The night the music died

On this day, an unbelievable 29 years ago, drummer John Bonham died - marking the end of what at the time, and still to this day, I believe to be the ultimate rock band.

I was a teenage head-banger at the time - and it is almost impossible now to convey the intensity of attachment we felt to just about every aspect of the band and its music.

It’s the human condition that over time we lose that intensity and forget how it is to be 15. Occasionally I now see glimpses of it in in my own daughter who at that age – although the metal obsession was/is probably a boy-thing.

It will always be one of my strongest and strangely warmest teenage memories – the night Bonzo died my friends and I sneaked into the local bikers/rockers pub. Grown men were weeping into their beards and the juke box played Led Zep all night. We retired to the car park where we sat in the cold night air with a few cans of Special Brew listening to Tommy Vance’s rock show tribute on a crappy little radio; the three of us sharing the moment.

Nowadays the pub is a fucking Harvester and I hear that arch smug-tosser Jeremy Clarkson is a big ‘Zeppelin fan - all of which depresses me deeply, but still; ‘The Song Remains The Same’.