Led Zeppelin “Presence”

I have a particular fondness for this album, for a lot of unconnected reasons—the first being, it was the first Led Zeppelin record I bought without already knowing way too much about it, as with “Led Zeppelin IV” (1971)—which had been played to death by that time, pretty much. Well, “Stairway to Heaven” was really played to death. They could have changed the title to “Played to Death.” For whatever reason, I’d ignored the two albums in between—and for whatever reason, I bought this one. Also, it came out just before I got my driver’s license, and I installed an 8-Track in my parents’ family car, and I made 8-Track mix tapes in this Pioneer 8-Track recorder (didn’t see many of those). The album cover (and inside cover) features 10 very silly photographs that with the correct weed might have come across as hilarious, or mysterious and profound. (Now, without the help of weed, they come across as nostalgic.) Also, no words whatsoever on the cover (or inside cover!), except on the spine. Not that that’s an original idea, but it still gave the “money guys” ulcers. Did Led Zeppelin worry about people thinking it might be a Genesis record, or an art calendar? They did not!

I appreciate that putting a 10 minute song that references a bad pun in Greek mythology first on an album really says, “Yeah, we don’t give a damn,” in an entirely 1976 rockstar excess way. I’m not crazy about the song, but I can listen to it, in the context of the album, especially in that it’s followed by a much shorter and heavier song, which is then followed by the almost punk/pop (by comparison) “Royal Orleans.” Side Two starts with “Nobody’s Fault But Mine,” a song I’ve always loved, though I didn’t find out until much later that it’s a Blind Willie Johnson song because, apparently not giving a fuck, they happily take credit. I mean, I’m all for theft and all, and naturally it’s much different—they added some words to make it more blatantly about heroin. But it’s fun to look back, since you can do that now at the drop of a hat, and listen to the Blind Willie Johnson version, as well as other renditions—there’s an excellent one by Nina Simone. Then there’s “Candy Store Rock,” a fine song, and then my favorite song on the record, “Hots On for Nowhere”—which I didn’t give much thought to for a long time—then I heard it in a movie (I think that skateboarding movie)—and it struck me, “That’s a great song!” And it is a killer song, even now, a hundred years later. The last song, then, is a 10-minute blues dirge called “Tea for One,” which is about time dragging—inviting derisive comparisons between the subject matter and the song itself—but do they worry about being an easy target for rock critics? They seriously do not.