Tag Archive: zoso


Instant Classic

It was only just shy of 4 years into Led Zeppelin’s career, but they had already become larger than life figures. A lot of that has to do with the mystique that had grown up around them, but it was also because they’re a band of personalities. Jimmy Page alone is interesting enough to carry the band, but Robert Plant provides his own brand of sex and swagger, equaling Page at the very least.

The music and celebrity press of the day (a completely different animal than we have today) swarmed around them with copious words. Surprisingly little of it was positive, too. I think music reviewers were so upset over information about the band being so scarce, and it came out in their reviews of Led Zep’s albums. Some of the press about I, II, and III was not kind at all. It’s understandable that with IV, they decided to disappear.

IV was released without a title. Understand that; it wasn’t an eponymous album (though I was), but rather a completely untitled album. IV is just a convenient thing to call it since it’s their 4th album, and the previous two used Roman numerals. It’s also sometimes called Four Symbols, Runes, The Hermit (from the inner gatefold artwork’s similarity to a tarot card), and ZoSo.

The name “Led Zeppelin” doesn’t appear anywhere on the album. There isn’t even that picture of the Hindenburg from their first album to help you along. The band members also aren’t listed anywhere, nor are the song titles. There are no lyrics except the last 9 lines of “Stairway to Heaven,” and they’re not even titled as such. In fact, the only text that appears anywhere in the entire artwork is that of the aforementioned lyrics, and four inscrutable symbols.

It turns out the “ZoSo” thing is one of those symbols, and it wasn’t even meant to be text of any kind. These four symbols are representative of the four band members, the ZoSo symbol corresponding to Jimmy Page. In case you care, the feather is Robert Plant, the trinity is John Paul Jones, and the three circles is John Bonham.

Looking at it with a critical eye, this is suicide. Music artist simply can’t release and album with no information printed on the jacket. The fact that the album has no name seems minor to me when compared with the lack of text. No band name, no member listing, no song titles, no nothin’. What’s the reaction going to be of someone like me who encounters the album 19 years after it had come out? I was going, “hey, what’s this?” I didn’t get an answer. Most people lose interest without name recognition. Without a title and without text on the album jacket, the only hope IV has is to become very, very famous… which, of course, it did, and almost instantaneously.

It’s a little ironic, but Led Zep’s intention was to disappear with this album and allow the music to stand on its own, and IV brought them more fame and adulation than ever before. Critics were wetting themselves like excited puppies, the near-opposite of their harsh words for the confusing dichotomy of III.  And the 40+ years since IV came out have seen the four of them rise to mythical and god-like status, leaving mere celebrity behind.

If ever there was a case of an album being an “instant classic,” IV was it. I hate that term, myself. Part of something being classic is that it has stood the test of time, and that’s why it’s incredibly hard to tell new fad bands from musical acts that will still be talked about in 20 years. “Instant classic” is, therefore, a contradiction in terms.

But whether or not IV was an instant classic in 1971 doesn’t matter anymore. It’s classic because every song is fantastic, it sounds unique amidst its time, it can fascinate us regardless of when we encounter it, and it creates a zeitgeist, a sense that it exists outside of time; was, is, and is to come. IV is just one of those albums that will last forever.

ZoSo

IV – Led Zeppelin – 11/8/1971

My interest in popular music started early, with my obsession with Beat the System and my Neil Diamond phase, as well as my early preoccupation with a Beach Boys greatest hits compilation. It grew and grew, reaching critical mass and passing it by, laughing at its lack of imagination.

I remember one of the numerous times I was rifling through my parents’ record collection. I must have been about 10. They were (air quotes) “LPs.” LPs are these black things with a little hole in the middle, and when you put them in a special machine called a (more air quotes) “record player,” music comes out. Ask your parents  grandparents.

I came across several records that ranged from famous (Tapestry by Carole King, Band of Gypsys by Jimi Hendrix­) to esoteric (Chicago’s Hot Streets, Huey Lewis’ Sports) to hopelessly obscure (It’ll Shine When It Shines by Ozark Mountain Daredevils, A Long Time Comin’ by Electric Flag). There was one album by some 70’s gospel group; I can’t remember the artist or title. The cover was a dichromatic picture with an orange sky and a black foreground. It was of five people (presumably the band), just black silhouettes, crouching in the grass, looking like ninjas. All that was visible other than their outlines were their eyes and smiles. It scared the crap out of me.

I remember one specific instance where I pulled an album out of the sideways stack; on the cover was just an old man with a walking stick, bent over, with a bundle of tree branches tied to his back. He was in a picture frame hung on an ancient stucco wall. There was no artist and title on the cover, as I had come to expect. I looked on the spine; nothing there, either, just what looked like the word “ZoSo” written in archaic text, followed by three symbols. On the back, there was just an unexciting building.

I was intrigued, but felt a certain hesitancy. What was this? It didn’t follow the pattern I had established for albums, which put me on guard. Was it even music on this album? Maybe it was some mysterious demonic chant, and if I played it, I would fall into the clutches of the devil! Perhaps even by opening the cover, I would be put under its spell. I felt a kind of electricity running through my system. Just do it! I took a deep breath and opened it.

I didn’t go on a killing spree or rape 1,000 virgins, in case you’re wondering. All that was inside was a painting of an old hooded, bearded wizard standing on a bluff of rock, holding out a lantern to illuminate the darkness. Next to it was a poem (or what I took to be a poem), talking about winding roads and shadows and a lady we all know, ending with the line “to be a rock and not to roll.”

The phrase hadn’t been invented yet, but I had a moment of WTF?

There are very few decisions in my life that I desperately wish I could go back and redo. I can count them on one hand with fingers to spare. One of them is that I didn’t – repeat, DIDN’T – actually play the record. I would have been opened up the Zep a lot sooner, and lived a more awesome life.

I know what you’re thinking – how could I get any more awesome? That thought seems weird to me, too, but it’s true. The earlier a human, any human, is introduced to Led Zeppelin, the better. If I ever have children, I think I’ll put headphones on my wife’s belly hooked up to an iPod playing “When the Levee Breaks” – if she doesn’t take them off and then slap me for being stupid, that is.

Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 25 other followers