By Patrick Prince

Lez Zeppelin are four female musicians (bassist Megan Thomas, drummer Leesa Squyres, singer Shannon Conley and guitarist Steph Paynes) who recreate the Led Zeppelin musical experience. In fact, the band’s latest album is a recreation of the classic album, Led Zeppelin I in painstaking detail.

“The band employed all of the same vintage equipment used by Led in 1968,” reads their bio, “from the ’50s era Les Paul and Telecaster, to the Supro amp, 60’s era compressor, Hammond organ and Fuzzbender stomp box — working fastidiously to recreate the incredibly complex layers of the album with a dedication that has never before been demonstrated by any band of this type in the history of the rock world.”

Lez Zeppelin’s first album was actually released in 2007. The legendary producer Eddie Kramer was behind the helm. It was a combination of Zep tunes and originals (Kramer had a songwriting credit on Lez original “On the Rocks”). However, since then there have been a few lineup changes. But the one constant remains to be founding member, guitarist Steph Paynes. Paynes feels that this current lineup represents Lez the best. And the Lez continue to impress icons from Joe Perry to the actual members of Zeppelin.

This year, to support the recreation of Led Zeppelin I, the ladies have undertaken a full-year tour of both America and Europe. Seeing Lez live is just another way to expand the Zeppelin experience.

Why recreate the album Led Zeppelin I? Do you think this is the album that best represents Led Zeppelin?
Steph Paynes: Led Zeppelin’s first album might very well be the band’s greatest. But, even if one were to argue that this record is not wholly representative of all the musical landscapes that would later become Zeppelin’s legacy, then at the very least, Led Zeppelin I serves as the perfect introduction to their unique alchemy of light and shade. For this reason, the logical place to start for anyone who is serious about tracing the musical steps of Led would be to explore Led Zeppelin I. In order to capture the feel of it, though, we learned quickly that the music basically needs to be recorded live in the studio and requires deep immersion into the blues, British Celtic/folk music and some of the psychedelic rock of the period. We took great pains to retain authenticity of the sound and structure of the vinyl, and yet allow for that which happens between musicians in the moment. Spontaneous combustion is really what this album is all about.

Was it a lot to take on trying to recreate Led Zeppelin I to almost every last detail?
Paynes: Let’s just say that the longer you look at a rainbow, the more colors you see. It was an amazing experience for both the producers and the band to try and deconstruct the sounds and textures — as well as the licks that aren’t so apparent until you really arrive on the front line of Page’s guitar army. Also, so many of these sounds and techniques are old school, and that, in itself, presented us with certain challenges. For example, you realize just how little distortion was used on all those guitar sounds. In other words, the guitar does not do you the favor of playing itself thanks to all that modern, permissive overdrive. Instead, all sorts of serious technique is required. Don’t even ask about the pedal steel… I have seen the face of the devil, and he looks just like the pedal steel guitar!

Will there be more Zep album recreations?
Paynes: It might be hard to resist Led Zeppelin II simply because of the possibilities for the album cover.

Will there ever be an album of originals under Lez Zeppelin?
Paynes: People and industry folk are asking us that all the time now. We might have to oblige one of these days.

All the band members who recorded the debut album are now gone — why did they leave? How hard was it to replace them? Was it a smooth transition?
Paynes: The last big line-up change was actually not the first. The group has gone through several incarnations since the band was hatched in 2004. Although each ensemble ran its natural course and had its myriad qualities, I have to say that it has consistently evolved. The present members, without doubt, come closest to my original vision for the project, both musically and charismatically. There is now a communication and depth of musicianship onstage that takes this thing to a whole other level.

What was it like to work with Eddie Kramer — and also have him involved in some of the band’s songwriting (“On the Rocks)?
Paynes: Eddie was very enthusiastic about our first record and was all for letting the band’s sound and personality come through to create something fresh. He was very excited about the two originals we brought to the table and had some excellent arrangement ideas for “On the Rocks.” Of course, he had a few Zep stories and pics he took of them at Headley Grange, which were amazing to see. It was also pretty special to go into Studio A at Electric Lady and record all our basic tracks there. A bit dreamlike all around.

Do you play originals live? If not, why?
Paynes: Yes, we actually play “Winter Sun” from our first album quite a bit as part of our acoustic set and it always goes over extremely well.

Do you like the tag ‘tribute band’?
Paynes: We never have and never will use that “tag” to describe Lez Zeppelin. Unlike most “tribute bands,” we do not impersonate or try to convince anyone that they are actually seeing/hearing Led Zeppelin. Instead, our aim is to reinterpret the classical music of our time. Just as an orchestra would play Beethoven, we bring ourselves to this music in order to resurrect the full concert experience. It’s hard to find a word to describe exactly what we do, but you might call it a “She-incarnation.”

Do you think there are too many tribute bands out there nowadays?
Paynes: It has definitely become much more crowded out there since we landed on the scene. Not so much with female bands per say, but there are many, many more groups in all sorts of genres. Some are more serious in their attention to the music than others, obviously.

How do you compare your band to other Zeppelin tribute bands?
Paynes: We don’t.

What did you think of Jason Bonham’s Led Zeppelin tribute tour?
Paynes: It was very touching to see Jason pay homage to his father. I was most impressed with his performance and his spoken interactions with the audience. They struck me as sincere and clearly this project provided him with a creative way to share his memories and admiration for his dad.

What about a farcical tribute like Dread Zeppelin?
Paynes: Hilarious! And, creatively done.

Have any members of Zeppelin given feedback on the band?
Paynes: We have received communications from Page over the last few years through a close mutual friend and he is very supportive of the group. He was also helpful with and very much appreciated LEZ ZEPPELIN I. Plant would be hard-pressed not to know who we are, especially after the 2008 Bonnaroo Festival, when we were both on the bill and everyone was speculating publicly as to whether Plant would get on stage with us and do a few numbers! But, we have also gotten his best wishes from members of his touring crew that we know. I actually met John Paul Jones at Zeppelin’s 2007 Reunion in London. He expressed what can only be described as delight when I was introduced to him as a member of Lez Zeppelin, and told me he’d heard only great things and was very anxious to hear us play. Needless to say, this kinda’ blew my mind.

What was it like to get such a rave review from an icon like Joe Perry of Aerosmith?
Paynes: It was “priceless,” as they say! What was even more amazing was the way he was able to so succinctly express what we are doing in terms of re-interpreting this “classical” music and looking to follow in the footsteps of our classic rock heroes — such as Aerosmith and their colleagues — who were inspired by the blues and early British invasion bands, etc. Playing this particular kind of music requires a lot of work and determination, and Joe really seems to understand and appreciate this on a very personal level.

What are the immediate plans of the band?
Paynes: You might say the band is built for festivals, so we are very excited to be back on a major festival stage. We have some US touring planned for the summer and are looking to possibly visit Australia and return to Europe and hopefully Japan once things settle down there later in the year. We are also the subject of a full-length documentary, which should be finished soon and hopefully will go to some of the film festivals next year. And, we have a few other crazy things up our sleeves, including some more recording.

And, finally, do you think Led Zeppelin should ever get back together and do a world tour? (And could you imagine opening up for that tour?)
Paynes: Well, since I did have the honor of attending the 02 reunion in London, I can vouch for the fact that if the remaining members of Led wished to go out there again, there is no doubt in my mind that they could deliver an amazing concert experience. I witnessed it. However, it appears clear that they are not all on board with such an endeavor. People seem very upset about this, but you have to remember that when Bonham died in 1980, the group decided then to disband. I think that decision portrayed incredible integrity. Whether or not they agree at some point to do more shows, their legacy remains intact and I can see from our own shows, that it continues to inspire and turn-on new generations. But, I admit that I would love to see Jimmy come back into the bustle of things. Whether he produces, writes a symphony or just plays his guitar by the fire and puts it on YouTube, he is missed. Of course, he is ever and always invited to come and play his music with us. You know, there are plenty of guitar parts to go around…

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By Martin Popoff

Over-rated Zeppelin is, for how can a band not be — a mere band — when rated so stratospherically? Who cares what I think, but still, as much as I gripe about the slack work ethic to almost all their records, they are ginormously one of my favorite bands, and more often than not, I cite “Physical Graffiti” as the greatest album of all time, by anybody. No seriously, it’s the first to come to mind, and I’ve scribed this as well, that the album is the aircraft carrier of rock, a massive, proud, nationalistic, jingoistic construct worth billions and going to war. In fact, it’s probably 50 percent of the reason Zep, to me, are gods, ‘cos much of the rest is pretty mortal, frankly, a couple of “classics” that are just a little bit lucky to be deemed so.

So yeah, “Physical Graffiti” is the bechested military complex of unassailable that stopped all snide critics in their paths, or at least made them look absurd if they complained. Sure, Zep III and IV were way more than sweet nectar of the gods, but after the first long wait, “Houses Of The Holy” was a little lazy.

There’s a whole debate whether double albums are spotted an unfair advantage, but Jimmy, Robert, John Paul and Bonzo write so deliciously, so touched by an army of muses, that you would have to say they aggressively disqualify any attempt at disqualification, by knocking it out of the park, by menacingly jerking the album from, even for a moment, being considered to lean on the crutch of being a double.

Nay, “Physical Graffiti” is all killer, no filler.

Side one is, of course, the greatest half slab of Zep ever (oh, allow me to indulge), “Custard Pie” being a shove and a push of sexual funkiness, and moderately heavy. And if you want heavy Zep, both “The Rover” and “In My Time of Dying” comply, two-fisting the idea that despite being a double, “Physical Graffiti” is heavy enough for the angry metalheads patronizing the franchise. “The Rover” is huge, riffy and dangerous of vocal, but “In My Time of Dying,” well, it’s the most amazing and epic song of the catalog, making “Stairway To Heaven’s” succession of boring parts look like Grand Funk or BTO trying to look profound. Sure, there’s stealing from blues artists, but it’s like the collective IQ applied to the rocket fuel transformation has jumped a few dozen Mensas since the debut and II. And at 11 minutes, it’s immediately thrust into comparison to Sabbath’s “Megalomania.”

Collapsing into side two, “Houses Of The Holy” was joyous and quite heavy, “Trampled Under Foot,” a tough-as-nails early version of the (under-appreciated) Jones’ mindset as demonstrated on the band’s swan song. And then there’s “Kashmir,” a song ­— a stairway to heaven in song, if you will — cited by many as the band’s pièce de résistance and who could argue? Sabbath’s Bill Ward talks of the challenges of playing slow, and Bonham shows us how, as Page constructs the perfect crypto-Egypto melody from afar that would invent Rainbow and today’s power metal.

Photo by Richard Kwasniewski/Frank White Agency

Proceed to side three and it’s the valley of the unknown, a trip sorta like the vibe of the “Houses Of The Holy” album or the dark, unvisited side of Nazareth’s “Hair Of The Dog” album of the same geometric and pivotal year. Side three (especially “In the Light” and “Down by the Seaside”) feels like a languid Jones’ trip, but the band’s secret weapon doesn’t figure prominently in the credits. In any event, side three is the joint-smoker, atmospheric, cavernous.

Swing ‘round to the close, and Led Zeppelin mischievously set up the fireworks unsafely, irreverently offering five short and snappy songs. First is the feel-good “Night Flight,” followed by one of the band’s heaviest, most explosive rockers, “The Wanton Song,” relived by Rainbow come their “Lady Of The Lake.” I must add that by this point, four-fifths the way through the fantasia, Robert Plant has turned in a performance of bravado, dimension, grit, pathos. Proceed we must, and “Boogie with Stu” is a bit of a toss-off, as is “Black Country Woman,” basically efficient versions of things we’ve heard on Zep IV (you match them up), the word efficient including a silver lining within the more overt and implied denigration. And finally there’s “Sick Again,” where Zep rock (like a Viking ship), heavy, heavy metal even, turning in a grinding, combative double-helix of a song, again, appeasing of the metalhead, much to Percy’s chagrin at encouraging the downers and wine set, as Sabbath’s crowd was dismissively labeled.

And there it was, like I say, an aircraft carrier stormtrooping through the surf of all rock that was mere disappearing foam beneath it, “Physical Graffiti” silencing, converting, shutting th’ hell up those who would have — actually previously and rationally — doubted the divine placement of the mighty Zep upon the simpering, flagging rock landscape of the mid-’70s.

EDITOR’S NOTE: This excerpt, “Chapter Eleven: We Are Your Overlords,” appears from “When Giants Walked the Earth” by Mick Wall. Copyright © 2009 by the author and reprinted by permission of St. Martin’s Press, LLC. Now available in paperback, the book is available at macmillan.com

By Mick Wall

If the first four years in the life of Led Zeppelin had been about empire-building, the next four — from 1972 to ’75 — would find them overseeing their kingdom with all the splendid pomp and inherent arrogance of Pharaohs. Self-made millionaires so famous they now hid behind armed guards, employed their own drug-dealers and flew by private jet.

The 16-date U.S. tour that summer had again been phenomenally successful, including two blistering performances in L.A. at the Forum on June 25 and Long Beach Arena two nights later. Ticket-wise, Zeppelin was now outselling the Stones — touring their “Exile on Main Street” album that year — by a ratio of 2:1. In terms of publicity, though, Zeppelin still came a poor second to Jagger and Co., with their impossibly glamorous entourage that included Princess Lee Radziwell (sister of Jackie Onassis) and writer Truman Capote. As Jimmy moaned to the NME, “Who wants to know that Led Zeppelin broke an attendance record at such-and-such a place when Mick Jagger’s hanging around with Truman Capote?”

Now the biggest-selling band in the world, Peter Grant was boasting to anyone within earshot how the band would rake in “over 30 million dollars alone this year.” The fact that the band might, if all went well, make even a tenth of that sum was unheard of in those days when promoters still ruled the roost, taking the lion’s share of the gross with artists lucky to walk away with a small percentage. Grant was one of the first managers to stand up to such ‘standard’ practices. Having already faced-down the record industry by demanding — and getting — the most lucrative signing-on deal in history, G now took on the promoters, demanding an unprecedented 90 percent of gross receipts for every Led Zeppelin show.

“You have to understand the kind of man Peter Grant was,” said Plant, “He smashed through so many of the remnants of the old regime of business in America [when] nobody got a cent apart from the promoter. Then we came along and Grant would say to promoters, ‘OK, you want these guys but we’re not taking what you say, we’ll tell you what we want and when you’re ready to discuss it you can call us.’ And of course, they would call us and do things on our terms, on Grant’s terms, because otherwise they’d be stuck with Iron Butterfly.” As Plant told me, Grant not only rewrote the rules, “Peter Grant had written a new book. And we were right in the middle of it all. We were the kind of standard bearers, if you like, from which that kind of patent has been used so many times now, it’s become the general way that people operate.”

It was now in 1973 that the feeling of invincibility that Grant had helped foster really began to take hold of the band. No ’70s guitar god represented the extreme Byronic sensibility in person quite like Jimmy Page. He may have begun cultivating this dark mystique as a way of concealing his, in reality, more introspective, quietly spoken, earnestly-watching-from-a-distance nature, but by 1973 things had started to change. It was still just possible, for those that knew him, to tell the difference, but as the next few years skittered and jolted by, the mask would become harder and harder for him to peel off. While both Bonham and Plant invested in new farmhouse estates in the country — a hundred-acre pile in Worcestershire, for the former, which he employed his father and brother to help him develop into “a home fit for a king,” replete with livestock; a working sheep farm in the Llyfnant Valley on the southern fringe of Snowdonia for the latter, where he took Welsh lessons and pursued his fascination with Celtic mythology at the National Library of Wales in nearby Aberystwyth, naming his first son, born that year, Karac, after the legendary Welsh general Caractacus — Page flitted between his own newly acquired 18th-century manor in Sussex — another riverside abode named Plumpton Place, replete with moat and terraces off into lakes — and flying visits to Boleskine House, intent on furthering his “studies” into Crowley and the occult. It was as though, having conquered this world, Page and Zeppelin now looked for dominion of the next.

Their ninth American tour opened on May 4 with a huge outdoor show at the Atlanta Braves football stadium where a crowd of 49,236 paid a total of $246,180 to see them, beating the previous record of just over 33,000 set by the Beatles in 1965. The following night in Tampa, Florida, an even bigger crowd of 56,800 paid $309,000 to watch them perform — then the most lucrative single performance in show business history, again beating the Beatles’ previous high of 55,000 (and a gross of $301,000) at Shea Stadium eight years before. As the limousine pulled up at the backstage gates, Plant turned to Grant and said, “F**king hell, G! Where did all these people come from?” As Jimmy told me, “That was one of the most surprising times. We didn’t even have a support act, and we thought, hey, what’s going on? I mean, I knew that we were pretty big, but I hadn’t imagined it to be on that sort of scale. In fact, even now I still find it difficult to take it all in, just how much it all meant, you know?”

Robert Plant and Jimmy Page. Photo courtesy Richard Kwasniewski/Frank White Photo Agency

By Mick Wall

Led Zeppelin’s monumentally successful second album – simply titled “Led Zeppelin II” – had transformed them from promising hopefuls into fully-fledged superstars. The older, beard-stroking critics on Rolling Stone may not have gotten it, still too enthral to The Beatles and The Stones to take England’s latest hard-rocking exports even remotely as seriously, but the kids tuned into Zeppelin immediately. With monolithically heavy tracks like “Whole Lotta Love” and, from their first album, “Dazed And Confused now a staple of the hip new FM stations, for teenage, denim-clad, reefer-toking America, Zeppelin became the spearhead of a “second British invasion” that had begun with Cream and the Jeff Beck Group and would continue into the early 1970s with such no-quarter-giving rock goliaths as Black Sabbath and Deep Purple. Head-shaking, album-oriented outcasts from the pop mainstream, blasting out whiplash riffs and singing tripped-out anthems about war pigs, fireballs and witchy women that squeezed your lemon till the juice ran down your leg.

Had Zeppelin chosen to follow up its second album with more of the same, no one would have argued. Instead, Zep’s music took such an unexpected turn it resulted in an album that initially baffled all but their most ardent fans. Indeed, to this day “Led Zeppelin III” remains perhaps the most enigmatic of all the band’s albums: 10 tracks only one of which – the one-chord powerhouse wonder that is “Immigrant Song” — conforming to the previous heavy rock template; the rest an initially baffling but ultimately alluring amalgam of acoustic folk, west coast psychedelia, country rock, metropolitan blues, and that strange collusion of Celtic, Indian and Asian influences — what guitarist Jimmy Page called “My CIA” — unique to Zeppelin.

Until then the question was whether they would be able to come up with another “Whole Lotta Love”? But as Page later told me: “People that thought like that missed the point. The whole point was not to try and follow-up “Whole Lotta Love.” We recognized that it had been a milestone for us, but the idea was to try and do something different. To sum up where the band was now, not where it had been a year ago.”

Where the band was now – or where Page and vocalist Robert Plant were anyway – was halfway up a mountainside in Wales, the tiny principality that borders the west coast of England. Plant had told Page about a ramshackle 18th century cottage he remembered from a childhood vacation named Bron-Yr-Aur: Welsh for, variously, ‘golden hill’, ‘breast of gold’ or ‘hill of gold’, and pronounced Bron-raaar. Owned by a friend of his father’s and located a couple of miles outside the small market town of Machynlleth, Robert regaled Jimmy with tales of the mythical Welsh giant Idris Gawr, whose magical seat lay on nearby mountain Cader Idris, and how King Arthur had fought his final battle in nearby Ochr-yr-Bwlch.

So it was that in the spring of 1970 Page and Plant ended up together, with their partners – Charlotte and Maureen, respectively, plus Plant’s dog Strider and a couple of Zep roadies, Clive Coulson and Sandy Macgregor – living in the Welsh mountains. Both still under the influence of the debut album the year before from The Band, “Music from Big Pink,” named after the pink wooden house in Upstate New York it was made in, the idea of sitting before the fire, smoking weed and drinking the local cider, mulled by hot pokers, playing acoustic guitars and writing together was a compelling one for them.

It was also the first time they had actually sat and worked together. Plant had only begun contributing lyrics to Zeppelin on their second album – coming up with verses and lines as they interrupted constant touring to dash into a nearby studio and lay down a track or two. Working with Page at Bron-Yr-Aur would be completely different; a chance also for the two men to really get to know each other, away from the madness of life on the road.

“It was the tranquillity of the place that set the tone of the album,” Page recalled. “After all the heavy, intense vibe of touring which is reflected in the raw energy of the second album, it was just a totally different feeling.”

Van Morrison’s “Astral Weeks,” which Robert was then obsessed with, was to be another influence on the new direction their songwriting took; similarly Joni Mitchell, who Jimmy had lately discovered and whose esoteric guitar tunings were almost a match for his own. Most of all, there was the influence of Crosby Stills & Nash, whose startling debut both men had been blown away by.
With no electricity, running water or sanitation, it was up to Coulson and Macgregor to fetch water from the stream and gather wood for a fire. At night, candles were the only light. “A bath was once a week in Machynlleth at the Owen Glendower pub,” Coulson remembered.

The songs came quickly, beginning with ‘Friends’, framed around some strange guitar scales Page had discovered on a previous trip to India, underpinned by a conga drum rhythm that recalled the opening stanza of ‘Mars’ from Holst’s “The Planets Suite.” Next to come was Plant’s summery “That’s The Way,” followed by an upbeat ode to their new stone dwelling, the misspelled “Bron-Y-Aur Stomp” (the latter from an electric number originally titled “Jennings Farm Blues,” now transformed into a jug-band hoedown dedicated to Strider.