Friday, March 20, 2009

Led Zeppelin Makes Me Cry...

Not like Norah Jones makes me cry. Led Zeppelin makes me cry because they're so fucking good. Norah Jones sounds like naptime. But this isn't about Norah's about Led Zeppelin.
Firstly, when I was little I thought that Led Zeppelin was one man. I thought his first name was Led and his last name was Zeppelin. It's funny to think about now, but then again, not all that irrational. It could be a guy's name. Led could be a first name. Led, clean your room. Can you do me a favor and pick up some milk on your way home, Led? Yeah, it's possible.

Anyway, I owe my father big time for popping on Led Zeppelin records in the living room when I was a kid. I also owe my father big time for still owning and operating a record player up to this day. I owe lots of things to my mother, but my musical and film knowledge were mostly acquired through my dad. Probably because my mother can't seem to remember if she's seen a movie or not. Ever. I know my brother would agree with me on these points, in fact, I sent him a link to this blog because I was writing this post. 

It stopped being cool to like the music that my parents listened to after I turned 8, though, until I turned 16...then something shifted. All of a sudden I was digging through the cabinets and stealing my mom's Joni Mitchell and Bob Dylan albums (okay fine, she knows good music). All of a sudden I realized that my father being a jazz fanatic might be pretty cool after all. 
My brother and I spend too much time complaining about how we were born at the wrong time for music. In fact, I got a text from him today that reads, "[Almost Famous is] such a good movie. Every time i watch that or dazed and confused i feel like i got jipped and should've been born when our parents were". Touche, bro. Touche.
Per usual, I digress. Led Zeppelin. We were talking about Led Zeppelin. Listening to When The Levee Breaks might be a sexual experience, I'm just throwing it out there, it might. Tangerine makes me cry...especially when it plays at the end of Almost Famous (which is what prompted me to write this whole rant right now in the first place...yes, my Amazon dvds have arrived). Listen to Dyer Maker while walking around NYC in the summer...the song and the city smell the same (songs have smells...just roll with it). I wish Going To California was 5 hours long so I could listen to it for the whole plane ride to California. I could go through the whole catalogue, but I don't need to, because you can. 

Bottom Line: Every day should start with Bron-Y-Aur Stomp. And a big cup of coffee...

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