A PhD in Zeppelin Studies
As of this past spring, when the eclipse happened, my knowledge of Led Zeppelin was limited at best. Stairway to Heaven! Free Bird! Wait, they didn't do Free Bird. OK, Stairway to Heaven! Now I grew up in the 70s and 80s so of course I was aware of Led Zeppelin. I'd listened to a lot of Physical Graffiti in the attic of my friend Tom's house while we played pool. So I knew some of the tunes, sure, but probably not what they were called. Black Dog, you say? Really? That's the name of that tune? Cool. But basically, it was: Stairway to Heaven!!!
Then the eclipse flew over West Brattleboro, Vermont and Darcy and I were chatting on the banks of the Whetstone Brook. Pretty much from then on I've dedicated myself to what I not-too-pretentiously think of as my doctoral dissertation on the music of Led Zeppelin,
This written/oral/instrumental/vocal/analytic study of Led Zeppelin will culminate soon, when we play our first set on a stage in front of people. It will be from the point of view of the bass player, with special focus on the genius of John Paul Jones and his contribution to the ensemble and their music.
I now know more about LZ than I ever thought I would ever know or need to know. Thinking about this, I thought I might share here on this bloglet some song analysis I've done, some of the thoughts about this music from the perspective of a lifelong classical-music player with conservatory training in not only instrumental playing but also music theory and analysis, orchestration, a choral background and a perfectionist streak. All this forms part of my "dissertation," a full-scale deep dive into the musical world of Robert Plant, Jimmy Page, John Paul Jones and John Bonham, from the point of view of a bass player preparing a show covering some 15 of their songs.
I should also say that part of this project is returning to and mastering an instrument that I love, the electric bass guitar. I played regular electric guitar a lot in high school, and I adored it. Then before I went to college all my instruments were stolen and I got myself a nice Fender Jazz bass. Fell in love with it and with playing the bass, setting that groove. In my heart I'm a bass-clef guy. I sold that pretty bass a few years later, sadly. One of those big Decisions in Life. I was spending my time with another instrument and gave up what is in my heart my true love. And now a bass is in my hands every dayAnyway, that's the instrumental part of my doctoral studies.
Out on the Tiles
(see full lyrics at end of the post.)
We start out right in your face. "Out on the tiles," to a Brit, means out partying, having a good time, dancing in a club being young and carefree, like we once were. Unison repeated 16ths in guitar and bass with hard rock drumming a strong 4/4 serve as an intro and set a riff that is later used as a transition element to navigate around the song. This riff is a classic LZ element, immediately identifiable as LZ in its bony rhythm and startling harmony, immediately demanding that you listen and pay attention. As usual with Page/Plant, the emphasis harmonically is on a non-chord-tone, in this case the unison guitar/bass notes are on a G, the minor seventh in the upcoming A chord. An intro that's over in a blink goes to the first verse.
Our hero is out and about in V.1. Waving his long curly blond hair. [Throughout these analyses I'll be abbreviating V.1 as verse one, Ch as chorus, and other shortcuts I'll try to identify as we go along.] Four staccato 16ths announce the beginning of the verse, spelling a F#m arpeggio. In the silence that follows these fanfare notes comes the first words of the lyrics. [We will be exploring silence in the music of Led Zeppelin at a later date.] Out walking. A train passes by, clattering its own rhythm as we walk. We're feeling confident, strong, in love.
The following quick 16th-note riff played by the guitar and bass is, to this bassist, a transandental rock riff that only LZ could pull off. There are no real chords in these verses, just the riff. There's no vertical harmonic setting; it's purely horizontal, like Bach, notes filling up the space where a bar chord might for other bands. The riff flows out, then again, then again in a longer version, with an unexpected additional two beats of running 16ths before strong bar chords (finally!) announce the turnaround to the second half of V.1. In typical Zeppelin fashion, though, that little turnaround is an eighth-note short. It's a 7/8 bar, a clipped corner to the song that, with an off-balance and jumpy effect, brings us back to the vocals. And not only is it a 7/8 bar, the rhythm is an archetype Zeppelin syncopation of anticpated beats: subdivided, it comes out to a lovely 14/16 bar, grouped 3+3+4+2+2, making the 7/8 a subdivided, syncopated 2+2+3. With a tie. It's a genius little rhythm, and so similar to other songs which we will also explore another time. The band loved playing with syncopation, with 16th-note anticipation (everywhere!) and rhythms buried within rhythms. This is a perfect little example. As a player, hit that little 7/8 right and you sound tight.
Below, a fine picture of Mr. Jones playing his beautiful orange P-bass, with the outlaw 7/8 bar notated at the bottom. Syncopated syncopation that adds up to seven, somehow, delivered with the face of a stone cold killer.
With a return to the opening riff we crash into V.2. There's a nice little LZ detail just before going into the verse, at the end of that intro riff, where we're churning away on a dissonant Am chord, slamming out the beats, that the band waits, pauses, on the third beat and just lets the chord ring without articulating the 4th beat. A little beat of silence, a breath. "A ray of sunshine melts my frown and blows my blues away," begins V.2, and then, with the bass and guitar chugging away in the low register with their busy, loud unison 16ths, we go for a quiet walk with you. The busyness and f#-minor skittishness of the accompaniment is an unusual contrast with the peaceful romanticism of the lyrics.
Darkness and light. Lurking behind the quiet, peaceful walk is uneasyness, a threat. Not to be trite, but the eternal battle between good and evil. This is the essence of Led Zeppelin to me. A primordial clash between beauty (Rain Song) and aggression, misogeny, even violence (Black Dog.) A quiet walk in the country, accompanied by a churning, burbling river of notes. Lyricism and nature against industrial dystopia. Black and white. Red and blue. Mac and PC. The endless, contradictory duality of the human condition, where we constantly find ourselves in a moral fight, celebrating and sharing our light and battling the demons who simultaneously thrive around our dark edges.
And then, in the way only Led Zeppelin can do, they explode into an anthem, the song's chorus that hooks us immediatly and inexorably, instantly becoming a musical brain worm that can go on a loop in your head.
All I need from you is all your love/All you have to give to me is all your love.
All of it. That's all. For me, what I need, what you have to give me. It's an odd sentiment, to me. Demanding. Masculine. Loud. Perhaps I'm filtering these lyrics through a 2024 lens; these are words of a young man out on the town in the 60s, after all. Get drunk, go find girls. It should be noted, too, that this tune is one of the few with a John Bonham writing credit. I guess you just can't be going all "#metoo" with Bonzo. He was what he was.
The third verse, where we're looking for a ride in the noonday sun, includes a subtle reference to blues founding father Robert Johnson, see my rider right by my side. Why don't the drivers stop? What's the hurry?
After another round of the anthem-y chorus and a final appearance of the intro riff, the song suddenly explodes off on a tangent, changing key to E, introducing a brand new guitar pattern, Bonzo goes nuts and JPJ bounces around on a rhythmic bass lick until they fade out. As LZ aficionados know, this is a device the band uses frequently. They stitch together what can seem like disparate, unrelated parts and somehow create a whole finished piece out of them. (Levee, Ocean, Over the Hills, Stairway, etc.)
That last section is a lot of fun to play. You've made it through the bulk of the tune and haven't completely fucked up the difficult passages and form, and now you have nothing but E major in which to happily wallow around until the end. Plus, our arrangement has a cool ending. (My idea.) We groove on that E eight times through, then in unison everybody hits the first four-16ths F#m arpeggio together and out. The challenge is, of course, as always, that we all count those 8 sets accurately. It almost never happens. We utterly rely on a visual cue from anyone we think might be counting it right.
Which leads me to a brief rant about playing rock'n'roll music, as opposed to nice organized classical symphonies. You think you have to count in a symphony? That ain't nothing. You're constantly counting whilst playing rock music. Constantly. How many lines in this verse? How many repetitions of the lick, exactly? You wouldn't believe the number of times we've just collapsed trying to finish Immigrant Song. "Ok, it's four of the longer lick, starting at the end of Ben's solo, then after those four we do seven of the shorter lick then we're out." Right. Problem is the lick doesn't really fit that neatly, so it's seven repetitions plus a half of the eighth. Another collapse.
Do you have any idea how difficult it is for a forgetful 65-year-old person to remember how many times you've played a rock'n'roll lick? It's horrifying. In every tune we play there's a section where I have to count repetitions, and I fail roughly 71% of the time. Boom, I make that change to the G, but goddammit it's two bars early and Percy gives me The Look.
Come on. Everyone knows musicians can only count to four. And here I am trying to get to eight, over and over. I consistently get lost somewhere between 4 and 6. And then you're fucked. You have to look around for cues from your buddies, but when you need them the most they're not there. You watch the guitarist's left hand, hoping you can catch when they move to another chord. You move with them and pretend you knew all along exactly where you were.
Counting rests in classical music is different. You're not playing, so you can count with your fingers and toes. Plus you know that your stand partner always counts everything, so you just play when they do.
I'll devote another post to this, but boy, another thing you don't have to do in classical music is sing and play at the same time. Utterly terrifying.
With apologies for the long tangents, I'll leave it here. Have a listen to Immigrant Song and try counting how many times they play that epic lick. It's a lot.
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