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As a kid in England,

we were living in the shadows
of the Second World War.

Your parents
and your grandparents

had been through two world wars.

And at the end of
the Second World War,

there was this great feeling
of hope towards the future.

In London,

there was lots of
damaged buildings

and craters and...

I mean,
it was an après war zone.

There was rationing still.
I remember

uh, getting eggs and milk
and butter and stuff

with a little book with coupons.

People were recovering.

Outside of London,
in the West Midlands,

it was a post-war,
sort of semi-suburban

quiet life.

So America was my dream

because it was
a totally different world

to the one that we were in.

I was listening to this
marvelous rock and roll

coming in from America.

And you're hearing all this
electric guitar playing.

I mean, it was almost like
it was coming from Mars,

even though it was coming
from Memphis.

But here in Britain, we were
stuck with these musicians

who were really safe,

until this force of nature
called Lonnie Donegan arrived.

I was so mesmerized

by having seen
Lonnie Donegan play.

It was like a portal.

It gave some access

to the sort of freedom that you
hadn't witnessed in England.

Give it up, Jimmy!

So, one day I come to school
and I see...

this fellow standing up
in the field

with lots of people around him.

His name was Rod Wyatt,

and he's playing
the Lonnie Donegan songs

on an acoustic guitar.

So I went up to him and said,
"I've got one of those at home."

And he said, "Bring it along

"and I'll show you
how to tune it up."

And then he showed me
some chords as well.

I was absolutely
inseparable from the guitar.

You know, I'd play it
before breakfast

and then play it
on the way to school.

I'd go there
and want to practice,

but it would be confiscated

and given back
at the end of the day.

My father was like,

"Well, I don't really understand
all this guitar business, but...

"I'm with you on it,

"providing you keep
all your schoolwork up."

But my mum was
really supportive to the idea

of me carrying on
and starting in a group,

and she really believed in me.

I mean,
it was really a big deal.

My parents
were in vaudeville.

My mum was the straight singer
in the evening gown

and my father was a comedian.

He would play the piano.

And so I used to travel
around with them

to all the bases,

where they'd entertain
the troops.

And there would be just one
international act after another.

Accordion players
and banjo players.

I took all this in.

So I was from
that musical tradition.

And it was all the basis

for everything I ever did
afterwards.

I grew up
in the West Midlands.

My father's bloodline
is from there,

and my mother's side of
the family are Romani Gypsy.

My childhood was very sheltered,

until my parents sent me
to a big school in a big town.

Studied to be
a chartered accountant.

I mean, I'd really dug a lot
of what was going on at school,

but when Little Richard
appeared,

it was so provocative
and all-consuming

and hypnotic

that it kinda knocked everything
else out of the water.

I knew then that
all I wanted to do was sing.

I mean, that was it.

The syringe was in the arm.
Forever.

Oh, well, I'm John Bonham.

I always liked making
drum sounds when I was a kid.

I got my first drum kit
when I was ten.

And we went to see a film
with Gene Krupa,

and it was just amazing.

Up here in the Midlands,

I used to buy completely
different records, you know.

Johnny Kidd & the Pirates
were a strong influence then.

You heard it
on all the jukeboxes.

Of course, they've got those
huge 15-inch speakers.

That's about all you could hear,
was the bass.

I heard that and thought,

"That's a sound
I would really like to make."

When I told my father,
he said,

"Bass guitar
is a novelty instrument.

"And in two years' time it will
never be heard of again.

"Get yourself a saxophone,
you'll always work."

So I said, "No.
I want a bass guitar, Dad."

He heard me practicing and went,
"Hmm, you're coming with me.

"All you've got to do
is watch my left hand."

On the piano. So...

I learned all the standards
from that.

I had a little band.

We were playing
at the youth club.

And I got talking to their
very go-ahead young priest.

He went,
"We'd really like an organist."

I said, "Well, I could be an
organist for you, if you like."

Not thinking anything of it.
He went, "Yeah. Okay."

In church music
you have to improvise.

But as I wasn't very good
at playing from music anyway,

I just improvised everything.

I learned the hymns.

I could figure out
what the hymns were.

I'm not particularly religious,
but it was a good gig.

All right?
And he was a really cool priest.

And so I became organist
and choirmaster at 14.

Which paid me
the princely sum of £25 a year,

which bought me a Fender bass.

I used to go and jam
on Thursday night

at the Marquee Club.

And after a period
of doing this,

this band called Carter-Lewis
and the Southerners

came up to me and asked me

if I'd like to play
on their record.

I said, "Yeah, sure.
That sounds really good."

So I went along with my kit.

The DeArmond foot pedal
and the amplifier

and my brand-new
Gibson Les Paul.

And the band would say,

"Well, just make something up
for the solo."

By the second run-through,
I've already got a part for it.

And the buzz
must have gone around

about this young guitarist,

because I started to get
calls for more studio dates.

When I got into
this session world,

I was, like, seven years younger
than anybody else.

And they didn't have somebody
in the old guard,

or the current guard,

who really knew
all the influences

and the points of reference
that the young bands had.

So, of course, I knew all of it,

whether it was, like, R&B
or whether it was blues

or rock, whatever it was.

Everybody was getting
these records

that originally came over

maybe with the American
merchant vessels.

The R&B boom had kicked in.

I went to see
Sonny Boy Williamson

at the American Folk
Blues Festival.

It was around the time I was
learning to play harmonica too.

So it was just this
amazing onslaught

of music from whence
we had no idea.

Sonny Boy
was almost everything

that's become my whole entire
musical bloodstream really.

But in my own hometown,
I had my own hero,

and it was Perry Foster.

And he had this kind of setup
called the Delta Blues Band.

And, um, somehow or another,
I managed to blag my way

into this band.

I was prepared to be a mod
or a rocker

or a beatnik or anything
so long as I could sing

and gather these looks
around me,

just trying to make it
stick on the wall.

I used to play and
I used to have a job as well.

I used to be working with
my father in the building trade.

Used to be good builders then.

But, you know,
the job gradually gets less

and the music more, you know.
That's what seems to happen.

You know, we left school
and we formed small groups,

and things like that,

and played locally
and everything.

You know, for me, soul music
was a strong influence then.

James Brown
was a big favorite

because, you know,
the drum sound was just amazing.

I thought,
"I'm gonna get that sound."

When I was 16,

I went to see a group
with Robert singing.

The gig went incredibly well
because he was bloody great.

In the crowd
watching this

was this larger-than-life guy
with his beautiful girlfriend.

He got a hold of me afterwards
and he said,

"Well, you're okay,

"but you'd be a lot better with
a proper drummer behind you."

And I thought,
"Jesus Christ. Here we go."

The first time
we played together

we were about 16.

And it was really good.

John was amazing.

He was a really
powerful drummer.

I watched him
with absolute amazement.

He was just fantastic.

But it's so competitive
playing locally anyway.

You'd, like, have a time
going on the road

and everything would be roses,

and then all of a sudden,
no more gigs, no more money.

You're back to where
you started, you know.

One time, we were
running out of fuel

and I had to siphon gasoline
from another car

and I was caught by the police
in the middle of the night,

sucking a piece of rubber
into a can.

And him sitting in the back
shivering,

thinking,
"What the hell will Pat say?"

Pat became his wife,
and she used to say,

"Don't you dare play
with that Planty.

"He's a complete disaster."

I left school at 16.

I failed most of my exams

because I'd been playing
all night in some club

the night before my O-Levels.

And my dad was saying,

"Well, I can get you a job
as a clerk somewhere."

"No, no. I'll find a band, Dad.
I'll find a band."

So there used to be a place
in London

called Archer Street.

And every Monday morning,

all the local musicians
would congregate for work.

And so I went there as a kid.

Every Monday morning,
I was there.

And I started getting
booked with bands

and in the session scene.

Here comes Jimmy Page
with his electric guitar.

That's my Les Paul,
my Black Beauty.

And this guitar was the guitar

that I played most of
my sessions on.

There we are.
Going in there to see

what I'm gonna be faced with
on that music stand.

Sessions were a lot of fun
in those days, actually.

When I started, I ended up
playing a lot of sessions

together with Jimmy.

The Goldfinger session
was at Abbey Road.

Jimmy and I
were in the rhythm section.

There was a full orchestra

and Shirley Bassey.

The whole energy...
Just to be in there...

I mean, you know,
I'm still a kid, really.

And it's,
"Wow. It's Shirley Bassey."

While you were playing,
you could see her.

And she did the whole thing.

Like that.
It was wonderful to watch.

These studios would work
with ruthless efficiency.

So you couldn't be the one
to mess up

so they went into overtime.

Of course, if you messed up,

you wouldn't have
been seen again.

There'd be, like,
a pocket diary, like this,

that I'd be carrying with me.

I played on sessions with
the Rolling Stones,

David Bowie, Petula Clark...

I was on the Kinks' records.

The first Who record.

I mean, it goes right
across the board.

But I didn't do anything
with the Beatles.

I did quite a lot
of work with Donovan

and I really enjoyed
working with him.

And Mickie Most
was his producer.

These sessions were great
'cause I could watch

and I could ask questions
about things,

and I certainly did.

I made it my business
to ask engineers

how certain effects were done,
like tape echo and reverb.

And you could see the way
that they were miking

various instruments.

And, basically,
that's what I could do.

I was allowed
to sort of do that.

Not only that, I got a chance
to have a solo as well.

So that was good.

I went up to Mickie Most

and said,
"Do you need an arranger?"

"You do..."
"Yeah, I do arrangements.

"Yeah. All the time." And...

I hadn't really
done that before.

But my dad had always taught me
never turn down work, right?

And had a great working
relationship with him.

He used to drive by
in his yellow Rolls-Royce

and drop an acetate
through my letterbox

with "You know what we want.
It's Friday." And that was it.

I'd be playing bass in sessions
all day, seven days a week.

So I had to write arrangements
at night.

And then
nine o'clock in the morning

I'd go to the session
and do the songs.

I did all the arrangements
for Herman's Hermits

and Donovan,

and had quite a lot
to do with Lulu.

'Cause I did all
her arrangements

with Mickie Most as well.

I even did
film work with her,

like To Sir, With Love,
which was a big hit in America.

This was considered the
pinnacle of the music business.

My dad was incredibly proud

when people he knew
and respected

would come... "I saw your
John on so-and-so session

"the other day. He's okay.
He's good, you know."

And...

Puffed him up a lot.

I was in
a lot of different bands

around that time.

And I did a couple adventures
in recording studios.

But my parents,
they weren't that keen at all.

In fact, when I cut my record,
the first single on CBS,

they didn't know anything
about it, 'cause I, um...

I was given the alternative
of staying in the world of

academia and...

my article...
Training for my articles

as a chartered accountant or...

you just go out into the world
and do what you gotta do.

So I did.

So I waved everybody goodbye.

I knew there were singers
who had more chops than me,

but I was just out there,
throwing it up in the air.

I had caftans, painted faces,
bells ringing, incense blazing,

...and was just...

Robert used to get into
more trouble and mischief

than any other friends
I have up here, you know.

It's ridiculous, you know.

John came up to me and said,
"Well, what's all that about?"

So I said, "Yeah, you're right.
What is that all about?"

It was the end of '67.

We got back together

and the playing
went incredibly well.

So we formed
the Band of Joy.

We wanted to mix the blues
with psychedelia.

We wanted to be a part
of that huge movement.

We played at Frank Freeman's.

We played Middle Earth
in London.

We went down to Tin Pan Alley
and we recorded Memory Lane,

which was my first adventure
in songwriting.

Sadly, we never got it released.

And not many people liked us.

But we liked us.

Pat was screaming
at John, saying,

"I told you
to stay away from him.

"He'll get you nowhere."

And so he went off with Tim Rose

and played I Got a Loneliness
and Morning Dew.

That's how
it used to go, really.

I mean, we had a kid then. So
you'd end up having to get a job

in a professional group
to get a little bit of money

to sort of live with, really.

I just fell from favor
everywhere.

Things were pretty tough
for me then.

I had a brown suitcase
and some penicillin,

and I was homeless.
I had nowhere to live.

So I...

I got a gig with this band
called Obs-Tweedle.

I was totally accepted

in the world of being
a studio musician.

I had been caught up
doing the things

that all of the real old-timers
when I joined in were doing.

Like Muzak.

Muzak is what they would
call, like, lift music.

You know? Um...

Very, very difficult to do

a Muzak session,

'cause you'd have
a whole ream of music

and you'd have to keep
turning it and playing it,

and turning it and playing it.

To do that, to actually
get halfway through

without being physically sick
was quite a miracle.

So I knew

that it was time
to sort of come out of there.

All my friends, like Eric
and Jeff, were all in bands

and they were having
a great time.

And I thought, "I've got
a lot that I really want

"to be able to offer."

And Jeff Beck said,

"It'd be really good if you
came in with the Yardbirds."

So I thought, "How would you
really like to play

"if you had the chance?"

"Right. You do it. Do it now.
This is your opportunity."

Going into the Yardbirds
with Jeff,

it was touring with a friend

and having, you know,
a really good time.

But in the middle of
an American tour,

he left the band,
and I was quite shocked.

But it gave me the opportunity
to try a totally new direction.

So I took over on lead guitar.

Nobody was interested
in the Yardbirds

over here in England anymore.

So we started to really grow
our underground following

in America.

And it was just a thrill,
an absolute thrill,

just really getting a feel
for the West Coast music scene.

But we were up against
Mickie Most,

who was our producer,

so we were recording
all these awful singles

for the AM radio,
which was the pop radio,

and I didn't want to be
making singles anymore.

Being in America

and seeing the advent of
the FM underground radio,

which was playing
whole sides of albums...

I knew that this was gonna be
the way to go in the future.

So that was my plan.

To make albums that
would be played,

a whole side,
on the FM stations.

I had this new sound
for the Yardbirds

already worked out in my head.

I already knew exactly what I
wanted to be doing, guitar-wise,

on the new stuff
that I had in mind,

like Dazed and Confused,

which was inspired
by Jake Holmes.

That guitar
was given to me by Jeff Beck.

I painted it.
I consecrated the guitar.

This is the guitar that takes
the full journey,

like Excalibur,
the mythical sword.

I went to a palm reading
in LA.

And the palmist said,

"You're gonna be
making a decision very soon

"which is gonna
change your life."

A meeting happened, like, two
or three days after the palmist,

where the rest of
the group said,

"That's it. We wanna fold."

I mean, it was a shock.

I immediately went, "Well,
now I know what I'm gonna do.

"I'm gonna form my own group,

"and I know exactly what it is
that I wanna do with it,"

and I just needed to find
a powerful vocalist.

And so there was a singer
called Terry Reid.

He registered with me

and I thought,
"I'm gonna aim for him."

I asked Peter Grant if he could
track down Terry Reid.

Peter Grant was the manager
of the Yardbirds,

and, bless him,
he really believed in me.

This is the thing,
that once the Yardbirds folded,

and I said,
"Well, I wanna start a group,"

he was there. You know?
He said, "Great," you know?

And "Whatever help I can give."

Peter Grant and Mickie Most
were in the same office,

and they had two desks,

and they more or less faced
each other across the room.

The next thing that I hear is,

"Unfortunately Terry Reid's
signed a solo deal

"with Mickie Most."

And I... "Oh, yeah?"

- Off the press?
- Right. I know that one.

- For you.
- Right.

I thought,
"Wow. This is super ruthless."

But nevertheless,
Terry Reid suggested

a singer from the Midlands
in a band called Obs-Tweedle.

And I thought,

"This is an unusual name.
This is a bit odd."

He and Peter Grant came up
to have a look at me.

He asked me if I knew where
he could find Robert Plant.

And I said, "Yeah. Right here."

He was doing some wonderful
improvised vocals

and I thought
they were marvelous.

So I invited him round my house.

I still had nowhere to live, sadly.

So I took my suitcase
and got a train to Pangbourne

and knocked on another door.

Yeah. We had
a really good connection.

And, uh, I think he was sort of
looking through my records...

"I've got that one." You know?

And I played him
a Joan Baez version

of Babe I'm Gonna Leave You

and said, "Well, if you
can sing that top line there,

"I've got an arrangement
that goes with it."

And it just really, really
dovetailed together.

It was beautiful.

He just sang beautifully.

We knew something
was in the air.

I could feel this stuff
around me.

Jimmy's guitar playing
was just tremendous. Amazing.

Jimmy then said to me,

"Well, we've got
this drummer lined up."

And before he went any further,
I said, "Wait a minute.

"There is no drummer
on the planet

"to compare with John Bonham.

"He's magnificent."

He was playing with Tim Rose.

Jimmy said, "Well,
if that's the case,

"let's go and see him."

And I said, "John, you've got
to listen to Jimmy play.

"He's amazing."
John said, "Not a chance."

I said, "You gotta be crazy.

"You don't wanna do this stuff,
playing electric folk."

"Come with me."
He said, "Pat would kill me."

"Don't say that."

I said, "I'll talk to Pat,
and your mom."

My wife Mo read that
"Jimmy's forming a band.

"You should give him a call.

"See if he wants a bass player."

Like, "No. I can't...

"I've got this to do,
I've got that to do.

"I got these... and albums..."

"No," she said.
She just insisted.

"Give him a call, please."
So I did.

And I said, "Hey, Jim.
Heard you're forming a band."

He went, "Yeah, yeah."

I said,
"Do you want a bass player?"

He went, "Well, actually, yes.

"But there's a problem."
I said, "What's that?"

He said, "Well, the drummer
is playing with Tim Rose

"and he's getting 40 quid
a week. Can we best it?"

So we decided, yeah,
we probably could.

Peter Grant managed to
get a two-hour rehearsal space

in Gerrard Street.

So we all get there and
I've got my equipment set up.

John Paul Jones is there
with his session equipment,

uh, and John's got his drums.

It literally was just
wall to wall amplifiers

and we just picked one up...

"Hello. How are you?"
"Right." You know?

"I'm so-and-so.
He's so-and-so else."

It was
quite strange, really,

meeting John Paul and Jimmy.

You know, coming from
where I'd come from, you know,

I'd sort of thought, you know,
it was a bit of a joke,

getting telegrams and things,
you know.

There's a chance of becoming
one of the Yardbirds.

It's like a gift from heaven,
wasn't it?

I said the first number
that I want to do

is Train Kept A-Rollin'.

Train Kept A-Rollin'.
"Do you know it?"

I went, "Nope."
He said, "Well, it's a 12-bar."

"It's got this riff."
"Okay. Count it in."

And that was it.

And the room just exploded.

We just kept playing it
and doing, like, solo breaks

and all the rest of it,
and Robert's improvising.

I'd never heard
anything like it.

I was expecting
some cool soul singer

and there's this
screaming maniac

with this fantastic voice
and a fantastic range.

You know, I was like,
"What are you doing up there?

"You'll hurt yourself, man."

It was devastating
because it seemed like

that had been
what I'd been waiting for.

I was pretty shy.

The best thing to do when
you're in a situation like that

is not to say much
and just soldier along

and suss it all out,
sort of thing.

Well, being a bass player,

and he was probably thinking
the same thing,

you know,
because rhythm sections

are very sensitive creatures
really...

Um...

I just needed to know that
we could work together.

The first time
we played together, you know,

you could tell it was
gonna be a good group.

You know, not being
sort of flashy about it.

But I am.

Marvelous.

When it finally came to a halt,
I'm absolutely convinced

that everyone knew that that was
a life-changing experience.

And I think there was
so much kinetic energy,

so much energy that needed
to come out for everybody.

"Let's take it to the next stage

"and let's take it
to Pangbourne."

Pangbourne is on
the River Thames.

I remember when I first
came across this boat house,

I just thought,
"It's absolute magic."

It had a good energy to it.

And it was just a cauldron
of creativity.

And this is the house
that I lived in

in 1967 through to 1970.

We set up initially
in the upstairs of the house.

Where those windows are
at the top,

there's a largish room

and that was where we did
the rehearsals.

We were overlooking the river.
It was beautiful.

And we just got to know
each other

and worked pretty hard.

We weren't slackers.

Our aim wasn't to be seen
on the telly.

We all wanted to play music
very badly.

We were working on
the material for the album,

and then we were putting in
other material as well

that was gonna fill out the set.

We were rehearsing for days,

and it would have been
pretty loud.

You'd hear it.
You'd hear it over here.

And I did expect somebody
to be knocking on the door

to complain, but nobody did.

We got together
very quickly

because there was
already sort of a tour

that had to be done
by the Yardbirds,

which was a few dates
in Scandinavia.

It was convenient that,
lo and behold,

there was this tour
that we could do.

So we could go there
and have the benefit

of playing in front of
an audience

away from London
and all the rest of it.

Off to Scandinavia
we went

for our first concert
as the Yardbirds.

And we went on an airplane,

me and John sitting next
to each other

having a cigarette,

seeing lots and lots
of silverware,

knives and forks in front of us.

Stuff that we would normally
have stolen

was there in profusion.

Couldn't have even got
enough of it in our bags

to get off the plane without
having somebody help us.

It was great.
Everything was there.

Gin, tonic, people.

People being kind and charming.

Air conditioning.
It was... Off we went.

Because you couldn't...
What could you do?

Couldn't go back to Mommy then.

When I told my colleagues
and the people that employ me

that I'm giving up session work,

I'm gonna join
a rock 'n' roll band,

everybody said, "You're mad.
You're completely crazy."

On bass guitar, John Paul Jones.

John Paul Jones.

On drums, John Bonham.

Lead guitar, Jimmy Page.

And myself, Robert Plant.

Yes! All right!

Yes!

Yeah!

Yes!

It went so well, really,

that, you know, the group
started to make the album

straight after coming back
from Scandinavia. You know.

How long had we been together
about then? What, a month?

We went
into Olympic Studios

at night over a few weeks.

The very first time we go in
is the 25th of September

in 1968.

"Arrival time
from 11:00 p.m. onwards."

Let's take one.

Right.

There's Glyn Johns, dear Glyn,

at the controls of
the Helios desk

that was custom-built
for Olympic Studios,

and he was doing
the engineering on it.

Drumming set one.

John, Jimmy,
and John Paul

were much more connected
in these sessions than I was,

because they were
recording it live.

They had to make it work
on the floor.

A take is a take.

So it was an electric
atmosphere.

And I just tried to land
on top of it all.

John Paul Jones brought
the most amazing bass playing,

and he was quite a force to be
reckoned with, musically.

I was very much in love
with John's right foot.

I had great respect
for it.

And I used to try
and highlight it

and help it along

and give it space.

Uh, take three.

So I could be doing a riff
and just leave a note out

and something of his
would pop through

and the rhythm would just
suddenly come alive.

Well, I was gonna throw
everything I could at it.

You know, I was gonna play
acoustic guitar,

I played pedal steel guitar,

I played slide guitar,
electric guitar.

I wanted to have so many
different textures

and moods on it
that the whole album

would just
totally arrest the listeners

and take them to a realm that
they hadn't been in before.

The guitar's not on
a regular tuning

on Black Mountain Side.

It is very much like
a sitar tuning.

Jimmy and John Paul were
really at the top of their game.

They'd played on so many
diverse pieces of music

that there was nowhere that they
couldn't find themselves

comfortably going to.

So that gave us a whole
magnificent bunch of colors

to play with.

Jimmy produced
the album.

Which was great, you know,

because it's got
a different sound,

and I like that.

He had all these ideas
of microphone placement

to get distance, so he knew
what he wanted to hear.

There were some
really complex things

that went on during the mixing,

like the backwards echo
that comes in You Shook Me.

When you turn the tape round
and apply the echo

and then turn it back over

and then you get the echo
coming in reverse.

I was cross-fading
from one song into another

and all these sort of tricks,

so that when people
listened to the whole album,

as I say, it would just
absolutely demand attention.

Well, I mean, it was amazing.
Yeah.

I had a pair of those
big quad electrostatic speakers

in my front room.

You could sort of sit
almost in them.

And I just used to play it loud.

If you finance
the album yourself,

you're in a much better position

than if you're going in with,
like, a demo tape.

So, if you knew what you
were doing,

it made sense
to complete the album

and then go round and do a deal.

The American producer Bert Berns

had really done a great PR job
for me at Atlantic Records.

When he took me there in 1964,

and I said we should
aim at Atlantic...

So that's what we did.

Yeah.
Yeah. We'd done our bit,

and Jimmy and Peter
were going to convince people

that they really needed it.

Jimmy had the kind of keys
to the beginnings of a kingdom.

And he went off to New York
with Peter,

and through them,
they got to see Jerry Wexler.

We put it on,
and that was a great moment

to actually be able to play it,
regardless of what they thought,

to actually be playing it
to, you know, Jerry Wexler.

Atlantic wasn't allowed
to remix anything.

It was perfect. It was done.

The sequencing was perfect.
There was nothing...

Certainly no singles
are gonna be taken off it.

Having seen a situation
whereby singles

have broken the spirit
of a band,

I didn't want it to break
the spirit of this band.

And I made a point of saying,
"We're an album band.

"We're not doing singles."

We could call the shots
because we owned the album.

And here I am,
signing a contract.

Then there's Peter,
looking really cool.

Looking quite like a Mafia don.

Peter Grant and Jimmy
had fixed it

so that Atlantic had no say
in what we did whatsoever.

They went there saying,
"Look, you want this band,

"and we're gonna give you
the music." But...

Peter Grant wouldn't let
any record executives

anywhere near the studio.

Or the band.

And they were terrified of him,
which was brilliant.

To have that freedom...
I mean, it was unheard of.

Rather than
keep the Yardbirds name,

the group became strong enough
to start fresh,

and it was a decision that
we'd change the name.

Keith Moon had suggested
a name, Led Zeppelin.

I thought that'd be
a great name to use.

I thought, "Yeah.
That's a terrible name.

"Nobody's gonna remember that."

But I couldn't come up
with a better one,

so Led Zeppelin we were.

So, suddenly I was a dad
and I was nearly married.

And I was in this group that
was now gonna be called

Led Zeppelin.

So I went back to my parents
with an open heart.

I called up my mom and dad
and said,

"You might like to meet
your possible,

"most probable,
daughter-in-law-to-be."

And so, of course,

they opened the door.

November the 9th, 1968,
we played Middle Earth.

And just to celebrate the fact
that we did that gig,

I got married on the same day.

Trying to get as many things in
in a day as I can.

The car broke down
on the way to the gig.

All that stuff, you know.

We'd figured out
what we were gonna play

and how we were gonna play it.

And the first three numbers
were just bam, bam, bam.

You could see people going,
"What on earth is going on?"

It's a funny thing,
you know.

You couldn't play big gigs
in England.

You know, you'd say,

"Do you want to take
some dates on Led Zeppelin?"

and all this sort of thing.

People wouldn't even
book the band.

So Atlantic decided that

the record is gonna come out
on the 12th of January,

but only in America.

So Peter gets a tour
together for us.

It was Christmas Eve,
I think, we had to leave.

You suddenly find
the album's coming out

so we sort of had to go
to America to play.

I was concerned I wouldn't
feel home there at all.

Pat kept saying,

"I told you
not to work with him."

But she and my wife Maureen
were really good friends,

so they had the mutual overview
of celebration

for what John was doing
and what I was doing.

We just rolled with it.

Going to America was my dream,
for every reason.

We're supporting
Vanilla Fudge to begin with,

and they were the only group
that took us under their wing.

They're good friends,
because they were friends

when we had nothing, you know?

Carmine and John Bonham
picked up

such a great repartee.

They used to watch each other

and mimic each other
and play little parts.

It was a great exchange of
energies between everybody.

Denver was
the first show.

Like playing
in an aircraft hangar.

There wasn't that many
people there either.

I thought, "Oh, boy."

But I said, "Look,
let's just group together

"as though we're playing
in a club,

"and just play to each other.

"Don't worry about
whether the place

"is half full or totally full.

"Let's just play for ourselves
to get a feel."

From the handful of dates
with the Fudge,

then we go to
the Whisky a Go Go in LA

and then we're going
to San Francisco.

The album is already
being played

on the underground radio

and people are really curious

to see this band
that they're hearing.

So we were gonna go in there,
like, with a hatchet

and just play like
we'd never played before.

Just throw everything
that we'd got into it.

We're backstage
at the Fillmore,

and, um, Peter Grant says,

"Well, whatever happens,

"if you don't crack it here,
it's over."

We knew after that one
that we were on the right track.

Everything is traveling
like wildfire.

The whole thing
is just building.

People were bashing down
the doors to get in

by the time we played
Boston Tea Party,

'cause we were working
across the States

from the West Coast to the East.

On FM radio
they would play

one side of your record
and back announce that side,

have one word from a sponsor,
and then play the other side.

People would just listen to it

and they'd go, "And they're
playing in your town tonight."

And so
they'd all come on down.

Rock 'n' roll with Led Zeppelin.

Robert Plant is here and I know
you feel real good now.

I'm gonna put another caller
on the phone here.

- You're on the air, dear.
- Is this Robert Plant?

- Occasionally, yeah.
- Oh, God.

I want you to know that
I'm having heart failure.

Oh, good God.

Don't tell me.
You need a doctor.

I just want you to know
that you are so sexy.

- It's unbelievable.
- Okay, dear.

- Thank you very much.
- Bless you.

- Next? Next?
- Hello?

I was gonna go see you
last night,

but I couldn't get tickets.

It was really good
last night.

What's your name?
Oh, forget it.

- Hello?
- Hi.

Hi. Guess what.
I think you're a fox.

What's that mean?

It means you're
a very good-looking man.

Far out.

I really dug
the concert.

I really liked it.

I just really think you're a fox

and keep on doing
what you're doing.

That's very nice of you.
We will.

The anticipation
was overwhelming.

I mean, really overwhelming.

To come back to England
with what we'd experienced,

I just had to keep quiet.

I mean, over here,
the record wasn't out yet.

So I just didn't have
anything to say.

People would have laughed at me.

So Bonzo and I
used to get together and go...

"Well, what was that?"
"Well, I don't know."

"What happened?" "I don't know."

Crikey. It was just
amazing. Just ridiculous.

I mean, we came back
from America

and we'd gone through
a big change.

You know, we were feeling
really good, you know.

But it does affect you,
you know.

I mean, think about it.
We're 20 years old,

and suddenly there were drugs

and there was a lot of girls,

and so many characters that
suddenly arrive on the scene.

This huge sort of sub-subculture
that spins around fame.

Especially fame
in its very early stages.

'Cause that's the place
where you can smell

something new coming.

It felt good. As it might.

Especially as we were doing it
without the press,

who didn't seem to like us,

the few reviews
we did seem to get,

the obvious one being
the Rolling Stone review.

I remember reading that review,

thinking, "Who are they
talking about?

"Do they mean us?"

A lot of those writers
at that time,

I don't know whether they were
studying the music

to criticize it or whether
they were more concerned

about the sort of
social activities.

But do you really care
about other people's responses

if you're playing like that?

Well, the answer is,
unfortunately, yeah.

That's where you can
come unstuck.

Fortunately, as four guys,
we did not care that much.

We were more caring about
how we turned ourselves on.

The first album,
it just got ripped to pieces.

Like, loads would say, "No.

"I don't like Zeppelin's
sort of music,"

for some reason, you know?

So we all thought, you know,
it was a bit of a joke.

We worked really, really hard,

and people got it,
and you could see they got it.

Then they told their friends
that they got it.

"Get some too."

The venues are jam-packed,
so what people are hearing,

as opposed
to what they're reading,

is what really makes the band.

It was exciting
to be doing these concerts

and being able to have
this communion

with the four of us

and be able to just change,
you know,

things with a sense of humor
or an intensity

or a level of aggression
or whatever.

And this is how connected
we are,

that we can be moving
in any direction

and everyone's following.

If the guitar's leading,
they're all following.

I can just hold back
and change this.

I mean, the improvisation is
just at an extraordinary level.

With Dazed and Confused,

the intensity is building.
It's positively evil.

Uh!

Hey!

I knew what we had

and I just really wanted
to knock everybody dead with it.

I had a whole vision
for the next album.

It was going to be
very cinematic

in its approach to how the music
is done in the first place,

let alone what the overdubs
and the layers are gonna do.

So I called for a rehearsal
at the house,

and we rehearsed two new songs,

Whole Lotta Love

and What Is and
What Should Never Be.

Jimmy would sit down
with an acoustic guitar

and we'd work the songs out.

He just comes in
and plays what he's written.

And then we, all together,
suss it all out.

We went into Olympic Studios
in April,

and we're just really excited
to be back in the studio again.

My songwriting capacity
is starting to kick in

because of the color of
the playing that surrounded me.

So, with Whole Lotta Love,

Jimmy had done some work
on the chorus.

He showed me his riff,
which was incredible, really.

And for the verse, I just
sang a Willie Dixon lyric.

And, you know,
it was like...

I was finding the best bits
of Black music

and putting it
through the wringer,

one way or another.

I think there's no point
in having Whole Lotta Love

and then having another riff

which was pretty much
the same sort of sound.

So, the thing with What Is
and What Should Never Be

is that it's got these
laid-back, gentler verses

and then it comes in with...

I won't call them
a power chorus,

but it's more intensity to it,

so that you could
then illustrate

John Bonham's power
and the group's power as well,

the whole thing.

We had this tour coming up

and I think it's gonna be
really a hoot

to be able to record
in various locations in America.

The idea was to be inspired by,
you know, the love of the people

and to get the reaction
of the audience.

It was just a joy

to be able to go into studios
in the States.

You've got the energy
of being on the road

and you're actually
documenting it

within whatever
you're recording.

John Bonham's kit
was gonna be spread

right across the stereo picture.

So then you could have
the placement

of the instruments within
and the layering within.

He knew how to tune.

He had the science
of tuning the drum.

So that when he hit it,

it just resonated
out of the top.

It just projected.

And he played with his wrists.

It's not all this
forearm smashing.

But he could also do an accent
on the bass drum

and you'd feel it, you know,
more or less in your gut.

He was so inventive.

And inspiring to play with,
you know.

You'd hear the stuff and,
well, I don't wanna just go

over that.

I want to do something that'll
fit in really well with it.

That's what I used to like
to do best, is to fit in.

So everybody could be heard.

That was the important thing
for me,

that everybody could be heard,

what they were doing,
on a Zeppelin record.

We just recorded
what we liked.

I mean, Zeppelin always had
completely different influences.

We all listened
to different things.

And I always said

that Led Zeppelin
was the area in the middle.

In between us all.

It was very encouraging
to peel back

the vulnerabilities

of starting to create a writing
partnership with Jimmy,

where we were breaking down
the sensitivities

and the possible embarrassments.

Writing is a very
intimate thing.

You expose yourself.

I'd written some lyrics
on the first album,

and also on the second album,

but I wasn't as confident
about my lyrics

as I was about
my guitar playing.

I had to start
thinking about

what do I do as a singer

and as a guy
who's gonna bring melody

or even a story to something?

The idea was to inspire him
through the music

to be inspired lyrically.

And then he came with
these lyrics for Ramble On.

Yeah, this is...

a rough shot of Ramble On.

"Leaves are falling all around.
Time I was on my way."

That is the story of my life.

I was really keen to have
a lot of texture and layering,

certainly on behalf
of the guitar, with Ramble On.

It has these various
guitar parts that go in it.

You know, there's,
like, guitar rolling

that is moving over
some of the verses.

Then there's the whole texture
of the solo.

It was just a joy to be able
to do these tracks

and everyone do their part
and then come back

and go, "Wow.
What's he done with this?"

There were so many
diverse places

that it was coming from.

The very fact that we were
able to be intimate in writing,

that's the big breakthrough,

because it's a total exposure.

As a kid, my parents took me
to every mystical mountaintop

and every beautiful ruin and...

all that sort of great
resonance of another people.

Well,

that's what that song's
all about, really.

Me, you, and the other people.

Gig after gig,
night after night,

maybe we had 20 songs to choose
from at that point in time.

Soon we'd have 40.

We'd opened a door to America
and there was a glint of light,

and, obviously, you're gonna
sort of kick the door open

and go in and really...

It's a massive continent.

And we really wanted
to get the word across

through live performances.

We toured horrendously at first.

We toured for months on end,
pretty much.

Three of these guys
had families already

at that point in time,

and this is our fifth tour
in seven months,

so they were away from
their children for a long time.

It is difficult
when you've got a family.

I flew with my wife Mo
to all the good spots.

She'd come to New York.

She'd just take
the kids shopping.

Go to shows. It was great.

But then they'd go home
and leave us

to get on with
touring the rest of the country.

There weren't tour buses
or any niceties in those days.

It was just like getting
whatever transport you can,

get to the gig, play it,
then try and have Richard Cole

find the next venue,
or even the city sometimes.

You could always tell,
when he was like...

You'd get at a junction
and see him going like this...

You'd go, "No.
We're lost again."

It's so much easier
to tour around England.

If you're in America, you're
all day in a hotel somewhere,

having arguments with bloody,
you know,

turdheads and everything.

You know, it does affect you,

like, what's happened
previously in the day.

It was
all commercial airlines

so you had to get up
early in the morning and go

and sit in some airport waiting
for a plane to somewhere.

But that's how everybody
got to hear us in America.

We came back
from America

and everybody wanted
to book the group.

And it was like
a change of tune, you know.

There was no publicity

and, strangely,
you'd get to a British show...

"How did these people
know we were coming?"

We figured out
it was just word of mouth.

I just liked the idea
of the stimulus

of travel and attention.

What do you know
if you don't seek?

You've got to go out
and have a look for it.

We were playing
festivals in America

two years after
the Summer of Love.

I know that really has
no real significance,

but to me
it had every significance,

'cause I was in a place
that I really wanted to be,

emotionally.

I can remember John
doing a sound check

at Newport Jazz Festival

and I could just see
all of James Brown's drummers

coming out of different doors

going, "What the...
What is going on here?"

And he's going...

He's going, "Yeah. I know.
I know who's watching me."

But it was great.
You know.

It's what made
Zeppelin unique in that way.

It's just the way
he approached rhythm

and what he did.

We recorded all the songs

for Led Zeppelin II
on that tour.

It was like a kind of hurricane.

A whirlwind of energy
and release.

We hadn't really had a chance,
obviously,

with the amount of time that
we were spending in America,

to concentrate that much
at home.

So we came back
and actually played

our first British festival.

Would you welcome,
please, Led Zeppelin?

And, of course,
you still wonder,

is this gonna
have any resonance?

Is this gonna bring it on home?

Wow.

I've seen a photograph
of the first Bath Festival

but to see moving images of it,
well, that's absolutely amazing.

That was probably
the first festival

that we'd done in Britain.

And it didn't rain,
so it was really good,

and it was fun.

But how long
do you want off

in between a tour and a tour

and a tour? Not long, really.

I mean, we had no idea
of fatigue.

There's just energy and power.

At 32 minutes past the hour,

liftoff on Apollo 11.

That's one small step for man,

one giant leap for mankind.

I can just remember
we were in a tent

and somebody landed on the moon.

I mean, can you imagine
just being in America,

as a kid, more or less,
and just looking up...

You got this thing going on
with the music

and you look up
and there's a man on the moon.

You know,
it's a big old world out there,

and I'm sure that 99% of people
are far more interested

in the fact that these guys
got back safely from the moon.

But the day they got back,
that was a big day for us too.

That is the biggest deal

if you're a kid
and you want to be a singer.

You get a gold record.
I mean, what happens next?

Doesn't matter, does it?

I just really wanted
to make sure that

this album was just really gonna
get everybody excited.

I wanted it to be something
that they hadn't heard before.

The acoustics and the electrics
and the more radical

and even avant-garde.

So, when it came
to doing the mix

for Led Zeppelin II,

I'd mixed it with Eddie Kramer
at A&R Studios in New York.

I think he did an amazing job.

And, as was the case
with these mixing things,

there was often more than
two hands on the desk.

I really wanted to do something
with Whole Lotta Love

to stop it being a single.

So it was gonna have
a radical avant-garde section

in the middle that began with
a sonic wave.

Then when I put
the overdubs on it

for what was gonna go
in the middle,

I de-tuned the guitar
all the way down

and I was just pulling
the strings across and across.

And then there
was lots of panning.

That means moving things
from left to right.

And so that was it.

Led Zeppelin II was completed

and ready to be delivered.

January the 9th, in 1970,

we played the Royal Albert Hall
in London,

and if we're thinking back
a year,

January the 9th, 1969,

is when we were playing
in San Francisco.

So this is
a whole year's progress.

It was far out.

I mean, I was just having
a great time.

No chartered accountant here.

This is like a London concert,
so, of course,

this is where the families come.

Yeah, it's like a gathering
of the clans.

Just to go in there
and tread those boards

was just something else,
you know? It was fabulous.

And it was our own show,

so we just went out there
and did it.

Led Zep!

Led Zep! Led Zep!

Led Zep! Led Zep!

Led Zep! Led Zep!

Led Zep!

Thank you very much.

Led Zep! Led Zep!

Led Zep! Led Zep!

Led Zep! Led Zep!

Led Zep!

My dad came to see that show.

He was really proud,
which was great.

Said, "He's got great passion
and fire and all that."

It was really nice.

John Paul and me,
you know, we get on really good.

I mean, we all do, you know.

Each member of the group,
they're quite different,

personality-wise,
but they're good lads, actually.

They're, like, a category
on their own, really.

Um, it was at least
the middle of '69

before I got to really know
each of them.

It's a gradual thing, isn't it?

I could talk
about Robert forever

because I know him so well,
really, that it's ridiculous.

You know? And Jimmy's
pretty shy, actually.

But knowing him like I have,
he's really great, you know.

I like each of them
for what they're doing.

And, you know, I always love
playing in the group,

so I don't need to do
anything else.

We got there
in the first place,

on the first day,

playing Train Kept A-Rollin',

'cause we were drawn
to that moment

and it worked.

But all the preamble to that
was just out there,

throwing it up in the air.

So why should it ever stop?

If you have something
that you know is different

in yourself,

then you have
to put work into it.

You have to work
and work and work.

But you also have
to believe in it.

But as long as you can
stay really true,

your aim is true,
you can realize your dreams.

I do believe that.

I believe that that can be done,
'cause this is what happens.

Thank you.