As you may remember the album Physical Graffiti was released on February 24, 1975. It's February 24th. again. And to mark this anniversary I've written a little story. This is a short story in four parts with an epilogue.
It is a short story so make your tea, and get your devices together, it will take a few minutes. It does read pretty quickly though and is focused. And the chapters do get progressively shorter.
There are times, a few times that differ from how I wrote it originally because I'm unable to use big words. I don't mean multi-syllabic words. I mean big, huge, words. But I'm positive you will be able to spot those areas the second you see them and understand why I wanted those few words big. There is quite a bit of prose herein. So for-warned is for-armed.
And after you read this you will know a little bit more about me, hopefully not too much.
I do hope you enjoy, or at least remember with me.
To Led Zeppelin
An Applause
The music at our house
Chapter 1
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
.........
I was born in Pittsburgh Pennsylvania. My mom married a guy who was a hair dresser and a guitar player. He liked Rock a Billy and Country. I saw the guitar he had, it was an electric hollow body guitar. I don't know which one, I only saw it in a photograph once when I was very young. My parents got a divorce and my dad died shortly after. My mom remarried. This time she married a car and airplane mechanic as well as a guitar player. He played guitar, piano and harmonica and sang in local clubs in Pittsburgh. He listened to Reelin and Rockin, Rock and Roll, Rhythm and Blues, and Blues. He took Classical piano at a very young age then his piano teacher taught him Boogie Woogie and that was the end of that.
Some time after my parents married they moved to Chicago. It was there that he became aware of Muddy Waters.
And it was over for him.
He found his guy.
As a consequence I at a very early age could tell the difference between a Muddy Waters song, Howlin' Wolf song, John Lee Hooker song, a B.B. King song etc. When I say early age I mean before I was 7 or 8.
My mom on the other hand was Country and Classical music. The only person in the world who listens to Gregorian Chants while doing house work. As a consequence of that I could also tell the difference between Beethoven, Mozart, Tchaikovsky as well. If I was watching Bugs Bunny my mom made it a point to stop what she was doing to watch What's Opera Doc or The Barber of Seville if it came on.
I was skeptical for a while. I didn't know how this could work. I can remember walking home from school one day thinking they are going to get a divorce I know it. But they never did, they both respected each others right to listen to their music. Sometimes simultaneously. And it's not to say my mom didn't like Ray Charles. Or that my dad didn't like Hank Williams either.
But along with all of the Chicago Blues men, my dad also listened and watched Rock and Roll groups too. Both on TV and radio. I do remember watching the Beatles on Ed Sullivan. My parents didn't care about the Beatles, but didn't hate or disapprove of them either. They appreciated their enthusiasm, energy and humor. To them they were cute, fun, and harmless. But I also remember watching A Hard Day's Night on TV because they wanted to watch it.
The second time the Beatles went on Ed Sullivan I remember my dad coming home from work opening a beer sitting down to watch TV, then shortly after mom and dad went upstairs to have sex. I was downstairs watching the Beatles and took sips of my dad's beer.
Even though my mom didn't care so much for the Beatles I do remember one day I was sent home from school with a letter to my parents telling them that there was going to be a special event and they asked all the parents to be there the next day. So my mom took me to school. When we got there we discovered why our parents were called. It was that the school was going to organize a Beatles record burning event because of what John Lennon said.
"What?"
"You called me down here for this?"
"I don't have any Beatles records, and if you think I'm going to buy them to burn them you're crazy. And I don't even know what John Lennon said, but if it comes close to what you're saying he said, then you're just proving his point."
"This is censorship and I don't approve."
"Now take my daughter inside and teach her something. Otherwise I might have to put her in a different school."
"Wasting all of my time, my husband has the car now I have to walk home, clean the kitchen and I have company coming..."
My dad liked Hendrix of course and loved Ike and Tina Turner. I know it was because he loved Tina. And I also remember watching The Doors. My dad looked at them and said, "Those are great, tight rhythm players, you can't ask for anything better but that front man is a egomaniac, look at him. I couldn't be in the same room with him."
One day I remember coming down for breakfast and my mom saying, "Your father is going to be very sad today."
"Why?" I asked.
"Because Janis Joplin died."
I know I was spoiled. I never had the rebellion thing people speak of when it comes to music. Where would I go?
So that was my little life for a while. If my dad was listening to music I would challenge myself to guess the player before they announced who it was to see if I was right. Back then radio was worth listening to especially in Chicago. My personal favorite was Lightenin' Hopkins.
One day the DJ was talking about a new band from England making some noise called the Yardbirds. The DJ said what he said, then there was an interview, then they played the song. I don't know what I thought of it since for some reason my dad was listening to it on a silly small transistor radio and it didn't sound very good. That is my very first encounter with the Yardbirds, of course that was pre-Jimmy.
I know I heard that song after that, and the Yardbirds on a regular basis because my best friend, Susan's older brother liked all the British stuff, and loved the Yardbirds. They were his favorite group along with Hendrix.
"You see that album? That's my prized possession, except for the Hendrix everything else is shit."
"Touch that album and you're dead. If you want to listen to it just ask me and we'll listen to it together, just don't touch it if I'm not here."
The problem is, the first Yardbirds song I heard just sort of blended in so much with what was in the air, I can't say much more about it.
Then one day I was walking home from school and it was freezing cold.
It was cold.
It was freezing, cold.
I looked up at my street and saw a bunch of people just standing there in the middle of the road. At least 10 or so in a circle right in front of Susan's house. This never happens. When it's that cold nobody stands around in the middle of the street to chat. You get to where you need to be as quick as humanly possible. Susan was there among everyone so I stopped. Except for one little boy these were all girls most of them older than I was.
"What's going on here?"
What was going on was one of the girls had Led Zeppelin 1 and they were fawning all over it. Flipping it over constantly and talking about who the cutest one was. Since I was 10 the older girls were 13 or 14 I guess. One girl said she bought it but could only listen to it if her parents weren't home. One girl said she had to hide it under her bed.
The little boy said, "What's the big deal? These guys all look like sissies." After that his presence was no longer welcome and he was immediately dismissed.
As far as who the cutest one was it was evenly divided, there seemed to be one guy per two girls. After a couple minutes of this Susan said to me, "My brother has this album you can come over tomorrow and listen to it if you want."
"OK." I said.
I started walking home shaking my head thinking they're all nuts Jimmy was the cutest one. As well as what are they talking about hiding their music? Am I supposed to hide my music? I never thought about having to hide music. Is that what the cool kids do?
I went over to Susan's house the next day. She said, "I snuck this from Steve's room we'll have to listen to it before he gets back or else he's going to kill me." We went into the garage to listen to it where it was safe, even if her brother did came home. Besides that, they had a cool garage. She put it on but she had already heard it so she didn't start it from the beginning. She said, "I want to play my favorite song first, Communication Breakdown. After that we'll listen to the whole thing. Maybe just one side. Or maybe a little bit of each song. Some of this sounds just like the music your dad plays." Then she played Communication Breakdown.
I lived in Rolling Meadows, Illinois. A very white suburb of Chicago. And my dad was the resident adult Rocker Blues guy. Nobody else's parents listened to what my dad listened to, so naturally she made that connection. Especially since Susan and I were both 10 years old. And especially since even though my dad had got a real job he still played at home. He would put an album on, then recorded himself playing all the instruments except drums then sang. Just for his own enjoyment. As I listened to Communication Breakdown I thought this is interesting. When other songs came on I thought, oh geeze, not that song again I have to hear it every day.
Then,
what's this?
This is cool.
Whoa what's this?
After that day it was all over for me.
I found my band. What clinched it though was How Many More Times.
And that was that.
"Who?"
"Yeah I like The Who."
"The Guess Who?"
"Guess what, go away."
I never had a B Band attraction after that.
At some point my dad got fed up with de-icing planes and snow storms in April, and shoveling snow off the runway, so he put in for a transfer to a city with a warm climate, and that's how we ended up in Arizona.
So there I was in Tempe. Led Zeppelin put out a second album which my dad had a copy of before I did. Now this is where it gets weird because you don't want to be in the car with your dad when he's listening to Whole Lotta Love. It creeped me out. This is my band go listen to your own music.
Then there was the third album, which if it wasn't for the fact it was Led Zeppelin I would have bought it solely for Since I've Been Loving You. The only other time that ever happened was in the case of Presence and Tea For One. Still one of the best British white-boy Blues songs ever recorded. Of course I bought the fourth album the day it came out. And we all know the story of that. It was a great time to be alive, freedom, great music, and cheap pot.
Then everything changed for me.
One day in 7th. Grade gym class my teacher noticed I wasn't standing right and told me to have my parents take me to an orthopedic specialist to look at me. After an examination I was diagnosed with Scoliosis. I'm 5'11". They told me I had to wear a body brace for years to see if the curve, which was severe would straighten. But before I was able to be in a brace they had to put me in a full body cast, made out of plaster an inch thick until the brace was ready. And how they do that is, they lay you down, put a strap under your chin, turn a crank and basically stretch you.
The Spanish Inquisition was alive and well with respect to orthopedic therapy in the 1970's.
I can't remember exactly how long I had to wear that full body cast but how ever short a time that was, it was fucked. You can't look down, you can't sit without being in pain. You can't go swimming, ride a bike, play your guitar, play the piano. You can't do any of the things your friends are doing. I still went to school though, and I could get staring looks from everyone. My world closed off to everything except music, books, and old movies, for years. The brace was better than a cast but not by much. I could take it off for 1 hour a day.
Then, four years later I went in for a check up, they took an X-Ray to see the degree of the curve. The last time I saw the doctor he said that if my spine improved the way it seemed to be, I could start to wean myself off of the brace. The doctor came back in the room and said that my spine was at the very same place as it was four years ago and the only thing left was to have an operation.
I fainted.
All those years for nothing.
All that pain for nothing.
All those funny looks for nothing.
All that missing out on everything for nothing.
So, then, I had the operation. I had something called a Harrington rod fused to my spine. The operation took eight hours. Afterwards I had to be in a cast for 8 months. And the cast was more constraining than the brace and the cast before. The degree in which it lifted my chin was more severe too.
Before I was discharged the doctor told me he didn't want me to sit for any reason, for 4 months.
Even my mom said in no uncertain terms. Go to Hell.
The doctor left the room then came back and said, "Yes I could sit to go to the bathroom and eat."
So if my world was closed off before it just got worse. I was completely homebound. I did have a tutor. She was something. She looked like Auntie Mame in all her glory. But she said her son was in Elvis's band in Las Vegas. And when she came over she would play something on the piano.
During this time two significant things happened. First a girl that I knew since the sixth grade decided to come over to my house and be friends with me. Her name was Susan, yet another Susan. I highly suspect now, the school thought I would be very lonely, and asked her to come over to keep me company when she could. The second thing was, Physical Graffiti came out. They announced on the radio when it was to hit the store shelves, and I couldn't wait. I asked my mom to please get it for me.
"Please, please get it for me."
Of course she went and got it that night. I couldn't wait for her to come home, it seemed to take forever. Finally I saw her car come up the drive.
"Did you get it?"
"What a madhouse, everybody was in there to get this album."
"Did you get it?"
"Yes, yes I got it, it was one of the last ones."
"Oh, thank God, thank you."
I immediately took it into my room and devoured it whole.
Now, when Susan would come over and the subject turned to music she wouldn't shut up about Elton John.
Elton John,
Elton John,
Elton John.
Her world, was Elton John.
Finally I got sick of it and asked her about Led Zeppelin.
"They do Whole Lotta Love. I don't listen to them much my sister has a picture of Jim Morrison on the wall of her bedroom. I like Stairway To Heaven."
"Jim Morrison was in The Doors."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes."
I thought to myself if you have quite decided to to be my friend and hang out with me, you're going to have to learn some things.
"OK Susan, I have an album you have to listen to, if you don't listen to this I don't know if we can hang out. Against my better judgment I'm going to let you borrow this because I want you to listen to it alone and pay attention to it."
And I gave her my copy of Physical Graffiti. Only after I taught her how to take care of an album and clean it and handle it. And I made her demonstrate to me she knew what she was doing.
"Now I want this back on Sunday at 4:00 pm at the latest."
I also informed her I was going to inspect the album after she returned it and if there was any difference condition-wise her wallet was going to be lighter and easier to carry. In fact I made her leave a deposit.
Around 4 o'clock on Sunday I was looking out the living room window I saw her walking up to the house with the album and went to open the door.
"Well?" I asked. "What did you think?"
"I just can't believe it, I just can't believe it, it Just can't believe it."
"I just can't believe how good this is, I just can't believe it."
"I never knew they were this good, this whole album is good. I love that long song that goes:
Dar, dar, dar,
Dar, dar, dar."
"Kashmir,." I said.
"I just can't believe it. This sounds just like the kind of music your dad plays."
"This sounds just like the kind of music your dad plays. Does he know about this?"
"Well yeah he's heard the album."
"Why does it sound just like the kind of music your dad plays especially the song with the piano?"
"It's a standard Boogie. If you are a student of that it's inevitable there are going to be similarities."
"I don't know anything about that." Susan said.
But Boggie With Stu is exactly how my dad plays it.
"But the guitar sounds just like your dad's guitar. How come it sounds just like your dad guitar."
"That," as I pointed to my dad's guitar. "Is a Les Paul just like the one Jimmy has and my dad has a Vox amp and he likes a very thick heavy Rhythm sound and when he plays slide..."
"I don't know anything about that." Susan said as she interrupted me.
"I'm trying to explain if you give me a chance, I haven't even begun to tell you anything."
"I don't know anything about this it sounds too complicated. I have to talk to your dad about this album, where is he?"
"He's in his room watching a Steeler game."
"I'll be right back."
What the fuck? I thought. She's a nut.
I stayed in the living room standing up leaning against the wall and listening to the music. It was less painful to stand up.
Susan came back after a while.
"Well what did he say?" I asked.
"Basically the same thing you said but he said that all those guys used Muddy Waters then he wanted to watch the game."
"Who is Muddy Waters? Never mind I don't care."
"I just can't believe how good this album is."
"These pictures are so small, it makes them look like shit. Why are these pictures so small?"
"Who is this?'
"Jimmy Page."
"He plays the guitar?"
"Yes."
"Are you sure this is Jimmy?"
"Are you sure"
"Yes."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes."
"How do you know?"
"Who is this?"
"That is John Bonham."
"He plays the drums?"
"Yes."
"Are you sure this is John Bonham? There's two Johns."
"Are you sure it's the drummer?""
"Yes."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes."
"How do you know?"
"Look this is Jimmy, guitar."
"This is John Paul Jones, bass and keyboards."
"This is John Bonham, drums."
"This is Robert Plant, vocals and harmonica."
"Are you sure you're right about all this?'
"Yes."
"How do you know?"
"Led Zeppelin is my favorite band and they have been since I was 10 years old. I know who they are."
"These pictures make them look like shit, why are they so small? I just can't believe they put pictures on the album that are so small and make them look like shit."
"It's just the design of the album."
"They're so small, what are they stupid?"
"Look there's tons of pictures of them out there, really big ones and most of them make them look sexy."
"Lets go back in my room I want to show you a different album."
Led Zeppelin had held up their end of the bargain, now to put the final nail in the coffin I let her borrow a Hendrix album.
And we went through that whole scene all over again. Only that time it was worse because in the case of the blues songs it actually did sound just like the kind of music my dad played, sort of.
Of course the most gratifying aspect of all this was, that after that day, Susan never mentioned Elton John to me, ever again.
Now this time of being in a full body cast was constant pain. No relief. Constant. After four months they changed the cast and the second cast was tighter still. Maybe because I was growing and the cast couldn't stop that. I cried everyday from the pain. And my mood in general since the operation was more somber and melancholy. I was sick to death of being a trooper and good sport about all this. Books couldn't help me, watching an old movie couldn't help me. Nothing that worked in the past to take my mind off what I was going through helped me except one thing. When I went into the living room and laid on the couch face down and listened to music I noticed afterwards I felt better. It was like I could breath again. I could move again. I could exist without pain for a while again. After that I realized that I felt even better if the music I was listening to was from Physical Graffiti. That album in particular eased my muscles and the cast felt looser. After I discovered that I listened to it over and over again. The only other albums I had that accomplished the same effects were the fourth album and the song Voodoo Child. The long 15 minute version, not the more "radio friendly" Slight Return everyone is in love with. I also realized that if I held on to that pain for a week that when I listened to the music it made it that much better.
So that's what I did. I held on to that pain all week long and on Sunday after dinner I would have a standing date with Led Zeppelin and Jimi Hendrix for at least 2 hours or more. Playing the same songs over and over until when I got up I almost felt like a girl and not a thing. Especially if I could manage to fall asleep. If I did fall asleep I did it again so as not to waste the feeling.
That was the only way I was able to survive.
I'm unable to describe in mere words the extent of the pain I went through then, and how Led Zeppelin helped me, and what they mean to me.
But there's more.
~~~
Not, so, fast
Chapter 2
~~~~~~~~
.........
After eight months the day finally arrived I was getting the cast off. I was liberated. Freedom. No more pain, no more isolation. I could have a social life, go to school. I could look forward to things beyond watching Casablanca on Saturday night. I had a cousin who was getting married on July 23, 1977, in Pittsburgh. It was going to be a big Syrian wedding with food and dancing, and events all week long. You don't miss them and I didn't want to miss it. The whole family was going to be there. And our family made preparations long in advance. It was going to be fun.
It was kind of easy for me to return to school. In some ways it was like I was a new student. I started playing guitar again, excelling in art class, going to parties. Susan and I were almost never apart. And I knew nobody was ever going to take it away from me. Nothing had a snowball's chance in Hell to make me happier except the announcement that Led Zeppelin was going to perform at the ASU Activity Center.
I never thought it would happen. I never thought I would be lucky enough to see them. Finally after all these years. And in my home town. I had the biggest smile on my face I ever had in my life. I was happier than I was the day I got that miserable cast off. My eyes got big and I could barely breath. I immediately called up Susan. "Did you hear? Led Zeppelin is finally coming and we are going. You and I are going together."
"What?" I asked. "Whatever."
She told me our friends Eric and Tony were going too. These two guys from school that we used to go out to the desert with to smoke pot and listen to Black Sabbath. They had the Black Sabbath. I get bored with them after about a half hour especially on 8 track.
The day finally came when the tickets went on sale. And I don't remember the day. I seem to think it was in the winter. I remember the weather was beautiful.
That night I picked up Susan and off we went to Grady Gammage at ASU. This was the first time I had ever slept outside to get concert tickets. And it was fun. We smoked and drank and got high. My mom brought us coffee around midnight. And we were the envy of everyone around us who could smell it. And I had a good number too it was something like 134. I couldn't wait to get home and put that ticket in a safe place. I put the ticket in the bottom of my purse and raced home and put it in my jewelry box.
Every day at some point I would go to my room, sit on the bed and visit that ticket. I would take it out of the box, look at it, touch it and smile at disbelief that I was lucky enough to have one. Then gaze at my poster of Led Zeppelin and just be for a while.
One day I went into my room turned on my radio and Black Dog was on. I smiled, it's soon. The day is almost here. I'm so happy. As I was holding that ticket the song stopped and the DJ said.
"We have an announcement..."
I immediately turned and glared at the radio. It was just the way he said, " We have an announcement." It sounded like nothing good.
"Robert Plant has laryngitis and the Led Zeppelin concert has been postponed."
Not so bad I've waited this long I can wait a little longer.
"The concert has been rescheduled for July 20th."
I looked at my poster of Led Zeppelin...
FUUUUUUUU-CK!
YOUUUUU!
DICK!
How could you do this to me?!
Do you have any idea of what this means to me, any idea at all?!
After all these years I was finally.... This will never happen for me ever again.
I've known you all my life. And I never have to hide my music from my parents ever, so I could listen to you any time I want.
God Damn it. FUCK!
Jesus Christ! Did it ever occur to you just once that if you took better care of yourself things like this wouldn't happen? Of course not. Look who I'm talking to.
Fuck you!
God, Damn it... I mean don't you ever get sick of it, ever? Aren't you just sick of airplane food, restaurant food, hotel food? Don't you ever want to just go to a ballgame or eat a simple home cooked meal? Is it all, just that for you?
I stared right at Robert.
Who the fuck needs you any way?
I was going to see Jimmy and John. As a matter of fact they could just parade back and forth across the stage to the steady beat of John's drums and I would be just as happy.
...No,
no.
That's not all true at all, I guess I did want to hear some of my favorite songs, but I was going for different reasons all together.
...Anyway so what if it's true.
Article 1, Section 1, Chapter 1 of the Led Zeppelin book of regulations clearly states:
We record an album,
get paid a shit load of cash from people,
go on the road and do whatever the fuck we want to fuck.
And exchange for that we show up ready to play, we're not sick, and we don't fuck around with people.
And don't even tell me that's news to you, you made up the rules.
And you know that, so fuck you!
You know we can't all be from the only state that matters to you, the wonderful not to be outdone by any other place in the entire fucking world, fucking, sunny fucking California. All of us don't happen to live in fantastic glamorous cities.
But we are the ones that made you.
The people who come from from Omaha, and Boise, and Butte, and Tempe, and Albuquerque, and Biloxi, and Sioux City, and Green Bay, and Tulsa, and Chattanooga, and Wheeling, and Wichita, and Buffalo, and Bangor, and all the other unglamorous cities around the globe. We bought the albums we bought the T-Shirts and the posters and the stickers and whatever else you wanted to fucking sell us. We did.
Not your "Special Friends" in California.
Because we all love you more than that.
Jesus Christ I bet those people are so stupid they couldn't even spell the word album.
As a matter of fact how much money do your "Special Friends" put in your pocket? How much money? The cold hard facts. The hard data. Just how much have they contributed to your mansion, fleet of cars, castle, farm, cocaine running around your brain, thoroughbred race horse fund? How much? I want to know. I want to see the books. Show me right now.
Open up the books and tell me how much money your "Special friends" put in your wallet....
You don't say.
To be fair though, that was a trick question.
I know you don't know.
And you should get down on your knees and thank Jimmy Page for plucking you out of obscurity. Left up to you, the band would have gotten paid in butterflies or rainbows or whatever lives in that drug-addled hit of windowpane world you fucking live in.
Could you ever try, just once to make sense? I can never understand a fucking word you say. Nothing. Nothing, that ever comes out of your mouth, is ever important or enlightening or useful, or even funny. Sometimes I wonder if you are aware you are in Led Zeppelin. Sometimes when you speak I get the feeling that you think you're in a different band.
For a while there, I really used to think everything you say comes by way of a group meeting. Just for laughs. To choke the chain of he press on purpose. But that's impossible. No one else on Earth could ever come up with the words you decide to use to form a sentence. It just can't be done. It's an impossibility. And in that rare occasion I do understand what you say, I can't understand why you said it, it always sounds mean or a contradiction. Sometimes when you answer a question it sounds like you are responding to the question that came before it. And I can only think that that's your way of adding to the myth, the mystique, the legend, like there's something, beyond. But it doesn't do that. All it does is say that sometimes, in certain occasions, with certain people, smoking pot is a bad thing.
Tell me are you schizophrenic?
Don't answer that you'll just confuse me.
If you truly were schizophrenic you wouldn't know it.
I'm sorry but it's because I understand Jimmy perfectly. I understand everything he says. He's about as mysterious to me as a piece of toast. but you are weird.
Please if there's a God in Heaven tell me he got sick from sucking Jimmy Page's cock. It would be the only thing that would ever come out of his mouth that makes any sense at all.
But please, ask Jimmy, just ask him.
How much money do your "special friends" put into your bank account?
I'll wait....
No...,
no...,
no.
Those are all wrong answers.
In the first place, Jimmy has this photographic memory from Hell.
In the second place he would say, "What friends?"
"Those are business expenses."
"I'm not a Tory for nothing you know."
"See."
Well, be that as it may, the question still stands.
There is an amount.
And to avoid this going on forever I'll tell you.
The exact figure is $15.25.
Three packs of cigarettes and a coke, knock yourself out.
Now, how much, do you suppose, you're into the rest of the world for?
Millions.
What was that?
Millions.
Oh for Christ's sake, come on, you can do better than that. Shout it with all the unfettered and unrestrained, gusto, it deserves.
It's not, millions....
IT'S, MILLIONS,
YOU, PRICK!
It's so easy even I can do it.
.... Just, for a moment, can you forget about albums and ticket sales, and things like that. How about saving your money for guitars.
And asking your parents for a guitar for Christmas.
And strings, and cords and wires, and amps, and picks.
And buying a drum kit one drum at a time.
And being late for school and work so you can learn that riff or that solo.
And missing out on what everyone else is doing to practice.
And listening to a song you've heard for 5 years and just when you think you have it, you hear a sound you've never heard before, and doesn't this guy ever end?
And little slips of paper with people's names and phone numbers because this guy knows cool scale runs.
And this guy can sing.
And that guy has a pedal I can borrow.
And that chick knows Paganini.
And this guy has extra wammy bars that fit my guitar and,
FUCK YOU!
And all because we all love you more than that...
And I did it too.
I tried as best I could to still play in that cast.
I would lay down on a bed, pick up a book look at it, lay it back down, lay the guitar across my body on top of the cast and play whatever I could remember, then pick the book up again. And I would do this until it all got far too tiresome and painful and I would have to stop. But sometimes I fell asleep holding my guitar because I thought maybe I'll get some more energy to play again. Even if it was maybe a Beatles song I was trying to play it wasn't because of them.
It was because of you guys exist in the world.
Because I loved you more than that.
I've known you since I was 10 years old. You helped my through the darkest days of my life. It's bad enough for anybody to go through something like that. But I was just a young girl. I even have nightmares almost constantly about still being in that cast and in pain. You guys were the one's who enabled me to feel human. You guys were the only ones who could give me some relief, from that miserable pain.
One day Susan came over and we were talking about the concert. She was talking about what songs she would hope you play. I told her, "I don't care what they play really. I just want to see them, and be engaged, and thank them, for everything."
That's what my applause would have been for.
That applause can not exist anywhere in the world.
No other band or performer will ever receive it.
I, will never give that applause to anybody ever.
I may never applaud anyone at a concert again.
I looked at my poster of Led Zeppelin.
I looked at Robert.
Please just get away from me will you. Leave me alone. I don't want to see you or hear you, or know you exist. Take yourself, and your band, and your things, and your champagne, and your people, and get the get the fuck out of here....
I, have every right to feel this way, because of who you are and how you conduct yourself. This is where I live, so YOU get out.
I sat down on my bed head bent down holding that ticket not thinking anything. Five minutes ago that ticket was the only thing I've ever wanted in the world now it was a worthless piece of paper with the words Led Zeppelin admit one written on it.
I tried to look at my poster but shook my head no. I didn't want to look at it. Led Zeppelin songs were going through my mind. I kept shaking my head no. I didn't want to be bothered by them. I didn't want to listen to anything by any band, they were all friends anyway. The only song I could think to listen to was Moby Dick. And I didn't want to listen to Moby Dick.
Finally I did look at that poster. I looked directly at John Paul Jones and John Bonham and Jimmy Page and tried to think of a way I could bend a corner so I didn't see Robert but also not damage the poster. But I couldn't. But what I could do was roll part of it off to the side so I could see John and John. I took the tacks off the bottom and rolled it over to the side then put the tacks back in. So I had a rolled up poster of Led Zeppelin hanging on my wall.
I put the ticket back in the jewelry box and left my room. Thank God my mom was home listening to classical music and my dad was at work. The radio station did say when the box office would buy back the ticket. I remember not going that day. I think it was the next day.
That night I held that ticket in my hand when I went to bed. I remember I wanted to touch every inch of it. Rub it in my hands and just wish it wasn't so. I also remember I wanted that ticket in pristine condition when I returned it. I either put it under my pillow or back in the box before I feel asleep. I think I put it back in the jewelry box.
Scalp the ticket?
Have the Led Zeppelin corporation buy me off? Fuck no. This isn't about money. My heart is broken and I wouldn't give you the satisfaction.
I don't want a dime of your fucking Led Zeppelin money. You can keep it, drink it, snort it, smoke it, sleep in it, bathe in it, shit it, fuck it I don't care. But whatever you decide to do with it, keep it, and yourself far away from me. Understand?
The ticket, cost $8.50. And I was selling it back to the place I bought it from.
The ticket, cost $8.50. And I was selling it back to the place I bought it from.
The ticket, cost $8.50. And I was selling it back to the place I bought it from.
...Oh, I know, you may call that sweet or stupid or naive. You might say I probably wasn't popular or cute, and never kissed a boy. You may even say: You admit that you suspect that the school had to supply you with your best friend because you couldn't get one on your own. So the guys in Led Zeppelin became surrogate boyfriends and you're acting in typical first break-up fashion.
Because nobody does that.
Well, you might say that. My body was certainly changed because of years being in a cast and brace.
It's just, well, it's just, by then my parents house is where everyone went to party. I was music and art, Susan was math so between the two us we had all the drug connects. Another thing if I could get free coke then who couldn't?
Not to mention I had already made out with one of the most popular guys in school at my parents house. And as I said before, my dad was a car mechanic and one of his clients was a Rhythm and Blues band. They played in the desert southwest states. And they were all much older than I was. My dad worked on their limo. The bass player had this sort of dark, sexy, Jimmy Page thing going for him, their voices had the same quality.
You know that soft, bourbon, velvet, cigarette, mesmerizing, turn your spine into jelly,... ah hem quality.
And well...
I guess all musicians are the same.
So your theory really doesn't stand up. Especially when you consider what happened the next day.
My parents live very close to Grady Gammage. Just across the river over the Mill Ave. Bridge. And there you are.
And if all this wasn't enough. The car lot that John Bonham bought that van at was within walking distance to my parents house. Which also means the guys had to have driven right past our neighborhood to get to ASU. Which also meant that I had to look at a huge banner the car lot had put up for advertisement. This is where John Bonham from Led Zeppelin bought a van. I saw that almost every day. It was up there mocking and laughing at me, reminding me I missed the show for I don't know how long. I looked at it a couple times, after that I made it a point to turn my head away.
The first time I saw it I was in the car with my mother. She said, "Look over there at that banner. Isn't that the band you couldn't see because they rescheduled the show when we were away?"
"Yes that's the band."
"You stayed up all night to get tickets."
"Yeah, I did."
"Well maybe you'll get the chance to see them some day."
"Yeah maybe I'll get a chance to see them some day."
"This is why America is so great. He's a millionaire who bought a van here."
"As far as I'm concerned they should keep that banner up forever as a testament to how great it is to be American."
"But really it all started with the signing of the Magna Carta. That is the greatest thing that ever happened in the history of the world. The magnitude of it, made everything else possible."
"The Russians would love to buy a van, but they don't have any."
"Just for fun I'm going to go in there some day and ask them how much he had to pay to have it shipped to England."
Along with the Magna Carta, the issue of John Bonham and his van, with all it's aspects and ramifications, with my dad's gear head friends, was the topic of discussion at the dinner table for months.
Dear old mom.
I got in my car turned on the radio.
No,
no,
please,
no.
Then:
We'll be fighting in the streets
With our children at our feet
And the morals that they worship will be gone
And the men who spurred us on
Sit in judgment of all wrong
They decide and the shotgun sings the song
I'll tip my hat to the new constitution
Take a bow for the new revolution
Smile and grin at the change all around me
Pick up my guitar and play
Just like yesterday
And I'll get on my knees and pray
We don't get fooled again
Yes.
The Who.
The perfect default anger band.
When I got to the Grady Gammage parking lot that song was still on but it sounded like stereo because there were a lot of cars in the parking lot playing that, and Ironman and No More Mr. Nice Guy. The radio stations were definitely on our side. There was a line of people there and they weren't architecture majors, or Frank Lloyd Wright fans. They were a bunch of pissed off people doing the same thing I was doing.
There was this lady, she had a dog, and a kid and a huge purse and looked much more worldly than I. She was standing in the parking lot and when she saw me she said, "Laryngitis my ass."
"Can't you use a condom like everyone else in the world?"
"If you've ever heard of the word moderation maybe I could give you the benefit of the doubt, or I could understand, even feel sympathy, but not you pal, not this band, not over something like this."
"Didn't you ever think to look that word up in the dictionary when you've heard other people use it? Just to see what it meant. You know, in case you ever wanted to use it in a song?"
"Fuck you Robert."
"Fuck you Jimmy."
"As a matter of fact you know that song No Quarter?"
"Well in spades and double."
And, that was that lady. She had a Webster's dictionary and was yelling in the parking lot the definition of the word moderation as I left her. She was yelling the definition of other words too.
I went into Grady Gammage and I recognized someone who was working there. He said he didn't work at the box office but he comes down there when it's open in case anyone gets violent. He said, "Since they made the announcement it's been like a polite angry mob. The comments are priceless and they deserve it. I don't stop them from speaking just breaking things and being abusive to employees. I don't know why they didn't just wait until they were ready? They certainly don't need the money. Everybody could have waited."
I know I could have.
After years of what I went through, you get quite comfortable with, delayed gratification. It becomes a part of you.
I got in line, everybody had their head bowed down, heart broken in disbelief, rejection, and anger. There was a guy way ahead of me. He was big like a football player. I'm sure he had lots of friends and got laid a lot.
He said, "Yeah I'm Jimmy Page."
"On your knees Robert. Drop and give me twenty, drop and give me twenty, drop and give me twenty."
He kept saying that over and over again. And nobody batted an eye.
When I bought the ticket it was such a happy festive time. This on the other hand was a trial. Everyone was looking at each other with such sadness in their eyes hoping against hope.
The guy behind me looked so sad I thought he was going to cry. He said, "Me and my best friend came here and bought these tickets. My friend gave me his ticket to sell back because he said if he came he couldn't trust himself not to destroy the building. He also said he was going to send a telegram to John Bonham saying:
John,
love you
Please do everyone in Arizona a favor and kick Robert and Jimmy's scrawny British asses back to Britain it'll take you exactly two seconds,
BOOM,
over the North Pole there you are in Scotland fishing with the Loch Ness monster.
No passport required.
In fact to save time, you take Robert and John can whack Jimmy with his bass. Don't hold it at the headstock, hold it at the body to give you more thrust.
Signed,
your biggest fan."
Who knows if that guy ever sent John Bonham that telegram. But I'm positive, all things considered, Jimmy felt a huge disturbance in the force.
He went on to say, "My friend and I live, eat, breath, sweat, and fuck Led Zeppelin. It's our life, our blood, our air. To say I love Led Zeppelin is the tritest statement I could possibly make. And I'm all for blowing off steam. And I love the way they blow off steam. Rock on. But I swear to God if Jimmy Page and Robert Plant were to walk into this room right now I would deck them. In fact I would gladly exchange this ticket to see John Bonham and John Paul Jones play all by themselves. They wouldn't even have to play songs just make sounds and noises for 20 minutes and I would be satisfied."
I got into my car, and before I left I just sat for a moment. I hit my fist against the steering wheel and said, "God damn it."
Then I looked toward California and wondered.
As if it was, good-bye.
~~~
Wake me up later, love
Chapter 3
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
.........
"So there you are. I was worried."
"Don't, worry Jimmy, someday California will beg you to come back. All it has ever done is agree with everything you say, then stand back and wait. it's the sickest place I've ever heard of. But one day you'll get your own back."
"Look at you, you're grinning from ear to ear, with your head turned away, shy, like you've never had a first kiss."
"It's because, I like you, and I don't know if you're real."
"I've trusted everything, until there isn't anything to trust. And have been damaged, and caused damage. To where I can't even trust, kindness."
"And, you always say things to me, that make my eyes close. Has a woman ever said that to you? And hung on it? You make my eyes close. Don't tell me."
"If it makes you feel any better. I may very well be the only woman on the planet that owes you an apology. And has so for over twenty years. I feel I can't go on with anything until I do. I read everything wrong, and I don't even know what this is about. All I know is that right now you need a safe place to be."
"I hate it when people say they owe me something. It always ends up costing me. You don't owe me a thing."
"Please, calm down. Just sit and relax, I won't even touch you."
"Would you like some tea?
"I'll get it."
"That's Ok, I'll get it."
"You can stay here for as long as you like."
"But get back to England soon where It's safe."
"And never mind about that fucking thing, and it's obsession with technical skills."
"Look, don't even talk about that."
"He grabbed me by the shirt and shoved me into he ground, punched me in the gut, turned me into a nervous wreck, then said,
"Stand on your own two feet. Sharpen up your technical skills."
"Fuck you, you sick psychotic fuck."
"Well, here's another one. I was made to go through it twice."
"It is wretched beyond belief."
"I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry you had to go through that."
"The guys love you."
"I hate that bastard's fucking guts."
"But I can't abandon him."
"And I love him."
"And it's almost time to go over the top for the final big push."
"It might as well be your motto."
"You could say, California is like your battles of Ypres, backwards."
"ha."
"And what is the thing veteran's always say?"
"I'm not the hero, my buddy is."
"You can say things...
is it really you...
are you really here..
I've been taken in so many times...
are you, really here...
you, make, my eyes close."
"There's that grin."
"It's the sweetest, cutest, truest thing I've ever seen."
"This morning we were cooing like doves."
"Then...
"Jimmy, you're something else."
"I'm doomed."
"I'm in a big spot of bother."
"A spot of bother?"
"It just, came out. The other day, I was playing backgammon with someone and I thought to myself, I'm playing with a bloody idiot. I always think it's odd or forced when Americans use British expressions. But it just came out naturally."
"Can I call you, love?"
"Well, that all depends. Do you want to be in the company of a simpering, sobbing, quivering, uncontrollable, on the ceiling, inconsolable, unapproachable, don't fucking come near me, unrelenting, I'm begging you, mass of endless tears? You know those tears that just seem to pour out of you because your body has taken charge of your actions, and the tears stream out. And you don't wipe them off. Your face is covered in them and you won't stop for nothing, and you can sense they are ending and you wonder what you are going to do if they stop. They're burning your eyes and your skin and you don't dare touch them. You let them dry on your face. And you lick your finger and touch your face, then taste that tear. Because it makes you cry some more. Because that's the only thing that makes you feel better. Pain, so intense no amount of sex can replace it. Regret, so monstrous and consuming no amount of liquor can black it out. Loneliness so bone crushing horrid no amount of drugs could erase it. I'm right there Jimmy. It would just take that one little thing to put me right over the edge and I would be, OK. I'm done. From now on my life is going to me, crying, until the whole of the Dead Sea comes out. People will say, "What ever happened to her? I better check." And they'll come over and find something sitting on a couch that resembles me, but I'll have taken form of a big giant tear, smoking a cigarette and endlessly watching City Lights."
"You know that expression "God invented whiskey so the Irish wouldn't rule the world?"
"Well, God made the English refer to people as "love" to make sure they would."
"Jesus Christ, no pet names."
"Oh, just sneak it in from time to time."
"I guess I like it when you sneak it in."
"It's reassuring."
"I never knew it was possible to laugh continuously,
for days on end,
with you."
"I never knew it was possible for a body to manufacture so many tears,
for days on end,
with you."
"I never knew there were enough hours to just sit and listen,
with you."
"And I could sit on this very spot, and just be, with you forever."
"And, you're everything that makes my eyes close."
~~~
Cheers
Chapter 4
~~~~~~~~~
..........
Thank you guys. In more ways than one you gave me something to hold on to when I had only pain to be sure of. Sometimes it was nothing but sheer torture. There are only two things I ever really wanted. One was man who loved me, and I'll forever be optimistic on that front.
The other was to see Led Zeppelin live.
Jimmy, I have never seen you happier before in my life. When your smile your whole face brightens up like I've never seen before. I'm truly happy for you.
But you stole my heart since I was 10 years old.
The next guy is going to have to be British.
I need to be called love, so I can disappear.
And, I love Down By the Seaside just as much as Custard Pie.
I used to play that song at least three times before I turned the album over.
John Bonham for me will always be the epitome of youthful drive, loyalty and patience. And always cut right to the chase no matter the situation. And give you the shirt off his back.
Robert, I love your first solo album. Arabic music and Oum Kalthoum are just as familiar to me as the Blues. And I know I'll never be able explain it well enough, but you alone like no one else, helped me through the worst agonizing ordeal conceivable, twice. Suffice it to say if it wasn't for you I don't know where my sanity would be.
Why you?
Probably because you decided to be a musician and there.
Compassion and care. You don't have to ask he's there.
John the older you get the younger and sexier you look. I saw you here in Phoenix opening up for King Crimson a while ago. The more King Crimson played the more disappointed I became because I just wanted to hear you. You nailed, When the Levee Breaks. And I did applaud you. I did clap, for real. Generally I didn't applaud much beyond the cursory clap, clap, clap. Except for Christopher Parkening, Winford Marsalis, Chet Atkins, and Leo Kottke.
It is my hope you consider that a victory of sorts. A laying down of resentments.
I was wondering though, could you do me a favor and apologize for me to: Van Halen, Joe Satriani, Eric Johnson, Steve Vai, Pink Floyd, The Moody Blues, The Who, ZZ Top, Queen, The Rolling Stones, Emerson, Lake and Palmer, Jethro Tull, the Grateful Dead, David Crosby and Graham Nash, um, Black Sabbath, the Scorpions, Alice Cooper, Slash ( the band he was playing with after Guns and Roses ended, the Blues, Men, or Blues Devils, or Blues...something something ), Robin Trower,Yngwie Malmsteen, Santana, Bonnie Raitt, Keb' Mo', Jackson Brown, Rickie Lee Jones, Peter Frampton, the Sex Pistols, oh and King Crimson. I just know I'm forgetting some people.
By the way,
I never got a chance to see Stevie Ray Vaughan live either.
He would have hit that resentment right out of the ballpark.
Along with Jeff and Eric.
So, that distinction goes to you.
I have to ask you about the line, hocus pocus jazz.
I have a feeling, I know it means, what I think it means.
If it's true, it's completely ruthless.
Finally, this story is at an end. And in lieu of a bottle of champagne, I'll leave you with something that is as dear to my heart as you guys are.
I'll never be able to think of this song, without thinking of you.
When ya touch my hand
An' talk sweet talk
I got a knockin' in my knees
And a wobble in my walk
I'm tremblin'
And I'm shakin'
A-when ya take me in your arms
To talk romance
My heart starts doin' the St. Vitas dance
An' I'm pantin'
An' I'm shakin'
Early in the mornin' time
Late in the middle of the night
Whenever this chill comes over me
I wanna hug you with all-a my might, ay-ay
An' I'm sweatin'
An' I'm shakin'
A chill an a fever
So I've been told
Makes your head spin around
An' your feet run cold
I got fever
An' I'm shakin'
Feel like I been run through the mill
I can't move around an' I can't stand still
I'm so jittery
An' I'm shakin'
Samson was a mighty good man
Strongest in his day
Then along came Delilah an' clipped his wig
An' it looks like you took me
The same old way
So, I'm 'noy-vous'
An' I'm shakin'
Well, a storm rocks a ship on a sea
The wind shakes the leaves on a tree
I'm like a nervous wreck
I'm all shook up
And that's what you are doin' to me
'Cause I'm jumpin'
An' I'm shakin'
An' I'm jumpin'
An' I'm shakin'
Sha-aaaa-kin'
Shakin', shakin', shakin'
Shakin', um-mmm-mmm
I'm shakin'
Shakin'
Shakin'
I'm shakin'
I'm Shakin' by Little Willie John
~~~
Epilogue
~~~~~~~~
..........
Sometimes when I am working on a project that is very dear to me and I want it to be as near to perfect as I can make it, I get very picky and fussy. I pour everything I am into it. Sometimes I start then stop and start over again. I dither back and forth then question the whole thing entirely. Then there comes that moment when I say, "Enough, that's it. This is how it's going to go," and I finish it. The second it's finished, the very second it's done, I get the instructions on how to do it. It happens to me every time.
And it makes a big production of itself. Complete with flashing lights, a blue background, and a schematic drawing of the mechanics of itself.
And it says,
"Ta da! It's here."
And I say,
"You're late, you're always late you're never on time. I don't know why you even bother."
So if I'm struggling I try to trick it. I do something I can do in my sleep, just to see how it's mind works. I'll do something then say,
"Ta da! It's finished, where's my instructions?"
It answers saying,
"Who are you trying to kid with that? You know that like the back of your hand. You're not finished, not by a long shot. In fact everything you've done is wrong. Now get back to work and quit wasting my time."
Maybe you have to be that sort of person to have the experience I had, twice.
I never got a chance to see Led Zeppelin live. But I got to experience something I call, an Agony, with them.
About 20 years ago I was looking at a magazine filled with photographs of Led Zeppelin. And as I was looking at them I noticed something that never dawned on me before. These, photographs are completely unacceptable. About 90% of them all just trash. I'm going to do something about that. And I started on a project. I'm going to draw pictures of them. There has got to be at least 10 good pictures of them, somewhere. And I'm going to be the one to do it.
I knew I couldn't just replicate copy written photographs, but life drawing was a long time ago. So as practice and reference, I picked a good photograph from the Knebworth concert. The expression of sheer joy on Jimmy's face was inescapable and irresistible. Actually I was afraid of tackling the guitar. That will take all my skills. If you get one tiny thing wrong with the guitar, angle and perspective-wise it's over. And as I looked at the drawing of the guitar I thought, I got it. It's in perfect perspective, the foreshortening was correct, and it looks like he's holding it right, the frets are in descending width as it should, perfect. But the true test is laying in the strings. If they go in just as they should and not look bent somewhere then I'll know I have something. And it happened, they fit right in. As I put in the the last string I could hear what sounded like two people having a conversation behind my back. I remember hearing, "Look she did it. I don't believe it." I thought nothing of it, thinking it was my own shit.
Then as I gave the drawing the kiss of life, which for me was putting in the sweat in the eyes. Which put in the twinkle, which gave it the breath of life. There he was sitting right at my table, smiling, with a cat that ate the canary smile. With a white T-Shirt on and black jeans.
It was like, "Hi, I'm Jimmy Page heard you were a fan. Nice picture of a guitar. Most photographs of me, or us, don't look this good. Listen put all this stuff down for a second, step outside and take a cigarette break. God I love it here you're so lucky to live here and have this weather."
"Are you fucking kidding me? It's 6,ooo degrees in the summer I wish I could be where you are. I always thought I should have been born in England. I feel like it's my home."
Then off we went.
And I would like to say it was all great fun and no one got hurt or lost anything but that's not the case. If they lived it I lived it. If they felt it I felt it. I witnessed joys of their lives, and felt horrors as well. You live in the skin of them, or feel you are, and for every laugh there is ten-fold of corresponding tears.
From what I experienced, at some point the power or entity which made it possible for those four guys to have all come together as a band, ceased to be a blessing beyond anyone's hope and became,
I want to torture him, and him, and him, aaand him. And it would be more convenient for me if they were all in the same room.
Part of the deal is you must live, when, where, why, and how that happened, be part of it, and or, see it happen. And in this adventure you end up doing some pretty stupid things. And in my case they were so stupid I feel as though I couldn't even post this story without apologizing. Maybe that's why I was made to go through this again about 20 years later. You don't remember it until you're reliving it. And it begins differently.
There are tests put to you along the way as well. Sort of sub-plots or supporting factions along with the story. Things which become either a key to the individual psyche of the person, or the basis for a song, or the substance of the album. With Led Zeppelin it's almost impossible to separate, they live their songs.
Tests of physical constitution, moral fortitude, common sense, memory, gibberish recognition, retrieving words from the dictionary and living them, are just a few. I failed the gibberish recognition test the first time. I'm sure that's the one that gets everybody.
Sometimes aspects of this presented them selves at face value as sort of madcap larks, sort of practical jokes designed for no reason other than to entertain, or distract from getting to the real truth to the matter, preventing your words and ideas to flow like oil onto the page. But most of the time their function seems just to exist to accentuate their loneliness and despair even if you do have some fun. Or find out what exactly happened during that airplane flight. And you live that loneliness and cry those tears right along with them. There are times where there is a sort of "airing of grievances." Those can be, but not always are the comic relief periods, and they can last for days. Nobody argues like the guys in Led Zeppelin. And when all four of them are in your house at once, doing that, I just knew I needed to whip up some comfort food.
But last time I was so ashamed and embarrassed by what I did it I cut my losses and walked away. I abandoned the project of those drawings entirely. I couldn't even apologize appropriately even if I wanted to, because I couldn't comprehend any of this. I still can't. I don't know why or how or what. I used to care now I don't. I do know I got to meet four real men, not caricatures, or idols, or men of mystery, or images.
I would hope this goes without saying, but I'll say it. I do not have a Led Zeppelin shrine I bow to every morning. Most days I don't even wake up in the morning. If it wasn't for the fuss everyone makes about that Scotish guy I wouldn't even know, who he was. Whenever I talk to someone who says they know all about him, it all just sounds, too stupid to live. For me the occult is like porn. It's all too expensive and no one knows anything. And what they do know is just all about plumbing.
And since this happened again, as soon as I said,
"Now what was wrong with doing those drawings?" I'm going to do it.
And this time I'm not abandoning my project.
It's a great pleasure to have you guys here hanging out. But this is what I'm going to be doing.
Just go with it.
Jimmy, we're going to have to devise some sort of schedule from now on.
You live in the moment, and it doesn't always go in chronological order.
One minute they're working on the fourth album, the next minute they are falling apart at the seams.
You get to know when you can lay down, and know when it's time to make soup.
It is my hope that no one reading this will ever fully understand what I'm talking about, or ever be able to see, and feel, Physical Graffiti.
There's too much agony involved to relish in the fun.
Just listen to one of my favorite albums and enjoy.
~~~~~