Perhaps everyone remembers the first day they heard Led Zeppelin. I grew up listening to various genres, highly influenced by the music that was popular on the radio in the 1970s. I probably heard the band in passing, but it never registered or connected with me until I was in high school. One day, after dropping a friend off at his house at school, he ran out of his front door and handed me a cassette tape. He said listen to this. On the front was written "Zep 2," and on the back was written "Zep 4." I had no idea what that meant or even what that was.
Obediently, I put the tape in and hit play. My life changed. If you do not remember cassette tapes that you played in your truck, you could not just select a song. You had to rewind or fast-forward. My rewinding button was broken; it had fallen off. So I had no choice but to play it where it was at. The song that started playing was "D’yer Mak’er." I thought this song was on Zeppelin’s fourth album, known as "Symbols" or sometimes called "Sticks" because that is what the handwriting said. It was actually on Houses of the Holy, but I would only learn that later.
Led Zeppelin’s untitled fourth album, often called "Led Zeppelin IV," is shrouded in mystery, much like the band itself. There’s no definitive, universally agreed-upon "story" behind it, which was entirely by design. The band, particularly Jimmy Page, wanted to release an album without their name or title on the cover, a defiant statement against the music industry and critics who they felt were unfairly judging their previous work. They aimed for the music to speak for itself, unburdened by commercial branding.
The old, framed oil painting depicting a bearded man carrying a bundle of sticks was purchased by Robert Plant from an antique shop in Reading, Berkshire. Its original title and artist remain unknown, adding to its enigmatic allure. Plant reportedly found the contrast between the rural, almost pastoral image and the urban high-rise building on the inner sleeve (a photograph of a derelict house in Dudley) particularly striking. This juxtaposition of old and new, nature and industry, tradition and modernity, became a central theme.
This going against the music industry thing was part of the band’s mystery. They never really released singles, and their albums were hard to come by. You could only really see them in concert for a while until they would finally release an entire album. Bootleg copies of their music were the only way to really listen to them for most kids, and so that was me, playing both sides of two of their albums on a tape labeled in crude pencil script. When you listened to them for the first time, it was like you were discovering some hidden secret.
Anyway, back to the first song that I heard. As I said, I would learn later that this tape was actually a mixtape, and I was surprised when I eventually bought the albums on CD that the order was not the way that I had learned them. This song, "D’yer Mak’er," was the band’s experiment with reggae, and the song’s funny title is actually a joke. When a person with a heavy British accent in their area would say the punchline to a joke about taking one’s wife somewhere, the person would respond, "Did You Make Her?" It would sound like they were saying "Jamaica," thus the nod to the reggae sound. This caught my attention because I had become a reggae fan and, at the time, was listening to a lot of that music. So it was just an interesting coincidence, I suppose. This song was not popular; it took a long time for people to appreciate it.
The song represents the profound capability of the band’s drummer, Bonham, whose tragic death would cause the band to stop playing. His ability to adapt, change styles, and bring life to the music as a drummer was incredible. Since that time, I have heard from many others the same experience: how this song would be their entryway into rock and roll. It almost did not make the album, the band treating it almost as a joke when they played it. Now it is probably one of their most treasured songs.
I actually do not know why I am sharing this. No profound lesson here, just an interesting story. I remember sitting there in my car, listening to both sides of that tape in total awe. I have never really listened to music like that. Well, check that. I was constantly surrounded by Jethro Tull because my uncle toured with that band, but that is a story for another day. Life is indeed a long song.
