Few bands are in less need of an introduction than Led Zeppelin. For roughly a decade they reigned, helping to establish hard rock as a profitable genre as they trashed hotel rooms, gallivanted with groupies, and impacted heavy music right up to the nonce. Mothership is less of an intro than stardom’s inevitable career summary and exercise in remastering; it’s no substitute for their great albums, but it does glean two dozen selections from the corpus, many of them excellent, and spreads them across a pair of CDs or four 180gm LPs. It’s rereleased on November 6.
Anthologizing a onetime rock radio fixture and by extension youthful music hound’s rite of passage, it can seem Mothership’s contents generally resist commentary. And yet the notion of nothing left to say is simply a falsehood; love, hate, ambivalence, or indifference, no matter the viewpoint Led Zeppelin remain indisputably important, and on 20 days their oeuvre can be approached from 20 different if not wholly distinct angles, making these 24 tracks quite useful as an impetus for observations.
“Good Times Bad Times” and “Communication Breakdown” (their debut US single!) succinctly emphasize Zep’s crucial hand in the formulation of hard rock and do so without really highlighting the essential blues component in their personality. But don’t let’s get ahead of ourselves; the Jake Holmes-lift “Dazed and Confused” (a.k.a. Drum Fill 101) does illustrate their adeptness in swiping preexisting, and to put it politely, often unacknowledged sources.
So too does “Babe I’m Going to Leave You,” written by Anne Bredon (the version found on Joan Baez in Concert, Part 1 is reportedly the inspiration) and not traditional as it was credited for years (in fairness by Baez as well as Zep). It provides adequate early representation of the band’s folky aspects and rounds out Led Zeppelin’s entries rather nicely.
Led Zeppelin II only meriting three songs is something of a blunder, and that it’s partially the wrong ones compounds the issue. “Whole Lotta Love” is an obvious choice however, the excesses of the midsection detailing an outlandishness likely eternal; hearing it for the first time on radio supplied this kid with a true what-in-the-fuck moment, the Theremin and bonkers studio tricks exacerbated by Plant’s faux-orgasmic excursions before things roar back together with Page in the lead.
“Ramble On” does highlight Zep’s ability to strategically combine hard rock and pop elements, and the brisk thud and riff-gaudiness throughout “Heartbreaker” (in contrast to Clapton’s studious nature) deepens Mothership’s portraiture of a group concerned more with rocking than good taste. From this listener’s perspective “Heartbreaker” is basically one half of a two punch combo with “Living Loving Maid”; ‘twas how I always heard them on the FM dial and when spinning side two of II, natch.
Following “Heartbreaker” with “The Immigrant Song” is far from a botch, but one can noticeably detect the refinement setting in. From there, Mothership leans into its subject’s blues side not through one of their numerous Willie Dixon cops but in an entry accurately cited as an original; as a full-band platform “Since I’ve Been Loving You” is slightly inferior to the bent sauntering of II’s “The Lemon Song.”
Second thoughts could’ve made room for “Tangerine” (III gets a meager two cuts), and/or “Immigrant Song” b-side “Hey, Hey, What Can I Do” to expand the young Zep’s range. But the reviewer’s purpose isn’t to suggest what should’ve been done but to consider the extant scenario; “Since I’ve Been Loving You” is a respectable addition, though one that’s arguably overstuffed next to the fourth album’s lean and undyingly potent “Rock and Roll” with Ian Stewart sitting in on the 88s.
“Black Dog” is also a perfectly suitable but pretty straightforward pick; missing from IV is the structural wildness and amp mauling of “Four Sticks,” a superb example of Zep’s relevance to the tougher side of the grunge thing. Of course, many will recognize Bonham’s drumming on “When the Levee Breaks” from the Beastie Boys’ Licensed to Ill, but purely in a Zep context the song’s notable for its blend of qualities.
The continued attention to (some will insist bastardization of) the blues (the moaning moth harp, the slide, the goddamned flood, the going down, going down, going down to Chicago), the unflagging heaviness of the rhythm section, the undercurrents of pop savvy even as it hits the seven minute mark, and after “When the Levee Breaks” is the track that defines them, at least in terms of sheer popularity.
Does “Stairway to Heaven” withstand such ludicrous overexposure? Certainly not, and listening now its ascension to cultural cornerstone is a bit flummoxing, definitely more so than its counterpart in classic rock ubiquity “Freebird.” Brit-folky mysticism mingling with Plant at his most accessible, it’s about as deep as a kiddy pool and like “Freebird” sports a heavy finale openly embraceable by non-heavy lobes.
This leaves Houses of the Holy’s crisp and stylistically prescient “The Song Remains the Same” to close record two. As the 5:30 unwinds a LOT of ‘90s roots are displayed, namely influences on the not-so tough side of the whole post-grunge experience. Similar foreshadowing can be found in the glistening hollow-bodies and raw chords (and fine Page solo) of “Over the Hills and Far Away” (I’ve always dug the ending), and even as he maintains hard rock swagger Plant’s gradually inching toward the Honeydrippers.
Though it’s easily a minute too long and ultimately no great shakes I favor the reggae debasement of “D’Yer Maker” to the respectfulness of Clapton’s fairly annoying cover of “I Shot the Sherriff.” Wielding soft and loud dynamics, prog-lite facets, stoner-fuzz, and a general sense of excessiveness, millions of people adore “No Quarter” but I’ll confess it’s never fervently goosed my interest.
I much prefer the hunched-up funk-rock of “Trampled under Foot,” and while it’s difficult to deny the foundational ballsiness of the first two LPs, in the end Physical Graffiti is my pick as their best release; “Houses of the Holy” is a comely motherfucker of a barrel-tight groove-beast, and off the top of my head “Kashmir” is the finest ‘70s-rock appropriation of strings and brass this side of Procol Harem’s live “Conquistador” with the Edmonton Symphony.
Presence’s “Nobody’s Fault but Mine” catches fire in the instrumental portions and reinforces the blues as a recurring motivation, being a transmogrification of a work by Blind Willie Johnson. And as the lengthiest cut on the set, “Achilles Last Stand” might insinuate increasing self-indulgence, but if too long (it’s too long) it also forecasts subsequent developments in ‘80s heavy metal and even later the sound of Mars Volta.
As others have commented, “Fool in the Rain would’ve been a welcome representative from In Through the Out Door, but “In the Evening” isn’t a terrible inclusion, Plant reminding these ears of Elvis on the verses as Page dishes another strong solo. A better choice for omission is “All My Love” and its doofy-assed synth solo, though the tune is probably an indicator of Zep’s future had Bonham not passed and the band trudged into the ‘80s and beyond.
That’s conjecture obviously; hard to dispute is Led Zeppelin’s achievement and lasting consequence. Mothership isn’t perfect but it synopsizes their essence very well.
GRADED ON A CURVE:
A-
