Free Stairway To Heaven by Richard Cole

head—that could go on the road and play the remaining dates.
    So in late summer 1968, in the midst of the Supergroup era, Jimmy was faced with the prospect of creating a new band. And the more he thought about it, the more intriguing the possibilities seemed. He knew about the obstacles and the land mines, of course—the huge egos and the heavy pressuresthat had subverted more than one Superband. “I’m not in any mood to have another band fold underneath me,” he said. “I’m still feeling the repercussions from the Yardbirds.”
    Cream was the most recent Supergroup to go up in smoke. That band featured three of the most talented rock musicians of the times—Eric Clapton, Jack Bruce, and Ginger Baker—and they exploded with power and influence upon the release of their first album in 1967. As their name suggests, they really were the cream of the rock music crop, combining white blues with hard, driving rock. But by late 1968, the band was disintegrating, and it played its final concerts at Madison Square Garden in New York and Royal Albert Hall in London.
    With Cream extinct, critics began debating who—if anyone—could fill the blues-rock void. Some talked about Ten Years After. Others looked toward Pink Floyd. But when Jimmy ultimately made the decision to form a new band that would become Led Zeppelin, he put the debate to rest.
    Jimmy spent a lot of restless nights by himself at his home in Pangbourne, contemplating who he might invite to join the new band—jotting down names, adding and crossing musicians off the list, trying to picture how the band might jell with varying combinations. He was taking the whole process seriously. John Entwistle, Keith Moon, Jeff Beck…B. J. Wilson and Nicky Hopkins…they were all on Jimmy’s “A” list. So were Steve Marriott and Steve Winwood, who were his top contenders to handle the lead vocals. In those early weeks, neither Robert Plant nor John Bonham was even in contention. In fact, Jimmy didn’t even know who they were.
    â€œI tried to send word to Marriott,” Jimmy often recalled. “I was excited about being in a band with him. I really thought it might work. But when his management team got back to me, they said Steve felt committed to Small Faces. He wasn’t interested.”
    Jimmy continued to scrutinize and narrow down the list of candidates. Before long, Terry Reid emerged as his frontrunner for the role of lead singer. Jimmy had seen him perform and was taken with his potent, gravelly voice. But again Jimmy’s plans were undermined.
    â€œIt sounds exciting,” Reid told him by phone. “But I’m afraid I’m going to have to rule myself out. I’m already under contract with Mickey Most. I guess that puts me out of the picture.”
    At times, Jimmy would grow weary of this winnowing process. He called Terry back and asked, “Is there anyone else you can suggest for vocals?” He wasn’t expecting to hear any names that he wasn’t already considering. But he was beginning to feel that perhaps this was a hopeless venture.
    â€œWell, there’s one guy you should look at,” Terry said. “His name is Robert Plant. He’s with a band called Hobbstweedle.”
    Plant’s name meant nothing to Jimmy, and Hobbstweedle was barely pronounceable and certainly wasn’t recognizable to Jimmy or anyone in his immediate circle. But he trusted Terry’s opinion enough to track Plant down. He found him performing at a teachers’ training college near Birmingham, singing before a crowd barely big enough to fill up a Volkswagen van.
    Frankly, most of Plant’s song selections that night didn’t really excite Jimmy—tunes by Moby Grape, for example. But that voice—Jimmy got the chills listening to Robert—his strong, sexy, emotional, plaintive voice, like a cry from deep within Robert’s soul.
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