LED ZEPPELIN: A PSYCHOBIOGRAPH

I could begin this psychobiograph by letting you in on the incredibly orgasmic Yardbirdsfeaturing-Jimmy Page-gig I caught at the Grande in Detroit in the late 60's, but the truth is, my brother only got me in on fake I.D. once, and I think it was for Cream. That's right, strike me dead—I'm not quite sure. I was so stunned to get past the door that the experience is stored in my brain as a cacophony of lights, music, "hip cats," and hoping my mother wouldn't find out. I did own Little Games and Live Yardbirds With Jimmy Page, until they melted in the back window of my brother's Volkswagen.

I was introduced to the "new" band Led Zeppelin at the age of 17, by a college roommate who wrote long, soggy journals, went to an analyst, and fancied herself tragically in love. I wasn't very sympathetic until she went out, for no apparent reason, and bought all three (at that time) Zep albums at once. They were the only LPs she owned, and may well still be. I do know I spent classtime wasting the state's money by lying in bed smoking Kools, tragically in love with myself, and reading her journals. And playing Led Zeppelin at full volume.