I heard “Black Dog” at Tony’s Pizza.

I don’t know if students get drunk the same way we did back in college, when they lowered the drinking age to eighteen and imbibing was a novelty, when all we’d ever known was dope. We didn’t go to fraternity parties, the Greeks certainly were not freaks and their entire system was anathema. Instead, every Friday and Saturday night we’d buy a six pack, Schlitz, you never wanted to be a Budweiser person, it might have been the King of Beers but we saw it as pedestrian, and if it was a special weekend we went with Michelob. It’d start around 8, in somebody’s dorm room, no one lived off campus, it was always in the dorm. And at some point as the evening wore on we needed sustenance, and the only option was at the edge of campus, the aforementioned Tony’s Pizza, where the pies were only one step up from edible, back before there was any delivery, never mind Domino’s.

Actually, it was the manager of Tony’s who convinced us to drink Schlitz. Twenty seven, he seemed so much older than us, with a wife and a kid and a Plymouth Duster. We ultimately became friends, he let us make our own pizzas in the back, we spent a lot of time at Tony’s, and we knew everything on the jukebox.

This was the fall of ’71. So there was a lot of “Riders On The Storm.” Morrison had just died, the band had been in a lull, they’d parted ways with their producer, we expected dreck but we got a classic.

And then there was “Black Dog.”

I was done with Led Zeppelin. An early adopter, I’d seen them in the rain at Yale Bowl just before I’d departed for college, just before the release of “III,” which I overpaid for at the Vermont Book Shop, I was just that big a fan. But although I loved “Gallows Pole,” and became enamored of “Tangerine,” I was disappointed, the band seemed to have gone off track, and with only so much money to spend on LPs, I didn’t bother with IV, I felt they were past their peak.

Now if you lived in civilization, with good radio, you were immediately exposed to “Stairway To Heaven,” IV didn’t jump out of the box like “II,” which was an instant ubiquitous hit, but it got traction, amongst the brain dead headbangers who’d finally grown their hair out and been exposed to FM radio. Yes, I had contempt for them, I was a hipster, all I had were my bona fides, personally established, they might not have meant anything to anybody else, but they were oh-so-important to me.

But I never heard “Stairway.” I just got “Black Dog” and then “Rock And Roll” at Tony’s. No one at Middlebury would be caught dead with Led Zeppelin, everybody cottoned to the Dead and the Allman Brothers and you had to be laid back as opposed to in your face. So…

I was out of the loop.

Self-satisfiedly so. I mean “Rock And Roll”? Is that what you sing about when you’ve completely run out of ideas?

And by time I got back to Connecticut, “Stairway” had run its course. I discovered it eons late, looking at that dumb painting in the gatefold cover at a friend’s abode, he couldn’t believe I didn’t know it, so he played it, I got it, but I didn’t need to hear it ad infinitum.

And then IV was superseded by “Houses Of The Holy,” and to this day I can’t take “D’yer Mak’er,” lame English reggae overplayed on the FM. Which now was beyond its salad days, we started to get countdowns, on holiday weekends, especially Memorial Day, with its 500, and “Stairway” always topped the list.

But it wasn’t until ’75 that I truly got into “IV,” after the release of “Physical Graffiti,” which I came to love, hearing it every damn day after skiing at Mammoth Mountain during the month of May. The guy who brings the stereo controls the music, and one thing about twentysomethings, they love to hear the same damn songs over and over again. But I learned of “Kashmir,” and “Ten Years Gone” and “In My Time Of Dying” and…

IV.

It too was on an 8-track tape. That’s what we were listening to, Jimmy had recorded the albums back in Utah and brought his stereo along. I felt superior to his taste, the Zeppelin, the Doobies, but that’s where my love of each was cemented.

I now needed my own copies. I bought “Physical Graffiti,” I bought IV, and during that month of October when I was back home in Connecticut, training for the freestyle circuit, wondering where my life was going, I listened to them every damn day.

I might have been a college graduate, but it was just like high school. My parents would be in bed, I’d put on the headphones, turn out the light and crank it up. And that’s when “When The Levee Breaks” revealed itself to me.

I call it the heaviest track of all time, because I remember the force pounding in my ears, like Bonzo was hitting the skins with baseball bats, like I was on DMT, this cut with absolutely no airplay entranced me, made me feel like I bonded with these madmen.

And then there was “Going To California,” a state I yearned to get back to, this was the promise of “III,” acoustic, but on target, and… This was before the internet, California was a dream, and “Going To California” was dreamy, they captured the essence, that’s the power of music, when done right it exceeds all other art forms.

And now, in context, with knowledge, I could understand the magic of “Black Dog” and “Rock And Roll,” I’d heard them over and over at Tony’s but there was never any penetration, I knew them but didn’t like them, but now I did.

But the piece de resistance was “The Battle Of Evermore.”

I knew who Sandy Denny was. I’d seen Fairport Convention, albeit after she’d left. Her vocals here seemed part of a continuum, starting with Merry Clayton on “Gimmie Shelter,” moving on to Maggie Bell on “Every Picture Tells A Story” and ending up here. All three women’s vocals were secondary elements of their respective cuts, yet it was their work that put the tracks over the top. They radiated a womanly touch absent from their male counterparts’ work, they added sass and meaning and…all I know is I wanted to bring it back. That month in Mammoth, the clarity I once had, the vision, the direction, I only seemed rooted when I was listening to music.

The sound was so ethereal, the track started over a hill and far away, and then it came front and center, like gypsies coming to town, exotic creatures that could not help but fascinate you.

And as much as “Black Dog” and “Rock And Roll” were headbanging headbeaters, tracks to prove that Zeppelin was the biggest band in the land and you’d better pay attention, “Evermore” seemed to be cut without the audience in mind whatsoever, this was the power of the legendary acts, there was a barrier between them and us, we could get a peak by buying the record, but we could never gain access, they were dark, mysterious figures on an aural journey of their own device.

But by this time, with constant FM overplay, it seemed like only the dimwitted and dull still believed. Sure, “Stairway” was a staple, but “Graffiti” had no singles, “Kashmir” was too heavy for school dances, suddenly I was washed upon a shore with people I wanted nothing to do with, the uneducated blue collar beer drinkers…but then I realized, I was one of them too, I started testifying, how great Led Zeppelin was, as good as they ever were, and I just got eye rolls and stares, statements that the band had peaked on their first LP, with their blues influenced numbers.

Which cast me adrift. I was long gone from Middlebury, and I didn’t want to return. My freestyle career was a bust. I belonged nowhere, except in front of the speakers, with the amplifier cranked to the max. And the funny thing is I could never burn out on these tracks, they continued to satisfy.

I bought a ticket for the Rose Bowl.

Robert had that accident and the show was canceled.

I ended up seeing the band at the Forum in ’77. In a seat close to the ceiling. But I was thrilled just to be inside, they played like they meant it, that they were godhead and you were privileged to be in attendance.

Yes, I was there.

And now you can’t even see Led Zeppelin. Bonzo’s dead and Robert can’t hit the notes and doesn’t want to do it anyway, because he doesn’t believe in nostalgia.

And neither do I. If you’re not going forward you’re being left behind. People want to pigeonhole you, put you in a box, but not only is that inner death, the truth is what people want most is something new.

But that does not mean my entire life is not locked up in these records, that when I play them they don’t reveal experiences and feelings, ironically continuing to reveal new truths.

In case you don’t know, the piper’s calling you to join him.

I’m a member of the cult. Listen to the glorious sound, but beware, you’ll soon be a member too.

That’s the power of music.

That’s the power of Led Zeppelin.

There’s just too much of EVERYTHING!

We’ve got the world at our fingertips, yet we know less than ever before, lack control not only of our government and society, but our personal lives too. We have fear of missing out, but we’re not sure what’s worth doing. The old admire the young and the young laugh at the old but the dirty little secret is the nascent generation can’t handle it either. Turns out you can’t multi-task, that was a media canard that’s been debunked. How do you cope?

Some check out. Especially the oldsters. Not a week goes by when you don’t see an article decrying smartphones or the internet, as if you could turn back time, as if the future doesn’t always arrive.

Others boast that they’ve got it nailed. Somehow, they can update their Facebook page, post on Instagram and keep their job, meanwhile having the free time to tell you all about it. You can either feel inferior or judge them. But the latter is equivalent to hatred, and we all abhor the haters.

Democrats keep calling the Republicans uninformed, which is hard not to do when their candidate keeps espousing falsehoods with no penalty.

And the Republicans feel the Democrats are unaware of their plight. They’re sick of being told what’s going on in their own hometown when the speakers have never set foot there.

And those speaking loudest fly private and don’t engage with anybody but their brethren, they live inside a bubble yet are unaware of this.

There are too many movies. Did you check today’s paper, at least twenty came out, who can keep track, never mind view them. Used to be you knew the up and coming actors from bit parts here and there, now “Vanity Fair” and “TMZ” feature stars you’ve never heard of, and then you ask your children and they haven’t heard of them either. It’s like there’s a whole industry making people famous, but we’ve still got to keep up with the travails of Meg Ryan and Jane Fonda and…how many people can you keep in your brain at one time anyway?

And TV… That’s a constant topic of conversation, what series should I binge on next. And you have to not only collect the data, but pass it through the sieve of the tastemaker’s personality. Sure, “Game Of Thrones” is great, but I don’t like fantasy, now what?

As for music… There are twenty million-odd tracks and it seems whenever you hear something new it either rubs you the wrong way or it’s not quite good enough. And then, when you’re just about to check out, turn the damn thing off, someone serves up something so exquisite you remember how much you love music, but you’ve got no idea how to follow it up, how to find the next great thing.

Babies are scheduled.

Schoolchildren have no free time.

Amy Schumer is working so much she can’t possibly have a personal life. But if you’re not in the public eye 24/7 you’re falling behind. And isn’t it funny how women have mastered this game, it’s the men who are forgotten.

That’s another element. Not only is there too much info, the rules keep changing. New apps take over for old. No one cares about the second link on Google, even the search engine itself, which is more like Wikipedia today, serving up a synopsis as opposed to a link.

And you’re using the service all the time. Nothing is unknown, so you spend endless time looking it up.

And if someone texts you and you don’t get back to them immediately they figure you’re dead, or you’ve ghosted them.

But no one will admit to all this. We’re all keeping up an image. That’s what social media is all about, demonstrating not only our fabulous lives, but that we’ve got it covered, we know it all, when the truth is we know so little.

Youngsters know that if they don’t fight hard for success, they’ll be left behind, there’s no time for finding yourself, watching the wheels go by. Only the toppermost keep telling us this, in their interviews in the media, that a first job is not as important as where you end up. But we can’t get first jobs, and why is it that everybody with a seven digit income has all the answers? College professors are to be pushed back upon, but techies lean in.

But we’re already sick of Sheryl Sandberg, a woman we’ll never meet who we know too much about, actually, more than our neighbors. We hate that which we cannot touch, because we believe it’s holding us back, so we go online and tear them down and these icons protest that they’re just people too.

But exactly what is a person in the teens? Someone who does good deeds, who can keep up their end of a conversation? Or someone who posts really good YouTube clips and has a passel of subscribers. We know money counts, but we’re told everything is about experiences, so we’re confused.

We’re all confused.

This is what the internet, the information revolution, has wrought.

And we haven’t yet figured out a way to cope with it.

And it’s not that it’s bad, it’s just that we’ve got no framework. Playlists try to help, but then there are a zillion of those too. And no one has enough time to weed through all the options.

Is that what life has become, an endless weeding through the options, keeping up to date on social media, maintaining soft ties, titillated by online porn, but sans long term personal relationships?

We used to have leaders, heroes who pointed the way.

Now there are people who tell us they have all the answers, yet ultimately we find out they’re clueless too. Meaning it’s all about us. But it can’t just be about us, we live in a society, there’s got to be a hierarchy, but who’s deserving of our adulation?

That’s the human condition today. We’re all in it together, tied up online, but we’ve never felt so separate, and unsure where to turn next.

We’ll figure it out eventually.

But right now it’s utter chaos.

So this is what it takes to get Led Zeppelin back together.

I was getting worried, I figured this would be a slam dunk, that the jury would come back in an hour or two and let Robert and Jimmy off the hook. The fact that they didn’t showed they were thinking about it.

That’s what it’s come down to, eight nobodies weighing in on the provenance of rock and roll.

But where there’s a hit, there’s a writ. And let’s be honest, Zeppelin has nicked songs before. But seemingly the only person who wanted Spirit to win this case was Randy California’s attorney, the public believed it a bridge too far, don’t mess with the canon, our history, what we live for.

Did Robert and Jimmy tell the truth?

Damned if I know, but I do know someone who lied on the stand in a well-known music industry case. And if you believe selective omission is the same as a lie, well…

Then again, musicians were never known for their honesty, otherwise why would they keep firing managers and exhibiting duplicitous behavior that might deliver short term results, but long term penalties.

Are the tracks similar?

OF COURSE!

Is it infringement?

Well, you’ve got an arcane copyright law that doesn’t square with reality. KInd of like the DMCA and YouTube. Washington and the legal system are always a step behind, and if you look to them to solve your problems you’re gonna waste a lot of time and money and probably end up with a less than satisfactory result. Meaning, the end of the YouTube “value gap” will come from negotiation, not legislation.

And music, despite being made on computers, is not zeros and ones. It cannot be stuck in a framework, evaluated by a machine. It’s amorphous and alive and that’s its appeal.

So chalk one up for the creative community, which believed after the “Blurred Lines” case that everything was up for grabs.

But it had gone too far. That Sam Smith song is not “I Won’t Back Down,” unless you believe that Petty tune is also one of many.

Everybody’s too afraid.

Then again, these same rightsholders killed sampling, changing the trajectory of hip-hop, and have also played whac-a-mole with reuse.

But we don’t live in a vacuum. Nothing’s truly original. We’re a sum of our influences.

But where’s the line?

Who knows.

But it’s been pushed back.

Yet the real revelation at the trial was how little money “Stairway” actually made. The performers’ accountant said Page earned $615,000 and Plant $532,000 since 2011, Rhino said the song grossed $3 million and netted $868,000 in the same period.

THAT’S PEANUTS!

That’s not tech money. Maybe not chump change, but nowhere near the $60 million the plaintiff’s expert alleged.

You see there’s just not that much money in music. Much less than we believe. We think if you’re famous, you’re rich, but this is patently untrue. Of course, the Zeppelin boys had other income from their catalog, they did well, but not as well as they did in the seventies, before financiers raped and pillaged and techies became the new rock stars.

This trial brought rock back to earth. Pulled off the scrim and illustrated that not only are its players old, they care about money. Remember when Zeppelin flew back to England after their Madison Square Garden payment was stolen? They showed up here.

Then again, it’s rumored they stole that money themselves.

Then again, it’s about dignity and reputation.

But…

Feel free to steal again. Know that every juror does not see the famous as a deep pocket. Know that the line is truly blurry.

And if you want to get rich…

DO SOMETHING ELSE!

It’s not surprising pop dominates.

It is surprising it’s marginalized everything else.

You’ve got to go back to MTV. It was a rock world. Disco made inroads but in a racist, homophobic uprising rock fans killed it. And then Bob Pittman and his minions declared MTV an AOR outlet. That’s “Album Oriented Rock” for the great unwashed. A misnomer in that the tracks CAME from albums, but stations no longer went deep.

MTV minted new stars. Most famously Duran Duran and Culture Club, which AOR refused to play. As a result, Top Forty stations appeared on the FM dial to fill this gap. This was a revelation, prior to the early eighties Top Forty was an AM dungeon where only the most uniformed went to listen. KROQ, a marginal outlet in Pasadena, broke trend by playing this newfangled music, AOR started to crumble, and then came Michael Jackson.

MJ broke the color line. And after the success of “Thriller,” he called himself “The King Of Pop.”

Notice, not “rock,” not “soul,” but a word dreaded in the heart of every white boy American music aficionado.

But there was a reprieve. Although Michael infiltrated the playlist and other non-white performers followed him, KROQ took MTV hostage. Andy Schuon left Pasadena for New York, he decided what got on. And as a result, we had the great alternative wave, of not only REM, but ultimately Nirvana and Pearl Jam.

But rap gained a toehold. And expensive, effects-laden videos triumphed. And rockers blinked. They didn’t like sacrificing all this power to the director, spending all that money and looking like a doofus all at the same time. That’s when the good-looking nonentity took over. That’s when pop started to triumph.

But radio still mattered and records were expensive to make so other scenes still existed, other radio formats still mattered, pop was something, but it wasn’t everything.

It is today.

And we did not foresee this.

We thought there was room for everybody. That by opening the floodgates the big tent would be populated with a cornucopia of sounds.

But the truth is none of the rock acts that dominated MTV in the eighties can get any traction. Tom Petty and Don Henley can put out new music, but no matter how good, it ultimately stalls. And it’s not much different for those who came thereafter, like Metallica and Pearl Jam. Their audience still comes out in prodigious numbers to hear the classics live, and that’s seemingly all they want to hear, but their cultural impact has not only waned, but disappeared.

What happened?

The audience got younger, it had no reference points. Everything that meant something to both older listeners and the business not only didn’t matter, it was unknown! Credibility, writing your own material, having chops… That was from a different era. Now you can fake it. And when you can fake it, ear candy is everything.

Which brings us to today.

Like I said, pop started to dominate with Michael Jackson. But now, if you’re not on Top Forty radio, you’ve got no chance. You can garner a marginal audience, be on Patreon, sell merch on Pledge, but you just cannot break through.

We think we want choice, but we don’t.

That’s the story of today. One Amazon is enough. One Google too. Microsoft spent billions on Bing! and the only market share it got was paid for. We only have ears for hits, and the young audience that spends, that goes to the show, that builds acts, wants community, a club they can belong to, and today that’s pop.

Even better, anybody can play. You too can win the lottery. Whether on TV, with “Idol” or “The Voice,” or in your home studio utilizing Pro Tools to upload the end product to YouTube so you can gain notice and hopefully money. People go where the money is, and that’s pop.

And the oldsters can’t understand.

Oldsters remember when the Beatles and rock KILLED Top Forty, they believe music must be not only ear-pleasing, but meaningful. How can this be?

It could be something else. Doesn’t have to be the pop music on today’s chart. It’s just that the pop music delivers mass appeal in a way other genres don’t. Jazz is a joke and rock is moribund. Who wants to hear imitations of the real thing? Better to go back to the originals. As for meaning and credibility, we’ve got hip-hop, however long in the tooth that might be, and its most successful acts have gone Top Forty. And country still exists, but everybody in the format laments that not only is it Bro, it’s got elements of pop, the rapping, the sounds, Florida Georgia Line is just one step away from Top Forty. And the biggest country act gave up the ghost, threw away the banjo and went pop completely, and Taylor Swift only got bigger, turns out she didn’t need Nashville whatsoever.

She got it. She knew using Max Martin and singing anthems is more important than plumbing the soul and revealing one’s warts. She used to do that when she wore cowboy boots, but she’s taking no risk in today’s pop world.

It’s not going to get better. The landscape is not going to broaden. You can make it, but they probably won’t hear it. Pop is everything, because the market demands it. It whittles down choices and delivers what people want to hear.

Like I said, eventually they’ll want to hear something else.

Then again, every few years a trend used to come along to wipe the deck clean. Hair bands were replaced by alternative bands and then hip-hop killed them both.

Nothing new is on the horizon. We’re in a period of consolidation. We’ve only just figured out distribution, for ten years we were worried music was gonna be free.

But when the monetization becomes obvious, new forces will come along to dethrone what presently exists. But that hasn’t happened for fifteen years, which is how music lost its relevancy.

But not in cultural forecasting. This is what’s happening everywhere. Only a few movies succeed, never mind apps. This is our future. The big will get bigger, and if the small exists at all, most people will never see it.