Peter Grant: The Man Who Led Zeppelin

by Chris Welch

  Chris didn’t think the original Yardbirds could have competed psychologically with Led Zeppelin, who seemed born to a life on the road. “I think everybody in our old band was a pretty sensitive, complex person. We were all a bit stiff upper lipped. We didn’t even revel in our fame. We were terribly low key. We shied away from being stars.”

  Their successors were now well on the way to superstardom. Except back home in England, where Led Zeppelin were still playing pub venues like Klooks Kleek, Hampstead, and the Toby Jug, Tolworth. Peter Grant still had a whole lotta work to do.

  * * *

  * Whatever Grant said, Mickie Most insists today that he produced Truth.

  5

  “HELLO. IT’S PETER GRANT CALLING”

  “[When] he was laying down the law to people, they would be visibly shaking. People were actually terrified of him. He had this immense power to project strength. I always found he was like a cuddly bear.”

  – Bill Harry

  Peter Grant rolled his sleeves up over his bulging biceps, lit another cigarette and lifted the telephone. Strange how these days he always seemed to be able to get through to whomsoever he wanted to speak. The mammoth task that would reap both himself and Led Zeppelin undreamt of fame and riches was meat and gravy to him, just the sort of challenge he revelled in, and once Led Zeppelin had established a toehold in America there was no stopping them. As word got back to Britain, promoters and agents at home woke up to the presence of a rock’n’roll behemoth on their doorstep. Peter was now in the enviable position of being able to say, “I told you so.”

  During the early months of the band’s success there was a rapid transformation from studied apathy to frenzied hero worship. Yet it was untrue that this was simply the result of ‘media hype’ or Grant’s power to intimidate. The fans were the true arbiters of taste. They were buying the tickets and queuing round the block at small English clubs like Hampstead’s Klooks Kleek long before critics or the industry were aware of the band’s existence.

  Indeed, Zeppelin ran into a rather sniffy response from the rock establishment, especially in America, where an anti-Zep vibe lasted for years. Rolling Stone was still describing Zeppelin as a “heavy metal beast” and a “one-man band” dominated by Jimmy Page as late as 1977 and even called John Paul Jones and John Bonham “the clumsiest rhythm section in rock”. It may have been hard to hear the acoustic numbers above the firecrackers, or to appreciate Bonham’s influence on the future of rock drumming from the back row of a packed stadium, but the broad range of Zeppelin’s music and their understanding of dynamics should have been obvious from their albums alone.

  This negative attitude towards Zeppelin fuelled Peter Grant’s anger and mistrust of the media, presaging the edgy relationship that would exist for years. Peter once chased the British NME journalist Chris Hutchins around the Fairfield Halls, Croydon. Fellow scribe Keith Altham remembers the scene. “He had said something to upset Peter and he pursued him over the stalls. Chris was jumping them like hurdles, but Peter kept putting his foot on the rows of seats and they went down like dominoes.” Peter’s sense of humour often came to the rescue in such situations, and he was hostile only towards those press that he perceived as cynical or ignorant.

  Indeed, he was quite happy for his charges to do occasional interviews and even took journalists on tour to see the fanatical response the band was getting from audiences all over Europe and the States. Despite his own often voiced protestations that he “didn’t need a PR”, he did employ his old mate Bill Harry from the New Oxford Street office to take care of the deluge of press enquiries. But he was never going to kowtow to “the papers”. Journalists might well quake in their boots when their phones rang and those familiar nasal tones began to vibrate the earpiece. “Peter Grant here, now what the bloody ‘ell do you mean by that write-up …” Usually he would resort to sarcasm rather than threats. When a gushing lady from the prestigious Hollywood Reporter said, “I must call you at the hotel tomorrow to get some interesting facts,” he told her, “Ring me at midday and I’ll tell you something really boring.” As far as Peter was concerned “being boring” was almost as great a sin as trying to rip off his band. Peter recalled that the lady journalist “swept out of the reception in a great long dress”.

  Zeppelin concentrated their early touring in America, ably assisted by Frank Barsalona at Premier Talent, an arrangement that played a significant part in the band’s success. After their early dates with Vanilla Fudge Zeppelin went on to the Fillmore West in San Francisco, where they supported Country Joe & The Fish. This was the night when Robert Plant introduced the group at the beginning of ‘How Many More Times’ and someone in the audience shouted, “And who are you?” Plant and Page enthralled fans by spinning out their erotic ‘call and response’ blues routines. Indeed the reaction to Robert’s howling vocals and Jimmy’s wailing guitar was so frenzied that audiences joined in the caterwauling and the Fillmore concerts began to resemble nights in the jungle or feeding time at the zoo. Many Zeppelin fans claimed these were their most exciting shows – ever. There were many such highlights during the band’s first full year on the road.

  The workload was punishing. They packed in four US and three UK tours as well as trips to Europe, and Peter Grant was at every one, prowling around backstage, sorting out problems, overseeing the road crew and checking the gate money. “He was a roadie at heart,” says writer Johnny Rogan, the author of Starmakers And Svengalis, the authoritative book on British rock management. “Some managers sit behind desks, dealing with paperwork and pay others to be on the road with their bands. Grant wasn’t like that. He loved the road.”

  In addition to the many live shows, Led Zeppelin recorded sessions for radio and TV and were filmed for an all-star movie called Supershow, shot on March 25, 1969, at a studio in Staines, Middlesex, alongside such diverse artists as Roland Kirk, Stephen Stills and Buddy Guy. The completed movie was denied a cinema showing by short-sighted distributors, who actually walked out of a preview. Rare colour footage of Zeppelin’s almost frantic performance on the show is now regularly shown on the cable TV channel VH1.

  In October, Zeppelin flew to Paris to record a TV show where they were invited to a party by French record boss Eddie Barclay. Grant was uneasy about both these projects, which he thought were more trouble than they were worth, particularly the Supershow.

  Grant: “That was down to a mate of Jimmy’s who buttonholed us into doing that. I wasn’t that keen. I didn’t even go down to the filming. As for the French TV – that was another difficult one. They never knew how to get the sound right in a TV studio. The thing I most remembered about France was the Eddie Barclay party when we didn’t play because we couldn’t get the gear in the place. Jimmy only wanted to go so he could meet Brigitte Bardot. Anyway we didn’t play live but all the papers gave us great reviews next day, presuming we had. That was a laugh.”

  Much of Grant’s mistrust of TV as a medium was based on what he perceived as the failings of television in-house producers and sound engineers. A British ITV producer approached him about making a ‘special’ featuring the band. “We already had two hit albums,” recalled Peter. “I didn’t really want to do his show anyway. If I had I wouldn’t have done it when he ended the conversation with: ‘It sounds like a lot of demands from your side. Tell me, have Led Zeppelin got their own backing group?’”

  During that hectic year they also appeared at various festivals including the Newport Jazz Festival, on July 6, 1969, when thousands of Zep fans blocked all roads to the site and almost caused their appearance to be cancelled by the police. It is an event recalled with dread by the band’s hapless British PR who found himself trapped in the mayhem.

  Bill Harry: “Cor, the problems I had there. Oh my God! The band was fine but it was everything that went on around them. My job basically as a PR was to keep the press away. Peter wasn’t interested in the band doing interviews. I’d present him with a list of requests from magazines and he’d say,
‘No, no, no.’ He might let some of the underground magazines talk to them like Friendz. He wasn’t even interested in having them on TV. He wanted to make them superstars that nobody could get near, rather like movie stars today. But in those days pop stars would do anything for publicity. Peter just wasn’t interested. He’d say ‘no’ to everything. Yet it wasn’t really so hard for me, because I was hired to speak to the press and act like a filter.”

  Bill was advised that the press could come to gigs, of course, and review the shows and they might even grab a chat with one of the band, but official interviews were supposedly ‘out’. However, this wasn’t really the situation as each case was taken on its merits and there was no block on coverage by prestige publications that could advance the cause of the band’s career and image. In fact a young lady reporter from Life magazine had been sent on assignment to cover the band’s second US tour, which had begun in New York in April, 1969. She had travelled with them to Chicago and Detroit and seen at first hand the kind of pressure the band was under from groupies, fans and the sometimes hostile ‘real world’ of snooty hotel guests, cab drivers and belligerent passers by. She had felt great sympathy for Led Zeppelin and believed she had a good relationship with them, until she was attacked and had her dress ripped when she called by to wish them farewell at the Fillmore East, New York, on the last night of the tour (May 31). Peter Grant came to the rescue as she ‘fought them off’. She later wrote an insightful account of the tour, but added a damning postscript, expressing bitterness and anger at her treatment. “If you walk inside the cages of the zoo you get to see the animals close up, stroke the captive pelts and mingle with the energy behind the mystique. You also get to smell the shit first hand.”

  This was not the kind of press coverage the management and record company had in mind when they discreetly co-ordinated publicity campaigns for the supposedly ‘underground’ act that never gave interviews. However, their PR Bill Harry dutifully arrived in New York in July 1969, perhaps unaware of events on the previous tour, but unlikely to have been surprised. He based himself at Loews Midtown Motor Inn, where he also acted as PR for Jethro Tull and Ten Years After. “A lot of things went on in the hotels with all the British bands that I can’t reveal, even now, because they were so outrageous,” he says.

  When Led Zeppelin was booked to play Newport, Bill was supposed to go there and wait for the band to arrive. He was booked into a hotel on Rhode Island. As all the expenses were to be paid by Zeppelin, he didn’t have much cash with him. The hotel was full of jazz artists and celebrities and Bill and his wife Virginia were impressed by the glamour of the surroundings. If they felt uneasy about the escalating hotel bill, they were reassured by the knowledge that Peter Grant was on his way and would take care of the tab. Then it was announced on the radio that Led Zeppelin’s appearance at the festival had been cancelled as the authorities were alarmed at the dangerous situation the band were creating. Tens of thousands of rock fans were descending on the festival site and were blocking the roads. The group had been asked not to appear. Bill and Virginia thought they were stranded, unable to pay the hotel bill or even get back home to England. “We didn’t have any contact numbers and didn’t know where Zeppelin were in America. We were sweating! Then I got a phone call from Peter who said, ‘Everything’s fine, we’re coming.’”

  Bill Harry then went on radio to say to all the fans, “Yes, Led Zeppelin are coming to Newport, don’t worry.”

  The show turned out to be one of the most memorable of an already memorable summer. Zep put on a stunning performance, despite all the pre-gig hassles. They played ‘The Train Kept A Rollin’’, ‘I Can’t Quit You’, ‘Dazed And Confused’ and ‘You Shook Me’. Beset by PA problems, Robert Plant had to sing without a microphone for much of the time and the band were reduced to playing ‘Communication Breakdown’ as an instrumental. Even so, Robert screamed his famed ‘Ooh-Ah’ duet with Jimmy’s guitar on ‘How Many More Times’, to the delight of fans.

  One member of the audience was less than delighted when he found he had been robbed. Bill Harry: “I was very silly because I’d put all the money I had into my wallet. Then I suddenly found it was gone. I’d been pickpocketed. I went to see the police and they weren’t interested. Peter sorted everything out and got me back to New York and we travelled around the States with Zeppelin for a while and went to the Spectrum at Philadelphia, which was also the scene of much mayhem. It was a hairy time.

  “I do remember a party at a posh Newport hotel after the show. All the jazz greats like Buddy Rich were sitting around and we had a table, knocking back the lagers. Then Bonzo and Richard Cole got up on the table and started dancing and all the ‘jazz greats’ left the room. So Richard went to the fridge and took out all the cans of lager and loaded them up in a sack. ‘Let’s go back to Bonzo’s room.’ He was dragging this sack like Santa Claus. Then we stopped and looked out in the car park. We could see a bare arse moving up and down. And it was one of the group with a girl in a car. We went up to the room and a detective followed us because we had a couple of girls with us. Richard slipped him a few dollars and he vanished. So we went into the room and one of the boys went to say something to one of the girls and he was sick all over her.”

  The party was over and everyone hastily withdrew to their own rooms.

  When Led Zeppelin was in town it was party night, every night. Even their manager began to be drawn into the fun, although he had his work cut out dealing with police, security guards, promoters, roadies, bootleggers, scalpers, groupies and hangers-on. A relaxed drink with the band locked in the safety of the hotel rooms was a luxury, while outside screaming girls were climbing up the walls in desperation to befriend their satin clad, bare chested idols.

  It all became a blur as night after night the group played themselves into a state of exhaustion at convention centres, sports arenas, clubs and theatres across America. In October they played at Carnegie Hall in New York, the home of classical and jazz music. The previous year they were an underground band. Now they were hailed as the pop and rock sensation of the age. Everyone wanted to grab a piece of the action. Where once Grant had begged people to come to see his boys, now he had to fight them off. He also had to reassure and motivate the highly strung, exhausted musicians as they faced the temptations of an unreal existence.

  First there was the nightly adrenalin rush of the show; the screaming hero-worship that accompanied their every move. Then came the downside: threats, abuse and jealousy. When the band played at the Grande Ballroom, a converted mattress warehouse in Detroit, Robert Plant went out for a walk in the street, hoping to do some shopping. As he crossed the street a motorist skidded to a halt, drew up beside him and spat in his face. Robert was appalled. Such incidents shattered his confidence. He couldn’t help but wonder whether he was up to the job, or whether his role as vocalist was properly appreciated – by the fans or the group themselves.

  When tempers frayed there were even disputes between him and his old mate John Bonham. Jimmy Page was often ill and Bonham became terribly homesick. Yet Grant had to keep the juggernaut on the road. There was too much at stake to let it all go under. He became a man under siege. It was hardly surprising he lost his cool under pressure.

  When his young son Warren was old enough to be taken on tour with the band, he had a child’s eye view of father in action. “He always looked after the crew as well as the band, including the lighting and sound engineers. But I saw him steam into people a few times,” says Warren. “If anyone messed the band around, he’d give them a right bollocking or prod them with his finger. He was always doing that! It was something he learnt to do as a wrestler. He’d occasionally give people a slap. There was some sort of way of cupping your hands, so it would sound really bad, but it didn’t actually do very much! There were advantages in being that size. He was over six foot three as well as being overweight, so he was quite an imposing figure. The only times he’d really lose his temper was if someone was trying to rip
off the band. Anything to do with bootlegging T-shirts or records would upset him. If he found out something hadn’t been done right, then he’d deal with it himself. Most managers would send somebody else to sort out a problem. He would wade in and sort it out himself straight away. He wouldn’t use other people to do his dirty work.”

  Parts of America still resembled the Wild West, with criminal elements involved in various aspects of the music business. Grant, with his south London underworld connections, understood the art of bluff. On more than one occasion he found himself facing down recalcitrant US concert promoters who were reluctant to hand over the cash after a concert. One time Peter was collecting a modest thousand dollars in cash which had been left lying in front of him in a pile on a table. It was like a dare – to see if he’d try to take the money from the promoter, who wanted to keep it.

  Grant: “I said, ‘I’ve come for the thousand dollars you owe me’ and the guy said, ‘You’re not getting it.’ So I said, ‘You ain’t leaving this caravan pal until you give me the money.’ He pulled a gun on me and I said, ‘I don’t care what you’ve got. You’re going to pay me that thousand dollars.’ He then said, ‘I’m gonna shoot you.’ I said, ‘I very much doubt if you are going to shoot me for a thousand dollars. Don’t be so fucking cheap.’” Grant picked up the money in both hands and walked out without turning back.