SPARK REMAINS SAME FOR PLANT AND PAGE

[Cat]

By Greg Kot

Nothing like the smell of testosterone at the United Center--a reminder of the days when men wore fringed leather pants and spread the boogie, the beer and their wild seed across the land. Women were called "baby" and rock stars like Led Zeppelin were the new royalty, their every whim indulged by a bevy of toadies, roadies and groupies.

No wonder the gleam in Robert Plant's eyes could be seen through the strands of tousled, ringleted hair that hung like straw across his face Monday. It was a gleam that said he and fellow Zeppelin rogue Jimmy Page were back to "ramble on," run with "the dogs of doom" and "walk side by side with death."

Dungeons and dragons, sexism posing as mysticism, manhood as swaggering sexuality--the Page and Plant of the '70s played those games as well as any rockers ever had. When they returned in 1995 after 15 years apart, it was as older, presumably wisened Middle Eastern disciples, smitten with raga-rock and hauling an Egyptian band around the country with them.

One left those concerts impressed with how the aging duo had shifted the musical focus toward sensuality and texture. But one also left with doubts about Page as he pushed into his 50s, because many of his signature riffs were performed by a second guitarist, Porl Thompson.

This time, it was back to Page, Plant and a rhythm section-- bassist Charlie Jones and drummer Michael Lee, with an occasional assist from keyboardist Phil Andrews. This time, Page left no doubt he still had the chops.

In its current stripped-down form, the Plant-Page combo is Zeppelin in everything but name, and the arrangements left plenty of room for instrumental grandstanding that recalled the old concert indulgences. Page took full advantage, his ragged-around-the-edges tone complemented by a strutting, leaping, duck-walking stage presence.

Slope-shouldered and doughy around the face and middle, the guitarist played with a ferocity not seen three years ago, even pulling out the fiddle bow to conjure the hoodoo-voodoo on "How Many More Times" and reprising the theremin solo in the midst of "Whole Lotta Love." These were applauded more as gestures of bygone days than as musical moments, though Page's solos on "Heartbreaker" and "Thank You" were clearly the work of a guitarist newly recommitted to his instrument.

But the United Center's boomy acoustics and time itself have not been kind to Zep's supersonic boogie; the hammering of "Babe, I'm Gonna Leave You," "Whole Lotta Love" and "How Many More Times" sounded like idle gestures from middle-age rock stars whose recent music has demonstrated that they clearly know better.

Unfortunately, Page-Plant only skimmed the surface of their underrated new disc, "Walking Into Clarksdale." The new tunes, particularly a shimmering "Heart in Your Hand," and older acoustic gems such as "Tangerine" and "Going to California," resonated more honestly than the raunchy booze-and-blooze rockers.

But if hardly a complete triumph, Page-Plant clearly outperformed peers such as the Who and Pink Floyd, who in recent years have relied on stage spectacle and backing musicians to carry their shows. In contrast, Page and Plant stood shoulder to shoulder: cocky, grinning and slightly full of themselves-- almost like old times.

[SteveAJones]

Thanks, Cat. Greg Kot always got it.

[beatbo]

By Greg Kot

Nothing like the smell of testosterone at the United Center--a reminder of the days when men wore fringed leather pants and spread the boogie, the beer and their wild seed across the land. Women were called "baby" and rock stars like Led Zeppelin were the new royalty, their every whim indulged by a bevy of toadies, roadies and groupies.

No wonder the gleam in Robert Plant's eyes could be seen through the strands of tousled, ringleted hair that hung like straw across his face Monday. It was a gleam that said he and fellow Zeppelin rogue Jimmy Page were back to "ramble on," run with "the dogs of doom" and "walk side by side with death."

Dungeons and dragons, sexism posing as mysticism, manhood as swaggering sexuality--the Page and Plant of the '70s played those games as well as any rockers ever had. When they returned in 1995 after 15 years apart, it was as older, presumably wisened Middle Eastern disciples, smitten with raga-rock and hauling an Egyptian band around the country with them.

One left those concerts impressed with how the aging duo had shifted the musical focus toward sensuality and texture. But one also left with doubts about Page as he pushed into his 50s, because many of his signature riffs were performed by a second guitarist, Porl Thompson.

This time, it was back to Page, Plant and a rhythm section-- bassist Charlie Jones and drummer Michael Lee, with an occasional assist from keyboardist Phil Andrews. This time, Page left no doubt he still had the chops.

In its current stripped-down form, the Plant-Page combo is Zeppelin in everything but name, and the arrangements left plenty of room for instrumental grandstanding that recalled the old concert indulgences. Page took full advantage, his ragged-around-the-edges tone complemented by a strutting, leaping, duck-walking stage presence.

Slope-shouldered and doughy around the face and middle, the guitarist played with a ferocity not seen three years ago, even pulling out the fiddle bow to conjure the hoodoo-voodoo on "How Many More Times" and reprising the theremin solo in the midst of "Whole Lotta Love." These were applauded more as gestures of bygone days than as musical moments, though Page's solos on "Heartbreaker" and "Thank You" were clearly the work of a guitarist newly recommitted to his instrument.

But the United Center's boomy acoustics and time itself have not been kind to Zep's supersonic boogie; the hammering of "Babe, I'm Gonna Leave You," "Whole Lotta Love" and "How Many More Times" sounded like idle gestures from middle-age rock stars whose recent music has demonstrated that they clearly know better.

Unfortunately, Page-Plant only skimmed the surface of their underrated new disc, "Walking Into Clarksdale." The new tunes, particularly a shimmering "Heart in Your Hand," and older acoustic gems such as "Tangerine" and "Going to California," resonated more honestly than the raunchy booze-and-blooze rockers.

But if hardly a complete triumph, Page-Plant clearly outperformed peers such as the Who and Pink Floyd, who in recent years have relied on stage spectacle and backing musicians to carry their shows. In contrast, Page and Plant stood shoulder to shoulder: cocky, grinning and slightly full of themselves-- almost like old times.

i was at this show. we all walked out into the outer arena to leave after making sure there was no additional encore. i was there with 12 friends, and when we hit the walkway, we all raised our arms and started screaming. everyone that was walking out did the same thing and the entire arena population walked out screaming at the top of our lungs. it was fabulous...