One of the joys of being human is how music can move us so forcefully, how sound can open the heart and leave you in tears.
For me, such moments are iconic and memorable, but few, as I'm a hard person to please, so I'm told. But there are a few: Miles Davis in the right phrase, Coltrane or Ayler in the right phrase, and especially Cecil Taylor's luminescent solo moments and the right matchup of Rabrindasongeet (the collected music output of Rabindranath Tagore) with the right singer.
And if you can experience these moments live, so much the better.
Tonight, I'll add one more.
As much as I've always admired and respected Led Zeppelin's body of work -- particularly their live work and ethos -- I never imagined they would literally move me to tears by how they made music together one night in December 2007, documented in the "Celebration Day" film.
But damn, they did.
And I'm not just being a fanboi. It is an evening of transcendent music making and communication, regardless of genre or style, delivered and sculpted with a deep energy -- not the restless itchy exuberance of youth, but with the deep intensity of wisdom and experience.
The first clue to this is in the set list itself, which my son and I were pondering over dinner before seeing the film. It doesn't follow the typical arc of 1) out-of-the-gate assault, 2) relax, 3) build up again. The band instead opts for something far more risky and special: a continuous ramp-up of intensity and complexity and history, a near-perfect 45 degree angle line if you were graphing it.
Not only does that mean you need the stamina to pull it off (no mean feat for rocking in your 60s) but moreover, the confidence and security that you can command it, that how you deliver and pace the music will speak for itself.
By and large, it does.
The band fully controls the pace of the show, but they also impose that discipline on the tunes themselves. Many tunes seem downtempo by just a click or two, and while some may snort and be tempted to dismiss it as senior citizen sluggishness, it doesn't come across that way. It's never complacent or sleepy.
What we see instead is a controlled, relaxed discipline, an ownership of the music and the time frame, a "patience, young padawan" vibe that lets the music breathe, allowing LZ to live in it and infuse it with a deeper, unforced kind of energy that slowly builds a huge rolling wave over two hours.
Led Zeppelin is gripping because they so expertly thrive and navigate the juncture of two fronts, which they've also mastered in turn:
1) As writers, they had a harmonic sophistication and dynamic layering ( "shades of light and dark," as Page says) that set them far apart. Even shorter tunes had this epic, symphonic feel to them ( "The Song Remains The Same," "Four Sticks," "Rain Song") with shifts in texture, tone, mood, layers, rhythm.
2) They were also master communal improvisors in some very subtle ways, far more creative, compelling and responsive IMO than the Grateful Dead or indeed most any 'jam band' out there these days. Although Led Zeppelin's musical vocabulary was different, you'd have to get to early Mahavishnu or some of the free-jazz groups of that era (or since) to find groups that could sustain that level of interplay and keep it interesting. And even then, Zeppelin could beat some of those bands at their own game.
At its best, live extended Zeppelin wasn't about long solos or the guitar, but rather taking the band through some epic spontaneous trajectories that could be a pretty amazing journey.
OK, an aside and an obligatory caveat: Not every concert throughout their career was their best. And did they succumb now and then in their career on the stage to incoherent excess? Sure they did, but name me one band that improvises and takes risks -- in jazz or any genre -- that doesn't fall prey to that. We all do. If you're a musician and reading this, come out of the closet and admit it. You are LYING to me if you say you improvise and claim you never had an off night where you couldn't or didn't listen and so you just wanked.
On this night, though,, Led Zeppelin distilled and contained the expansiveness: everything was condensed, served its purpose, stripped down to its essence. The journeys and interplay still happen, but they're subtle, deeper, and go by quicker - making the whole set somehow more more thrilling and dangerous than other LZ live outings . It's music-making on hairpin curves rather than long straightaways.
"Dazed and Confused," for example, gets a taut, tight, dark, menacing treatment, almost Sabbath -esque. It's not perfunctory or reluctant -- they never phone it in -- but given Plant's opening remark to the song about tunes they 'd have to do, the band's lean-and-mean focus here may include a bit of agenda or catharsis.
The lack of complacency also shows in putting "For Your Life" on the set list, a song never before done live. The fact that they would include a non-road tested tune, along with all the other subtle tweakings and musical conversations throughout the evening, reveals a band still willing to take risks, open it up, put care and effort and give it their all and not merely do a greatest hits retread.
They still make everything sound fresh -- and to me, that's remarkable.
Except for some of the hallmark Page /Plant trading, which seems to have been cut back dramatically, not anything else seems missing. Its all there, trimmed and focused. Tempi may be slower, but songs are shorter as well -- so every moment, filled with a note or not, has to be imbued with a certain presence and energy. That makes for an intense two hours. Of course, such an approach puts the pressure on each member to make every note count -- and they do.
They are all in fine form. It's great to see John Paul Jones claim some physical space on stage, relaxed and genuinely enjoying the moment. Nimble and fleet fingered, with lines and groove that lock in but stay supple, it's also a treat to finally hear him well (a problem in previous live mixes on DVDs and releases).
Bonham fils had the heaviest burden of the evening, given the lineage and legacy. To his credit, he honored that beautifully by being his own voice, stripping away any basis for nitpicky comparison from drum geeks (credit is also due to the elders on the bandstand to allow him that liberty).
His tone, attack, phrasing, sense of time placement in fills, are all so radically different from Bonham pere, and yet it fits. Some of the slower tempi allow him room to place fills with a very different rhythmic aesthetic and arc than his father, and he makes some interesting twists and contributions throughout that the band seems to love.
Robert Plant is on target, engaging and assured. He's kept to lower registers for years, but have no doubt: he still has his range and will call on it when needed. And when he does, it's spot on: penetrating, captivating, perfectly placed and tuned.
Jimmy Page has never been better, internalizing the stripped-down-but-deeper approach. Solos are shorter, but long enough to say what they need to and serve the song; he's pulling out new textures and tones (most notably the use of the Whammy pedal), but the signature tones remain (though a slight use of chorus gives his sound a bit more fluidity over the early days).
In live clips over the years, Page always seems happiest when he can take the role of a sonic painter and orchestral guide rather than as a guitar god, even when soloing. Liberated from the guitar god ball and chain simply by virtue of seniority and legacy --i.e., you've earned it, we'll let you move on now -- he seems at ease.
That liberty empowers him to go deep. His phrasing is longer, elongated, pulling out of time at places to great effect, allowing notes to free-fall. There are moments of great heartfelt ingenuity and magic, and -- without giving away spoilers -- one solo moment in particular that is heart -wrenchingly, powerfully perfect.
So how is "Celebration Day" as a concert film? Surprisingly moving.
Apart from two brief flashes of mirror-image -split-screen tribute to Led Zeppelin's first concert film "The Song Remains The Same," the approach from director Dick Carruthers doesn't call attention to itself. He's sensitive and transparent, getting out of the way and letting the music -- but more importantly, the music process --tell its own story. The camera work captures all the glances, smiles and nonverbal exchanges in tightly framed shots that feel intimate and natural, but never invasive.
Those moments are in fact the basis of the film's narrative, and there are far too many of them to recall from one viewing: Jason Bonham turning a subtle of twist of groove for eight bars and making Jimmy smile; Jason's final well - earned extended fill in the last encore eliciting great grins of almost parental pride and approval from the elders onstage; Jones enjoying everything around him; Plant smiling at Page's unexpected change of note in their duet passage at the end of the bow sequence in "Dazed and Confused;" Page smiling at a well-turned phrase from Plant; Plant even surprising himself after a turn of phrase with a sheepish grin, as if to say, "wow I didn't know where that came from."
It's a very personal and vulnerable vantage point, both in the physical sense of being onstage with the band members, but also emotionally, by being so privy to the relationship and dynamic of the band as they create. In a less subtle cinematic hand, such an approach could have been exploitative or voyeuristic, but Carruthers makes you feel invited and welcome: it's OK to be in that space.
That's the beauty and power of this film, cinematically: by collecting all these nonverbal narratives opened up by the band's invitation to share their process, you don't just watch as an audience member hundreds of yards away some songs being played -- instead, you're invited to experience, very closely, how music is made.
If you're a Led Zeppelin fan, then of course go see this film. Or if you want to see a powerful testament to the creative collective process, then see this film.
Because it's really more than Led Zeppelin. This film celebrates and captures something for any art: the spark of collective creative will in the service of making something bigger than its parts.
"Celebration Day," indeed.
For me, such moments are iconic and memorable, but few, as I'm a hard person to please, so I'm told. But there are a few: Miles Davis in the right phrase, Coltrane or Ayler in the right phrase, and especially Cecil Taylor's luminescent solo moments and the right matchup of Rabrindasongeet (the collected music output of Rabindranath Tagore) with the right singer.
And if you can experience these moments live, so much the better.
Tonight, I'll add one more.
But damn, they did.
And I'm not just being a fanboi. It is an evening of transcendent music making and communication, regardless of genre or style, delivered and sculpted with a deep energy -- not the restless itchy exuberance of youth, but with the deep intensity of wisdom and experience.
The first clue to this is in the set list itself, which my son and I were pondering over dinner before seeing the film. It doesn't follow the typical arc of 1) out-of-the-gate assault, 2) relax, 3) build up again. The band instead opts for something far more risky and special: a continuous ramp-up of intensity and complexity and history, a near-perfect 45 degree angle line if you were graphing it.
Not only does that mean you need the stamina to pull it off (no mean feat for rocking in your 60s) but moreover, the confidence and security that you can command it, that how you deliver and pace the music will speak for itself.
By and large, it does.
The band fully controls the pace of the show, but they also impose that discipline on the tunes themselves. Many tunes seem downtempo by just a click or two, and while some may snort and be tempted to dismiss it as senior citizen sluggishness, it doesn't come across that way. It's never complacent or sleepy.
What we see instead is a controlled, relaxed discipline, an ownership of the music and the time frame, a "patience, young padawan" vibe that lets the music breathe, allowing LZ to live in it and infuse it with a deeper, unforced kind of energy that slowly builds a huge rolling wave over two hours.
Led Zeppelin is gripping because they so expertly thrive and navigate the juncture of two fronts, which they've also mastered in turn:
1) As writers, they had a harmonic sophistication and dynamic layering ( "shades of light and dark," as Page says) that set them far apart. Even shorter tunes had this epic, symphonic feel to them ( "The Song Remains The Same," "Four Sticks," "Rain Song") with shifts in texture, tone, mood, layers, rhythm.
2) They were also master communal improvisors in some very subtle ways, far more creative, compelling and responsive IMO than the Grateful Dead or indeed most any 'jam band' out there these days. Although Led Zeppelin's musical vocabulary was different, you'd have to get to early Mahavishnu or some of the free-jazz groups of that era (or since) to find groups that could sustain that level of interplay and keep it interesting. And even then, Zeppelin could beat some of those bands at their own game.
At its best, live extended Zeppelin wasn't about long solos or the guitar, but rather taking the band through some epic spontaneous trajectories that could be a pretty amazing journey.
OK, an aside and an obligatory caveat: Not every concert throughout their career was their best. And did they succumb now and then in their career on the stage to incoherent excess? Sure they did, but name me one band that improvises and takes risks -- in jazz or any genre -- that doesn't fall prey to that. We all do. If you're a musician and reading this, come out of the closet and admit it. You are LYING to me if you say you improvise and claim you never had an off night where you couldn't or didn't listen and so you just wanked.
On this night, though,, Led Zeppelin distilled and contained the expansiveness: everything was condensed, served its purpose, stripped down to its essence. The journeys and interplay still happen, but they're subtle, deeper, and go by quicker - making the whole set somehow more more thrilling and dangerous than other LZ live outings . It's music-making on hairpin curves rather than long straightaways.
"Dazed and Confused," for example, gets a taut, tight, dark, menacing treatment, almost Sabbath -esque. It's not perfunctory or reluctant -- they never phone it in -- but given Plant's opening remark to the song about tunes they 'd have to do, the band's lean-and-mean focus here may include a bit of agenda or catharsis.
 |
| (courtesy photo) a moment from "In My Time Of Dying," from the Led Zeppelin concert film "Celebration Day" |
They still make everything sound fresh -- and to me, that's remarkable.
Except for some of the hallmark Page /Plant trading, which seems to have been cut back dramatically, not anything else seems missing. Its all there, trimmed and focused. Tempi may be slower, but songs are shorter as well -- so every moment, filled with a note or not, has to be imbued with a certain presence and energy. That makes for an intense two hours. Of course, such an approach puts the pressure on each member to make every note count -- and they do.
They are all in fine form. It's great to see John Paul Jones claim some physical space on stage, relaxed and genuinely enjoying the moment. Nimble and fleet fingered, with lines and groove that lock in but stay supple, it's also a treat to finally hear him well (a problem in previous live mixes on DVDs and releases).
Bonham fils had the heaviest burden of the evening, given the lineage and legacy. To his credit, he honored that beautifully by being his own voice, stripping away any basis for nitpicky comparison from drum geeks (credit is also due to the elders on the bandstand to allow him that liberty).
His tone, attack, phrasing, sense of time placement in fills, are all so radically different from Bonham pere, and yet it fits. Some of the slower tempi allow him room to place fills with a very different rhythmic aesthetic and arc than his father, and he makes some interesting twists and contributions throughout that the band seems to love.
Robert Plant is on target, engaging and assured. He's kept to lower registers for years, but have no doubt: he still has his range and will call on it when needed. And when he does, it's spot on: penetrating, captivating, perfectly placed and tuned.
Jimmy Page has never been better, internalizing the stripped-down-but-deeper approach. Solos are shorter, but long enough to say what they need to and serve the song; he's pulling out new textures and tones (most notably the use of the Whammy pedal), but the signature tones remain (though a slight use of chorus gives his sound a bit more fluidity over the early days).
In live clips over the years, Page always seems happiest when he can take the role of a sonic painter and orchestral guide rather than as a guitar god, even when soloing. Liberated from the guitar god ball and chain simply by virtue of seniority and legacy --i.e., you've earned it, we'll let you move on now -- he seems at ease.
That liberty empowers him to go deep. His phrasing is longer, elongated, pulling out of time at places to great effect, allowing notes to free-fall. There are moments of great heartfelt ingenuity and magic, and -- without giving away spoilers -- one solo moment in particular that is heart -wrenchingly, powerfully perfect.
So how is "Celebration Day" as a concert film? Surprisingly moving.
Apart from two brief flashes of mirror-image -split-screen tribute to Led Zeppelin's first concert film "The Song Remains The Same," the approach from director Dick Carruthers doesn't call attention to itself. He's sensitive and transparent, getting out of the way and letting the music -- but more importantly, the music process --tell its own story. The camera work captures all the glances, smiles and nonverbal exchanges in tightly framed shots that feel intimate and natural, but never invasive.
Those moments are in fact the basis of the film's narrative, and there are far too many of them to recall from one viewing: Jason Bonham turning a subtle of twist of groove for eight bars and making Jimmy smile; Jason's final well - earned extended fill in the last encore eliciting great grins of almost parental pride and approval from the elders onstage; Jones enjoying everything around him; Plant smiling at Page's unexpected change of note in their duet passage at the end of the bow sequence in "Dazed and Confused;" Page smiling at a well-turned phrase from Plant; Plant even surprising himself after a turn of phrase with a sheepish grin, as if to say, "wow I didn't know where that came from."
It's a very personal and vulnerable vantage point, both in the physical sense of being onstage with the band members, but also emotionally, by being so privy to the relationship and dynamic of the band as they create. In a less subtle cinematic hand, such an approach could have been exploitative or voyeuristic, but Carruthers makes you feel invited and welcome: it's OK to be in that space.
That's the beauty and power of this film, cinematically: by collecting all these nonverbal narratives opened up by the band's invitation to share their process, you don't just watch as an audience member hundreds of yards away some songs being played -- instead, you're invited to experience, very closely, how music is made.
If you're a Led Zeppelin fan, then of course go see this film. Or if you want to see a powerful testament to the creative collective process, then see this film.
Because it's really more than Led Zeppelin. This film celebrates and captures something for any art: the spark of collective creative will in the service of making something bigger than its parts.
"Celebration Day," indeed.
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