME.com, even three Zeppelin songs complete with all the solos could easily top an hour. The band has reportedly stretched out its set list to 90-plus minutes, and Page is confident the show will near two hours, although he claims he doesn’t have the energy left to pull off a three-and-a-half hour show anymore.

And why would he? He was born before World War Two ended, and spent a good decade or more living as the prototypical “golden god” of rock, consuming more whiskey and drugs during in that short time than most people would be able to survive – or even afford – over the course of a lifetime. Who can blame the guy for being tired?

Which brings me to my point: is anyone else sick of aging rockers tottering out on stage with their intravenous drips and colostomy bags tucked carefully beneath their costumes, which are hanging over withered, skeletal bodies—or worse, exposing years of soft living draped over the beltline of their too-tight jeans—attempting in vain to pull off what they did so effortlessly 30 years ago?

Don’t get me wrong—I grew up on this stuff, and I still listen to it occasionally. Although I discovered these bands after their heyday had passed, I started out as a classic rock kid, devouring Zep, the Who, the Beatles, Jimi Hendrix—you name it. The bands of this period are undoubtedly some of the greatest examples of not only modern musicianship, but also of the sheer effrontery, innovation and balls that rock is supposed to possess.

And I have nothing against performers re-interpreting their songs from a bygone age. I actually have 1981’s “The Secret Policeman’s Ball” on my turntable right now (yes, I have a turntable) because I wanted to re-examine Pete Townshend’s astounding acoustic performance of “Pinball Wizard” and “Won’t Get Fooled Again.”

But when you start getting Roger Daltrey and Townshend touring as “The Who” even though Keith Moon died nearly three decades ago, and John Entwistle snorted himself out of existence a few years back—while celebrating an upcoming tour—the whole thing becomes sort of depressing. Back to the incredible musicianship of these bands: does anyone believe that Led Zeppelin would ever have achieved the heights – literal and figurative – that it did if John Bonham had never been part of it?

Why, then, is it reasonable to expect that the remaining three members can recreate that magic 30 years later?

It’s almost worse when all or most of the band members are still kicking. A Rolling Stones concert is, simply put, a sad thing. Their albums post-1980 are worse. The Eagles charging a minimum of $100 for a seat at one of their tired, barely-civil, retread shows is downright shameful.

It’s just not the same, folks. It was an enchanted moment when these bands first played, a perfect storm of post-adolescent dissatisfaction, joy and rage all balled up into a crashing symphony bordering on the supernatural, which cannot be recreated no matter how badly you want to return to that time.

Move on. I hear The MySpace has one or two bands on it. Maybe it’s time to check out something new.

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