In The Days of His Youth: A Former Young Man’s Guide to Loving Led Zeppelin
When I was 11, I embraced Led Zeppelin. It was a forgettable Joe Dante film about killer action figures called Small Soldiers that first hooked me up to the hammer of the gods. The thrashing blues of “Communications Breakdown” blared over an action scene towards the middle of the film, and I was instantly hooked. I had never heard any music like this before. It was the start of a journey that many a young man takes during his lifetime; the forging of one of the most complicated relationships a nascent music snob will ever be involved in: to get the Led out, or not to get the Led out?
In his book Killing Yourself To Live, Chuck Klosterman wrote that Led Zeppelin sounds like “the kind of cool guy every man vaguely thinks he has the potential to be.” Which is probably why I got into Led Zeppelin so intensely when I did. I was standing on the precipice between childhood and adulthood; vaguely wanting to be cool but not having the slightest idea what that would entail. And that is one reason why I think, out of every band one can have a “phase” with, the Led Zeppelin phase is often the most potent.
Led Zeppelin is simultaneously the coolest and the nerdiest band of all time. They appeal to the duality of the prepubescent boy’s lizard brain: they write heavy and virtuosic music with dorky lyrics about J.R.R. Tolkien, but also about women who will shake you all night long. Even as a repressed Catholic school boy, I knew that when Robert Plant wailed, “Squeeze me baby, ’til the juice runs down my legs,” he wasn’t referring to a citrus fruit. I don’t know about you, but I certainly spent most of my junior high years thinking about two things: Ringwraiths and sex, and not necessarily in that order. Thankfully, Zep was more than happy to oblige me.
When I was 17, I shunned Led Zeppelin. Or perhaps it was sooner, when I took out a worn CD with a weird painting of a candle on it from my local public library towards the end of eighth grade. Sonic Youth opened me up to the world of indie rock, and marked the beginning of the end of my Led Zeppelin phase. I hung onto them for as long as I could. I thought that Houses of the Holy and Physical Graffiti could coexist on the 
CD shelf along with Slanted & Enchanted and Loveless. But, soon enough, I was attending a public high school, and meeting kids who were into the same weird music that I was discovering. These kids had grown up together — and discovered this music together way before I had. I was the dork from private school who didn’t know PJ Harvey from Pere Ubu. I was practically a poser by default. And, before I knew it, I felt as though I had to choose. That’s when the levee broke, and I didn’t even care if it was for good.
In the throes of teenage years, suddenly nothing is more important than “authenticity.” So, if you’re a self-righteous little prick like I was in my junior year of high school, Zeppelin is more or less guaranteed to set off your bullshit meter. Was I that smug little turd who pointed out that Jimmy Page stole all of his best riffs from old Delta bluesmen? Who derided John Bonham for his lack of subtlety on the skins? Who mocked the very idea of guitar solos as being outdated and embarrassing? Sad to say, I was. Guilty on all counts. There is no force more corrupting in the entire universe than the desire to be cool.
When I was 23, I rediscovered Led Zeppelin. In what felt like a flash, I found myself out of college and back in my childhood bedroom, dealing with dire job prospects and careening from the sudden implosion of a three-year relationship. To put it another way, it had been a long time 
since I rock ‘n’ rolled. When life decides to so thoroughly kick you in the ass over such a short period of time, you realize that being cool absolutely pales in comparison to being happy. One day, I happened to find my old copy of Early Days: The Best of Led Zeppelin, Vol. 1 among a pile of CDs in my closet. It was like finding a comfy old sweater that you had thought was lost forever, and, surprisingly enough, it still fits. Everything I had used to think was gauche about the band — those plodding drums, those hedonistic riffs, those dorky lyrics — suddenly made me love them again.
And now, with the band reissuing their first five albums this year, Led Zeppelin find themselves in the spotlight once again. But, as plenty of confused and horny young dudes of all ages can tell you, they never really go away. Not for good, anyway. There’s a reason that Chuck Klosterman described them as “the one thing all young men share, and we shall share it forever.” Therein lies the true power of Led Zeppelin: we may change, but the song remains the same.
