Dont know how many of you were there but: Twenty-seven years after they disbanded, Led Zeppelin were back together, for one night in London,
Brought back together to honour Ahmet Ertegun, the founder of their record company, Atlantic Records, who died last year, Zeppelin promised that this would be just a one-off appearance, to raise money for an educational fund.
I have to say that I was in my own fever of anticipation in the days building up to the big event: anxiety dreams clouded my sleep - what if they turned out to be not-very-good, or only played three songs? - while my waking hours were distracted by the thought that soon, the greatest band ever would once again take to the stage.
Well, three of them: on the drum-stool, Jason Bonham was replacing his dad John, whose death from a vodka binge in 1980 marked the end of the road for Zeppelin as a group.
But could it possibly live up to the expectation? .
The first song, Good Times, Bad Times, dispelled all fears. The familiar old sinew and swagger were still there, singer Robert Plant's voice seeming untouched by age, guitarist Jimmy Page, his hair now almost white, firing off little solos that were a taste of things to come, John Paul Jones's bass twisting and driving, Jason Bonham's drums crisp and powerful.
Then it got better. Ramble On was just sensational, and the crowd, hitherto a little subdued, began to wake up and shout. The band's body language spoke volumes: they were watching each other, playing to each other, smiling: they were a group.
Then it got better still: Black Dog. Byzantine riff, pulverising drums, hollering vocals. Magic. And no sign of Jimmy Page's finger injury that had caused the gig to be delayed. "Good evening," said Plant.
How much better could it get? Here's how much: In My Time of Dying, driven by such a dark, filthy, shivery blues riff, the electrifying change of pace, drums and guitar locked into a sensational groove. It scarcely seemed possible that a group could be this good.
Trampled Underfoot was a reminder that Zeppelin were fusing funk and rock 20 years before the Red Hot Chili Peppers, and that John Paul Jones is a great keyboard player.
And Nobody's Fault But Mine was a reminder that, contrary to myth, Zeppelin were - are - not a heavy metal band, not a prog-rock band, but a band who played and loved the blues, were electrified by it, and in turn electrified it.
And so it went on: they never flagged. Bonham was astonishing: he didn't just lock into Jones's base grooves - he played off against the guitar and the vocals. He was listening. And they had clearly done a lot of rehearsing.
I could go on but I'm running out of space. Dazed and Confused! Since I've Been Loving You! Stairway to Heaven! They were fantastic. Better than expected.
It was a joy and a privilege to be there.
DA in "euphoric" mode
Brought back together to honour Ahmet Ertegun, the founder of their record company, Atlantic Records, who died last year, Zeppelin promised that this would be just a one-off appearance, to raise money for an educational fund.
I have to say that I was in my own fever of anticipation in the days building up to the big event: anxiety dreams clouded my sleep - what if they turned out to be not-very-good, or only played three songs? - while my waking hours were distracted by the thought that soon, the greatest band ever would once again take to the stage.
Well, three of them: on the drum-stool, Jason Bonham was replacing his dad John, whose death from a vodka binge in 1980 marked the end of the road for Zeppelin as a group.
But could it possibly live up to the expectation? .
The first song, Good Times, Bad Times, dispelled all fears. The familiar old sinew and swagger were still there, singer Robert Plant's voice seeming untouched by age, guitarist Jimmy Page, his hair now almost white, firing off little solos that were a taste of things to come, John Paul Jones's bass twisting and driving, Jason Bonham's drums crisp and powerful.
Then it got better. Ramble On was just sensational, and the crowd, hitherto a little subdued, began to wake up and shout. The band's body language spoke volumes: they were watching each other, playing to each other, smiling: they were a group.
Then it got better still: Black Dog. Byzantine riff, pulverising drums, hollering vocals. Magic. And no sign of Jimmy Page's finger injury that had caused the gig to be delayed. "Good evening," said Plant.
How much better could it get? Here's how much: In My Time of Dying, driven by such a dark, filthy, shivery blues riff, the electrifying change of pace, drums and guitar locked into a sensational groove. It scarcely seemed possible that a group could be this good.
Trampled Underfoot was a reminder that Zeppelin were fusing funk and rock 20 years before the Red Hot Chili Peppers, and that John Paul Jones is a great keyboard player.
And Nobody's Fault But Mine was a reminder that, contrary to myth, Zeppelin were - are - not a heavy metal band, not a prog-rock band, but a band who played and loved the blues, were electrified by it, and in turn electrified it.
And so it went on: they never flagged. Bonham was astonishing: he didn't just lock into Jones's base grooves - he played off against the guitar and the vocals. He was listening. And they had clearly done a lot of rehearsing.
I could go on but I'm running out of space. Dazed and Confused! Since I've Been Loving You! Stairway to Heaven! They were fantastic. Better than expected.
It was a joy and a privilege to be there.
DA in "euphoric" mode
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