When I was 15-16 years old I developed a love, bordering on obsession with Led Zeppelin in general and Jimmy Page in particular. I loved, loved, loved him above all else (except, maybe, getting high. I mean, come on. It was the 70s and I was 16 years old at a catholic high school in Indiana, give me a break). He was the GOAT and could do no wrong in my eyes. Worshipped the devil? I mean you gotta do what you gotta do, right? Dated 14 year olds? Well, good, maybe that means he would date ME! ha. Did drugs and stumbled around in a stupor? I mean who hasn't? Was interested in the occult and the tarot and astrology? I am scorpio, scorpio rising... bring it.

Now? Maybe not so much.

When I was 16 I would have rated this book 5+++++ stars. I would have memorized half of it by reading it over and over again and gotten a bigger purse so I could carry it around with me. Now, I am old and having read a plethora of rock biographies, I grow weary. Sure, I loathe the superficial type of endorsed rock biography that kind of skims the surface and doesn't get its hands dirty in the muck and mire of the wicked garden of personal pedadillos. Or somehow shows us only the cardboard cutout version of what we know is a larger than life personality. This one, for sure shows us the dirt as well as who was the engineer on what particular album in what particular recording studio or who was backstage at the show at MSG. Everything is here. But, oy and vey, maybe too much friggin dirt, hand me that shovel, yo; I need to plant some seeds in this wicked garden.

As many rock biographies and autobiographies have done to me in the past, my eyes begin to glaze over by the repetition of drugs, concerts, albums, sex, drugs, more drugs, more sex, drugs, rinse, repeat. Here it is the same old same old... the constant taking of drugs, the endless mindless debaucheries, THE CRIMINAL sexual activites, the violence, the drugs, drugs, drugs, drugs, kinda mind and soul numbing, no? I mean how many more times can one say Peter Grant's use of cocaine was WORSE THAN EVER? PRODIGIOUSLY OUT OF CONTROL? I mean how much more out of control can out of control get? It becomes meaningless. Redundant. Also, Do what thou wilt does not mean do what thou wants, Mr. Page. Neither Crowley nor Page had wills strong enough to withstand an addiction to heroin. They both were kind of terrible human beings, sadly. Teenage me cries and cries. Messing around with goetia gonna get to you, you weak willed meat puppets.

Anyway, this is the definitive Led Zeppelin biography. It could have used some more editing, certainly. Clocking in at almost 600 pages isn't really necessary. If you are just a casual fan of the band, maybe skip it. You will hate them after reading this. Long time fans like me will read it, find out nothing new, really, and decide to listen to Physical Grafitti in it's entirety because when was the last time I even thought about that album? It still rocks btw.

Beware all ye who tread the path.