Press Review excerpt: They're here and for the moment they're facing a fairly extensive and meticulously placed set of equipment. Several guitars, a drum kit, keyboards, a swarm of amps, special effects pedals, a bow... Four large white wooden symbols mark the stage: on the bass drum: three intersecting circles. On the amp, near the organ, three geometric compass petals intersected by a circle. On a guitar amp: a group of stylized letters that down-to-earth eyes would read "ZOSO." Finally, in the center: a feather surrounded by a circle. These are, respectively, the representatives of John Bonham, John Paul Jones, Jimmy Page, and Robert Plant.  

The delay, which increased the audience's impatience, was due to John Paul Jones, who had car trouble. Without warning, they arrive, all four of them. Robert Plant no longer has a beard, and he appears even more youthful. We don't procrastinate any longer: "Immigrant song." Plant is haunting; Page follows with violent covers, already bent over his guitar, he meticulously performs the observation round. Followed by "Heartbreaker" and "Black Dog." Description: more Zeppelin-like than Zeppelganger. With an obviousness that slaps you in the face, Gavoty or Panassié could recognize it. How many hard rock bands have been inspired, down to the most bland caricature, by this combination of screams, overpowering riffs, and pachyderm rhythm? How many bands have fallen for it? Because it's a fool to believe that a guitarist of Page's caliber doesn't put all his technique and talent into this furious explosion. Simple music, if it's the easiest to play, is certainly the most difficult to play well.

So far, it's been rather routine, well-executed, but without any notable excesses. John Paul Jones leaves his bass for keyboards. Bonham creates a bluesy tempo, and Plant launches into "Since I've Been Lovin' You." Robert Plant astounds on stage with the rather impressive contradiction of his ease and his violent power. The sound of his voice is impressive, while his demeanor, studied as it may be, reassures with its natural benevolence. A friendly complicity is quickly established with the audience; between each piece, a brief dialogue develops. Less and less, in fact, because the applause becomes longer and longer. 

With the announcement of "Stairway to Heaven," the tension redoubles, and the show takes its first turn. This track, taken from the latest album, is certainly one of the best things the band has ever produced. Plant plays the lion's share. Starting with sensual sweetness, he soon moves to a more dramatic, rather fatalistic tone. At his side, Page grabs his double-neck guitar: twelve strings on top, six strings on the bottom. He varies the sounds at will, until the break that closes the ballad and returns to hard rock. This is the opportunity for a wonderful solo whose atmosphere is reminiscent of Hendrix's "All Along the Watchtower," while Jimmy Page maintains his precise and effective style. "Stairway to Heaven" does not fail to evoke this Dylan composition; The mark of destiny is omnipresent in a rather symbolic scene detached from any context. Robert Plant ends wildly and triggers an insistent cheer. 

Bonham returns to his dressing room. Three chairs are set up. It's time for the acoustics, the most surprising and galvanizing moment of Zeppelin's recital. They sit elbow to elbow, at the very edge of the stage.  Plant, in the center, holds the microphone like a cane, Jones, to his right, seems to be playing with a paltry banjo, Page, calmly strumming his guitar, devoid of any umbilical amplification cord. "That's the Way." The most curious thing is the total control over the crowd from this phase on. Not a head escapes the control of these charming prison guards. Another new track, "Going to California," allows Robert to appear equally at ease in a lower vocal register. All is calm, all is well. Several thousand eyes are focused on the three men, huddled together as if to find an illusory security, and enclosed by a bluish spotlight. 

After "Tangerine," which delights with its vague teen-ager accents from another era. John Bonham returns to sing on "Bron-y-aur Stomp." This is a marvel. Still seated, Zeppelin manages to warm up the room with incredible authority. At Plant's signal, countless handclaps punctuate this song, punctuated by six consecutive claps, which seems to rediscover the very roots of British music. The title evokes the place in Wales where Plant and Page like to go to rest; there's no doubt it echoes some old local folklore. 

Here we understand the power of a rock music that continually returns to its origins and evolves like a fish in water. Should we therefore be pessimistic about its development here? In Manchester, at least. The triumph is already assured. The chairs are put away. We plug the amps back in to resonate with the disturbing strains of Dazed and Confused. This will last a good three-quarters of an hour, allowing Jimmy Page to knock everyone off their feet. He will first accompany the lion Plant with mammoth chords, often engaging in a dialogue with him on the edge of an underlying eroticism. Then he will take the best solo of the evening, dense, exasperated, and even saturated. Then he will use his famous bow to create delirious sounds, bringing the underground into hard rock. A talented illusionist, he will seem to bless the four corners of the room in turn, picking up the sound on his guitar and throwing it with his bow to the hypnotized faithful. 

“Rock and Roll” had been repeatedly requested from the audience, and Robert Plant satisfied the request. What a voice! He appears monstrously gifted, he easily reaches the Olympus of the greatest rock singers: his originality is impressive.

Wonderfully in his time, in today's music, but also, his fury is full of a whole, well-felt tradition. Another giant for the land of Jagger, Daltrey, Stewart. On stage, he combines adolescent spontaneity with a rather sexy search for attitudes. Sometimes, he lets his right leg dance wildly, sometimes he freezes in a waiting posture that delights photographers, among others. He's an untouchable rock star and then, without transition, a very relatable entertainer who kindly encourages you to clap your hands. 

Page uses a bottle-neck for "What ls and What Should Never Be." It's hot.  “Celebration day” - It's very hot. The marathon continues. Many have already left their seats, and when the first chords of the anthem “Whole Lotta Love” ring out, everyone is on their feet and swaying to the beat. The area around the stage is besieged. In the middle of this song, Robert lets loose with excellent interpretations of old rock 'n' roll songs like “Rave on” by Buddy Holly, “Hello Mary Lou” by Ricky Nelson, or “Mess of a Blues” by Presley. He overflows with the joy of singing, assisted by a Page who is clearly enjoying himself. This reminder of these old songs takes on the appearance of a very appropriately displayed birth certificate; singing “Hello Mary Lou.” It's a bit like saying: ’This is where we come from, we've always believed in it despite the sarcasm of people with taste, and today we're here’, and the party continues.

 This is the key to the future of rock. Led Zeppelin has reached the wings. Under the trembling pressure of the overexcited fans, the band returns to deliver two more huge hits: "Thank You" and "Communication Breakdown." Three hours of fever, cohesion, swing, and delirium thus come to an end. Led Zeppelin's triumphant tour helps us to better understand the superior dimension of the band's live performance. Page, Plant, Jones, and Bonham currently possess a persuasive force capable of winning over even the most vocal detractors of their recordings.  [-Lebrun / Jan. 1972]