Awesome Kids Playing Zeppelin Covers


Okay, so I saw it on Dangerous Minds (again, letting them do my work for me).  But like they said in their post, this video really is too good not to share.  You’re welcome.

“Misty Mountain Hop”


Yeah.  I’m still in the mood to rock.  Buckle up kids.  This might go on for a while.

I may be relieving a little stress, too.  The holidays were busy and a little frantic, but that’s to be expected.  But what was unexpected was the car accident Mom and I got into on the 23rd.  We’re fine (she had a little stiff neck, and one of my ample bosoms got bruised by the seatbelt), but her car is a wreck.  The other guy–who just backed out into us, basically–was also fine.  It just added that extra little bit of stress to Christmas that, frankly, we really didn’t need.

Now as y’all might remember, I don’t drive.  But I do own a car.  I bought my dad’s 2012 Kia outright a while back, and a friend of mine was using it because he needed to save some money and wants to sell his gas guzzler.  Luckily, he lives just a few blocks away and was nearly home when the accident happened.  He picked us up and gave back the Kia, which Mom is now nervously driving.  It’s going to take a little while to re-establish equilibrium, but things could’ve been a lot worse.

Other than that, everything’s hunky dory out here.  How’s things for y’all?

“Black Dog”


I’ve got no analysis for this song.  There really isn’t any necessary.  It’s about sex.  It also features some of Jimmy Page’s best guitar work.

I’m really just taking a quick break from watching the Westminster Kennel Club dog show.  Even though I’m more of a cat person, I truly love dogs.  I grew up with dogs (we had a German Shephard mix when I was a kid that would’ve ripped the arms off of anyone who threatened me or my brother).  So the dog show is a wonderful televised event in my house.  I love to see these beautiful creatures at their most beautiful.

So now back to the puppies, with their sweet eyes and wagging tails.



This Day in Rock History


I was paying a visit to my favorite rock history trivia site today, looking for a little inspiration for today’s post.  Among the interesting tidbits was the information that today is Neil Young’s birthday (Happy Birthday!), the Velvet Underground made its debut, and Ron Wood of the Rolling Stones was struck by a car and had both his legs broken.  Then of course there was the information that on this day in 1966, the Grateful Dead played a Hell’s Angels dance in San Francisco.  I’m not sure if I should be more surprised at the fact that the Hell’s Angels held “dances” or that they listened to the Grateful Dead.

Also on this date in 1971, Led Zeppelin’s fourth album landed in record stores.  For convenience’s sake, it is often referred to as Led Zeppelin IV or Zoso (the nearest word to the symbols they used to represent themselves on the cover).  But this album had no official title.  Jimmy Page insisted it be released without one; I don’t remember his reasoning, but I do remember he was the one that wanted it that way.  It is one of the most remarkable albums of their career, featuring some of their finest acoustic work alongside some of the hardest rock songs they ever wrote.  Most people remember it for “Stairway to Heaven,” and I freely admit to loving that song, even if it is a cliché.  But it’s not my favorite from that album.

This song seems like a dream, both gentle and strange.  The kind of dream that when you wake up, you feel weirdly at peace, but you have no idea why.  The images you can recall are fleeting at best, blurred and surreal, everything open to interpretation.  That’s the kind of dream I like best.

“The Ocean”


I feel like I’ve been a little too introspective lately.  While it’s not a bad thing to think, it is a bad thing to get lost in your own head.  I get caught in mental loops and traps, and then I get weird.  Well, weirder than normal, anyway.  Time to break the loops and traps into little teeny tiny pieces.  I can’t think of anything better to do that than a little Led Zeppelin.

This was all inspired by a recent post by Sword Chinned Bitch.  She picked some pretty awesome songs for her coitus musicalus list.  (Seriously, if you can’t get turned on listening to James Brown, Sade, and Led Zeppelin, then your libido is broken.  See a doctor.)  It got me thinking a little about what kind of music gets me going (almost anything involving really, really good guitar).  And it reminded me that sometimes music is makes you move as much as it makes you feel.

Not too long ago, I was minding my own business, sitting at the computer listening to music and playing solitaire.  I wasn’t really thinking about anything–music and solitaire are a zen activity meant to clear my mind of all those pesky thoughts.  Then this tidal wave of drums and guitar came crashing down around my head.

Granted, I didn’t have the lovely visuals of skinny British guys with guitars and tight pants, but it didn’t matter.  I had the music, and it made my insides swoop a little.  Jimmy Page might be my favorite guitar player ever.  Yeah, Hendrix was better.  Okay, Clapton is God (yes, he really is.  I’ll prove it in the next post).  But Jimmy is a wizard, a mad scientist.  His experience as a session man gave him the ability to play anything in any style.  And he played the Gibson Les Paul.  (As electric guitars go, this is arguably the best; it has the most clarity and depth of sound.)  What I love most about Page’s playing is that for all his technicality and innovation, he never loses the spirit or the feeling of the music.

“The Ocean” isn’t just the guitar.  With apologies to every other great rock drummer that ever lived, John Bonham was the only drummer that could coax a melody out of the rhythm.  Robert Plant and John Paul Jones blend in well with the wall of sound created by the guitar and drums; they know they’re not the main attraction of this song, and they don’t get in the way.

I would keep going (because raving about Led Zeppelin is really easy), but I have to go make dinner now.  Listen to the song and fill in your own tributes.