Speaking of classic rock: today backstage some of the musicians – high schoolers all – were talking about Led Zep in general, and Kashmir in particular. I wandered up, noted how I bought the album when it first came out. And then I said the magic words: I saw Zep in concert in ’77.”
Awe. I swear, a semi-circle formed around me. I felt like someone describing my role in a great battle.
"And so I looked to the guy next to me to see if he was rocking, but he had turned green, man, and I vowed that he had not rocked in vain so I said WHOOOOOO and the fellow next to me – never saw him before, or after, but I’ll never forget him – he took off his shirt and lit it on fire and waved it around his head like some Viking Bezerker just as Zep crashed into Immigrant Man, and I realized that we would forever pity the men who were not here to rock with us this day, for truly we had rocked in a way few have rocked since.
"And for an encore, my friends, they played Stairway to Heaven. No one saw that coming. No one."
Then they kicked his ass for being such a dork.