You can have the Beatles or any other band for that matter, I’ll take Led Zeppelin. Born a bit too early and to parents who cared less about arena rock, I missed my chance to see the ZOSO meisters. I caught a Robert Plant show during the “Now & Zen” tour back in high school; skipped the various Plant/Jimmy Page reunions. But the chance to see four women grab the Zep song book at a local venue I’ve never visited got me oddly excited. And that’s how I ended up at last night’s
Lez Zeppelin show at the
State Theatre in
Falls Church, Va.
Moms and dads brought their youngins and dropped them off near the stage, which is totally appropriate because Zep is and always will be the ultimate “here’s your invitation to the wonders of hard rock band” for any middle-schooler. The seventh-grader in me stirs whenever I hear a heroic Page riff or Bonham smacking out a tiss-tiss-tiss-tiss pattern on the hi-hat. Everything about the group addressed the mysterious and scary time when your body and mind begin to peer behind the curtain of teen-agedom. The music thundered and clanged and roared, then slowed down for a mellow acoustic rest, kind of like those puberty-powered spurts and bouts of happiness and depression. Lyrics conjured tales of mythology and faraway kingdoms, appealing to the Dungeons and Dragons and Lord of the Ring lovers (and what 12-year-old boy didn’t get psyched for that?) And then there’s the sex – endless innuendo about lemon squeezing and juice running down legs and hooking up with all kinds of groovy chicks, Plant’s high-pitched squeals and rapturous orgasmic moans (“Whole Lotta Love” is the ultimate example), the words and sighs locking naughty parts with huffing and puffing drums, bass and white-hot guitar licks.
Now imagine the lyrics about meeting, humping and dumping various lasses being sung by a tall, luscious lead singer who specializes in making “do me” eyes at the girls and guys in the crowd and equally enjoys baring her bikini-model tummy and simulating sex with a raven-haired female guitarist? OK, stop daydreaming. Put your hands where I can see ‘em… Anyway, that’s the show. Note-for-note replications of the best Zep tracks, decent but hardly Plant-like vocals, shredding solos and rich tones, powerhouse drumming, mandolins, Theremins, violin bows, bongo, keyboards, the works. No light show or fancy backdrops, but when you’re standing in the front row (or anywhere in the theater), you really don’t need ‘em.
Songs that I can remember (not order, ‘cept for the first one):
Immigrant Song
Babe I’m Gonna Leave You
Dazed and Confused
Your Times Is Gonna Come
I Can’t Quit You Baby
The Ocean
Over the Hills and Far Away
Houses of the Holy
Kashmir
Black Dog
Rock ‘n’ Roll
Misty Mountain Hop
Going to California
Whole Lotta Love
[Gratuitous Tickemaster gripe: So here’s how I almost became a scalper at a Lez Zeppelin show: Two attempts to order tix from Ticketmaster.com failed on Friday morning. I sent a harried screed to Ticketmaster.com asking what the hell happened, and relaying that I only wanted one pair, not two, in case different credit cards were charged. The national Ticketmaster.com help center said it would be no help at all, and told me to contact the D.C. area office. So off went another e-mail. Finally I called that State Theatre and talked to a helpful guy named Brian; he said neither charge went through, and as of 2:30 p.m. there were only 76 tickets left. I scooted to the Hecht’s in Tysons and got one. If I had done that from the start, I would’ve saved a pantload of time and not spent at least an hour inviting people who could possibly take the four other tickets, bothering my wife and generally worrying about how cheesy I’d look trying to unload tickets, not to mention the variety of service charge fees that I’d have to eat. By the time I arrived, the show was sold out and no tickets were waiting at will call. I’ll have to check if Ticketmaster ever gets back to me.]
Memories of the April 9 Art Brut/Rogers Sisters/Robocop Kraus show at the Black Cat:
