[Bonham] that he sent me a message: “I’d really
like to help you, because this must be one of the
toughest things you’ve ever had to do, musically.”
He was talking about me being without the guy I’d
been playing with since I was sixteen, although we
had a fiery relationship, myself and Bonzo. So Phil
came in and just got on with it. We had four days
for the first album and four for the next. So we
were cutting backing tracks non-stop. And if he
didn’t like something, he’d stop halfway through,
stand up and tell people why it wasn’t quite right.
I loved that, because I was still tiptoeing around, not
knowing how to deal with other
musicians.As much as there was
trepidation about going solo,
presumably it was also
a liberating experience?
Absolutely. It’s really what it’s all
about. You’ve got this thing insideyou where you know there’s something around
the corner that you’ve never heard before, but
who’s going to pick the lock to get it out? I knew
[guitarist] Robbie Blunt really well, from being
around this area here in North Worcestershire.
He’s a very lyrical guitarist, a beautiful player.
So I hear the first solo record and things like Like
I’ve Never Been Gone and realise just how beautiful
his playing was.Like I’ve Never Been Gone is on the podcast and
in the box set, as is 1983’s Big Log, your first
major solo hit. Looking back at
your performance of it on To p
Of The Pops, you seem slightly
awkward.
Well, I don’t know who the
hairdresser was. I’m still looking for
him. He’s probably hiding
somewhere. The song is a good one,
but I felt out of place with the wholedeal. I could understand more the Robert that had
played at the Fillmore in San Francisco, with
everybody flat out on the dance floor while we
[Led Zep] were doing a song that lasted fifteen
minutes, with a violin bow in the middle. Singing
a song that had a beginning and an end, at that
point in time, was quite challenging. And also
miming. It was all so new. It was a long way from
playing with Alexis Korner in some folk club.You once said you felt you were “in the wrong
place” around the time of Big Log. Can you
expand on that?
I didn’t really know what to do, because the wheels
of fortune – and also the wheels of Warner Bros.- were encouraging me to play it tough and hard
and to somehow carry on the tradition that was
already there in the psyche of everybody, because
of the Zeppelin thing. And I think I touched on that
with things like Slow Dancer [from 1982’s Pictures At
Eleven]. But the idea of actually being groomed into
this other guy was very odd. I made a few videos
and I got on maximum rotation on MTV, which
was kind of funny. We all grow, you know? It’s
either that or recede back into something and say:
“I’ve gone far enough now and this is all I can do.”
I think the growing went from that MTV rotation
thing into slowly edging my way out into Fate of
Nations [1993]. From then on I was kind of gone.
You’ve described Fate Of Nations as a turning
point. Was that the first time you really felt
comfortable as a solo artist?
Not really. If it was about being comfortable, there
wouldn’t be any point in being creative. I just
needed to keep good company and, bit by bit,
I made my way into that. I was able to work with
people who I have huge respect for, like Richard
Thompson, and then move into a zone where,MA
IN:
GE
TTY; (^) IN
SET
: (^) SH
UT
TER
STO
CK
“If it was about being
comfortable, there
wouldn’t be any point
in being creative.”
Robert Plant performing
in Los Angeles in 1988.
30 CLASSICROCKMAGAZINE.COM