Robert Plant on the Led Zeppelin Rehearsals: The Band Has "Done It. It's There."

When Led Zeppelin came together to make a new record in the Seventies, how did you begin? How would you start writing a record like, say, Led Zeppelin III?
Taking Jimmy to Bron-Yr-Aur [in Wales], which I hadn't been to for a few years, was very deliberate. [Plant's family had often stayed at a holiday cottage there in the Fifties.] Led Zeppelin II had been done, more or less, on the fly, while we were [touring]. I think the enthusiasm and variety of Led Zeppelin II echoed that. There is a lot of guitar melody and fantastic bass parts. Bonzo was amazing. It was a really cohesive departure that none of us could have imagined, and it was done on the run.

By Led Zeppelin III, there was some definite determination. We said, "We've got to do something different. We've gotta do something where we open it up." And let's fact it — with Led Zeppelin and Led Zeppelin II, there was already a decent spectrum, a kaleidoscope developing.

By the time we left Bron-Yr-Aur, we had the pastoral side of it — the vulnerability of removing everything and just having an acoustic guitar and a voice blazing fire, in a very naked and exposed condition. When you've been moving so fast for such a long time — we had never actually tried it out like that. People would bring stuff to the table, but it would be worked on, up 'til then, in a four-piece rehearsal environment. So that was quite a breakaway. That's only part of [III], but at least it got us off to some new place. And it was delightfully slated by the media, saying, "Well, they've fucked it now." [Grins]

Was there a point when you thought you were paying too high a price for that intense period from 1968 through '76 — an album a year, two, even three tours a year? It was as if you were forced to capitalize on your early success.
No, no, no. We were not forced to do anything.

Okay, "forced" is the wrong word.
That was never the way. It was [manager] Peter Grant saying, "I think it would be a good idea if you decided on the design for the sleeve, because you're holding everything up." "Oh, no, I don't like that there. That child should be on that rock there" [a reference to the cover of 1973's Houses of the Holy]. There was all that kind of mayhem. It wasn't like other rock bands. Because there was so much other stuff coming in, interests and leanings. Unfortunately, when it imploded, it wasn't imploding at the best time.

But you had the car accident in 1975. Your son Karac died in '77, and you didn't tour in '78. You only did Knebworth [two outdoor shows in England] in '79 and that last short, European tour in '80. It was almost as if there had been a rush of activity to that point, then you found you weren't quite as invincible as you thought.
Even though I was in a wheelchair for seven months [from the accident], I didn't feel bad about it. I felt bad about wasting time. I hate wasting time. The whole momentum was directed by my accident. But that didn't stop us from working on Presence, and then going to Germany to record it. It was a very, very tough time. That was probably the nearest I'd ever get to being a blues singer — not by my voice, but by how I was feeling; not being a guy in the corner like Blind Lemon Jefferson, but just being really fucked off.

Yeah, from then on, it was a stagger. But it was the forces around us. I lost my boy. I didn't want to be in Led Zeppelin. I wanted to be with my family.

The shock of being human, not invincible.
I was human all the way through it. I was a father. I'm a grandfather now. My pals look at me and go, "You're still going on." But I love it. I'm still going on.

Watching you now in The Song Remains the Same — the swagger, the posing, is still a great thing to see.
But I didn't know it was posing. It's only now with an older head, I go, "Oh, God, did that actually work?" But of course it worked. It was as genuine as the day is long. I didn't preen in front of a mirror. My mother said, "You shouldn't pout, it looks stupid." But I pouted because I wanted to be like, "Come on!" I wanted to be Steve Marriott, for fuck's sake. But in that environment, I was way past all that. I was part of some kind of new animal that included everything you see in that film. And I can't get embarrassed by it. At that point, in the film, I was yet to be twenty-five years old. And the group was dead when I was thirty-two. How can any of us have any critical overview about what we do? We were just on fire, rolling and tumbling — and most of the time, incredibly civil to each other.

But that image has been frozen in time. When you play again on December 10th, there will be an expectation — for you to rise up to that.
I've heard it in that [rehearsal] room. I've heard those guys playing. They've done it. It's already there.