Reviewing Page, Plant a Herculean task

Geoff Carter

Thursday, Sept. 24, 1998 | 9:59 a.m.

This reviewer braved several perils to see Jimmy Page and Robert Plant, late of Led Zeppelin, Wednesday night at the MGM Grand Garden. I prefer to think of them as "tasks," as in the Herculean myth.

The first task was the Great Wall of Smoke. Smoking was apparently prohibited inside the arena (which did not hinder the guys with the stinky weed, seated right behind me), so the lobby became the smoking section by default. I rushed through as fast as my lungs allowed.

Task two: the Sleeveless Hordes. Most Page/Plant fans don't believe in sleeves, and cut them off every shirt they own, including the Zeppelin shirt that has the naked guy with wings emblazoned across the front. I would have thought that was some kind of sacrilege, but what do I know?

Task number three was perhaps the most dangerous of all -- the Air Guitar Brigade. I thought they were decommissioned after Soundgarden broke up, but apparently the Brigade just went underground to regroup, in anticipation of this momentous occasion. And as soon as Page ripped into "Heartbreaker" they were right back in form - arms gracefully angled, hands shaking in rhythm, head thrown back, eyes closed, mouth open.

It was an inspiring sight. Imagine a whole parade of air guitarists, marching down the street in what one could only call precision chaos as "The Wanton Song" bellows from speakers hidden in giant floats shaped like the Hindenburg, and you, too, will feel that measure of pride.

In all seriousness, the crowd that greeted Page/Plant was unusual largely because their careers have been nothing but: a long stint in a pioneering hard rock band, followed by a long period of denying they were ever involved. Plant made provocative art-rock (I still maintain that "Big Log" is a great song), while Page became, for all intents and purposes, a celebrity session player.

Now that they're invoking the Zeppelin legend again, Page and Plant are not only drawing back those fans that embraced them in their heyday, but the fans that got in through album rock radio; through Plant's solo work; through Zeppelin sound-alikes such as The Cult; or through the worn cassettes passed down by an older sibling. The aforementioned sleeveless old-timers boogied to "Gallows Pole" next to teenaged girls in baby-T's, and everything seemed perfectly natural, perfectly at ease.

Everything except the principals, that is. Plant's voice backed out on him at crucial times; he covered up by clipping his cadences. The tough phrasing of "Whole Lotta Love," in particular, seemed to take him by surprise. Page, while still one of the best players in the world, lost the tempo every now and again. And their new material dragged -- fortunately, the audience was far too polite to mention it.

How do you begin to measure up to something as big as Led Zeppelin? Something so much bigger than yourself? Even being at the center of the legendary band couldn't help Page/Plant to climb over the myth they created.

Still, they came close. During a glistening version of "Going To California," the Page/Plant reunion finally made sense. Plant really felt the old number, and Page's playing was exquisite. Then and only then did Page/Plant snatch up the good old Hammer of the Gods, held it for a moment, and promptly dropped the heavy instrument -- their last task fulfilled.