In Defense of the Mighty Zep

Who, us?

Texts from last night:

“Dirk is awesome.”

“Better than Bird?”

I realize that coming to the “defense” of Led Zeppelin is like coming to the defense of sex or coming to the defense of chocolate or like beating up a seven-year-old to defend my family’s honor. I guess there are some people who don’t like these things (Hershey’s, Robert Plant), but everybody agrees they’re an essential part of existence. I can – and will – for instance, draw a direct line from Dirk Nowitzki’s game 4 exploits to 1970′s Zeppelin III, and that unequivocal association goes as follows:

“Immigrant Song” prolonged the otherwise defunct utility of both Germanic barbarism and long hair… without which there would be no Dirk Nowitzki… without which there would be no Monday night in Oklahoma City.

Zeppelin changed everything - not just rock music, but the very way in which we consume reality. So when these four divinely loud lads from London take fire from the good folks at Live Oak Blues, I have to take a step back, contemplate the nature of the claims – plagiarism – and say to myself: Yes, Zep pillaged and stole…

Thank God.

Now I’m all for giving credit where credit is due – which puts me at odds with, say, Jimmy Page – but anyone (no offense Chris) who claims Zep I’s “Dazed and Confused” is a “note for note” rip of Jake Holmes’ 1967 version is from the same school of hollow contrarianism that’ll have you believe Jeff Beck’s Truth was the originator of heavy metal.

These things are simply not true.

Zeppelin did for rock ‘n roll what the forth wheel did for the auto. Comparing pre-Zep pop music and post-Zep pop music is likening apples to the flying monkeys from the Wizard of Oz.

So to the point of plagiarism: I certainly do not endorse slapping one’s name upon retooled blues appropriations without throwing a bone to the legends who articulated those nascent musical exoskeletons. But skeletons are exactly what they are. Just as Kanye West’s “Hell of a Life” has absolutely no relation to Sabbath’s “Iron Man” (though Ozzman gets a writing credit), neither does Anne Bredon’s folky “Babe I’m Gonna Leave You” resemble whatsoever the ’69 acousta-metal hybrid that fells tall houses. And while crediting is a noble cause and certainly sounds great in theory, the way people consume music – i.e. via download – ultimately renders the whole concept of liner notes moot to begin.

King Crimson “wrote” part of “Power.” People don’t know this unless they check Wikipedia (which, btw, is the same source validating Zep’s fleecing of “The Lemon Song“).

Zeppelin essentially took an Atari 2600 and turned it into a three-story GameWorks. So they nicked a few riffs along the way. Most people A) already acknowledge and B) subsequently discard this historical footnote for what it is: a fact of life. Rock stars have no moral compass. There’s a crystalline thread between beating the life out of a roadie in Oakland, spending black magic summers in a demonic country castle, pioneering playtime with fish parts… and stealing.

Rock stars, by and large, are not good people. That’s why they’re rock stars. Rock ‘n roll exists BECAUSE people are inherently bad: we’re angry, we’re horny, and we want to do drugs.

All is fair in war and rock ‘n roll. If you don’t like Zeppelin because they’re thieves, you better not like the Stones (because they’re misogynists) or Nirvana (because they’re destructive nihilists) or the Stooges (because they’re f*cking vile) or Queen (because they suck). Popular music is no place to go searching for moral high ground. It’s a dog eat dog world. Bon Scott tells us as much.

The last text from Monday night’s inbox reads: “Didn’t see Bird but I can’t imagine a better shooting big man.” Bingo. I didn’t see Bird either, just as I didn’t grow up listening to John Lee Hooker or Blind Willie McTell or Willie Dixon. I didn’t need to. I had something that’s bigger, stronger, faster, better.