by Chris Welch
Peter Grant: “There were always battles to get them to do what they were told, but I had to be firm. It was like my philosophy with every album that we should treat each one as a first album. You know, pay that much attention to the advertising, the sleeve, etc. They were always fantastic though. But part of our success was that we never hung out that much at the Speakeasy. We got together when we needed to and then did our own thing. That’s why I always tried to make sure we didn’t overdo the touring during the school holidays, so the guys could see their children. We didn’t live in each other’s pockets. We always delivered and everybody played their part. Of course there were odd rows. It’s like what Bonzo said to Robert, ‘All you’ve got to do is stand out there and look good. We’ll take care of the music!’ There were rows. One bloody amazing one in Japan, when Robert came off stage with a split lip. It was a dispute over money. He still owed Bonzo £70 petrol money from some tour years before. But that’s how it was. But I always made sure they got on stage …”
Whatever else they got up to in Japan, the Hilton Hotel in Tokyo banned Led Zeppelin and their manager for life. But the chaps didn’t really care as millions of dollars flowed in from tours and album sales continued to rocket. The group now travelled across America in their own private Boeing 720B jetliner, which opened up possibilities for new forms of aerial mayhem. It also enabled them to carry out a 33-date US tour armed with a crew of 30 and tons of sound and light show equipment, which earned them five million dollars.
Their blockbuster shows to thousands of adoring fans, their extravagant lifestyle and larger than life personalities all seemed like ingredients for a Hollywood movie. And that was exactly what Peter Grant had in mind for his next audacious project. At least there could be no fights, rows or dramas over such a worthwhile, artistic venture. At least, that’s what they all hoped …
* * *
* Peter’s efforts at this concert were to no avail. A 90-minute recording of this show survived Grant’s onslaught and included versions of ‘Heartbreaker’, ‘Dazed And Confused’, ‘Communication Breakdown’ and ‘Moby Dick’.
* Curiously enough, Robert Plant had once been enrolled as a member of the Noise Abatement Society, in a publicity stunt when he was a member of the Band Of Joy.
7
THE SONG REMAINS THE SAME:
“WHO WAS THE GUY ON THE HORSE?”
“Jimmy needed Peter and Peter loved Jimmy … So having Peter on his side made him realise he could make anything happen. Yet the pair of them turned breaking appointments into an art form. They did just whatever they wanted at whatever time of the day.”
– Film-maker Peter Clifton
Peter Grant had once harboured ambitions to be a movie actor. These were partly fulfilled as a young man, when he took small parts and acted as a double for famous stars. He certainly picked up a lot from the film world, not the least being the slight mid-Atlantic twang that comes from working with American crews. Even if he didn’t make it as an actor, he enjoyed show business, especially the gossip and the humour. However, there would not be much to laugh about when Peter became involved in a major project that would take up more than three years of his time and lead to rows, abuse, tears and frustration. What he and Led Zeppelin wanted was a film that would celebrate both their music and their raison d’être. They finally got what they wanted, but only after an epic struggle that almost warranted a Hollywood movie itself. And Grant got his chance to play a leading role at last.
‘The Song Remains The Same’, the number which lent its name to Led Zeppelin’s ill-starred venture into film-making, was the intriguing opening salvo from Houses Of The Holy, the band’s fifth album, released in March 1973. A dramatic opus, taken at different tempos and including a long instrumental section delivered with breathless, clipped urgency, the song represented many of the best aspects of their work. There was something strangely moving and timeless about the mood of the piece, like Proust* set to music. The ‘Song’ was the most satisfactory item on an erratic album that saw Zeppelin making forays into reggae and soul, but included more inventive material like ‘No Quarter’ and ‘The Ocean’.
It might have been the intention of the film-makers to capture some of the magic of the band’s more intense moments. In the end The Song Remains The Same became simply a cinematic record of yet another stage performance, interspersed with backstage scenes and interludes devoted to the individual band members. With one exception, these so-called ‘fantasy’ sequences revealed little about their real lives and there was practically nothing about their inner thoughts or the band’s creative process.
Yet The Song Remains The Same was a successful commercial venture. It was a box office hit and yielded a chart topping double soundtrack album, and it provided fans with a permanent record of the band in action at the height of their career. Some critics thought it a missed opportunity, but this was not for want of trying. The band, their manager and the directors and crews brought in to help realise their dream, all worked hard to make a movie worthy of Led Zeppelin’s reputation. Yet there were moments when Grant wanted to give up and scrap the whole thing. Curiously enough, the real star of the film in many people’s eyes, proved not to be the band, but their charismatic manager himself.
It was Peter Grant’s performance, captured ciné vérite backstage while haranguing a hapless victim in a towering rage, that gave the film its most dramatic moment, more so than any of the comparatively tame events on stage. Grant is seen verbally assaulting a concert promoter whom he suspects of allowing a pirate merchandiser to trade within the venue where Led Zeppelin are performing. Vainly does the promoter protest his innocence, but Grant’s tirade of abuse, a fearsome volley of four-letter words, renders him silent. The merchandiser, a minor character, cowers in the background, as Grant accuses the promoter of covertly sanctioning such activity in order to further profit from the night’s gig. As he builds to a crescendo, Grant’s anger is targeted not just at his present victim but at all American rock promoters and, finally, America in general, as if the whole country is out to make a buck at his expense. It’s a chilling scene and it remains the only footage of Peter Grant in action, browbeating in the manner that only he could.
In many ways this scene reflects the mood of the making of the film, during which Grant veered from waging a charm offensive to simply being offensive, in his attempts to cajole, bully and goad those responsible for its creation. He wanted to stamp his authority on proceedings, take charge of the results and ensure that nobody else got too close to claiming credit, either financially or in terms of prestige. At least these were the thoughts and observations of Peter Clifton, the man later charged with the task of pulling the production together after various false starts and much debate.
He might well have shared these views with his predecessor, the hapless Joe Massot, who poured so much energy and effort into his original vision of the movie. Both Joe and Peter would suffer at the hands of their task-masters, although they would have to agree that Peter Grant had placed his trust in them and given them the facilities to make it happen. He held the purse strings. And he had the power to hire and fire. They grew to admire and respect him but the erratic, unpredictable nature of the small but powerful Zeppelin empire made both film-makers very nervous.
Joe Massot was a young American film buff, born in New York and living in London, who talked himself into the job of putting Led Zeppelin on the big screen and suffered the consequences. Peter Clifton, a witty, ambitious Australian, also living in London, was hired to take over the film production when Joe was summarily ejected from the project. He too would come to regret his decision to accept the job. Both men experienced humiliations and disappointments. Yet they learnt that it came with the territory when you tangled with Peter Grant, and both ultimately claimed pride in a project that has since taken on mythical status.
Massot was a friend of Jimmy Page’s girlfriend Charlotte and he had seen Led Zeppelin in action at the Bath Festival in 1970, which plac
ed the seeds of an idea for a movie in his mind. Peter Clifton had a background in pop and rock film-making and he had made an early stab at filming Zeppelin. He had brought his skills and energy to London from Sydney at the height of the Swinging Sixties. He admired artists like Jimi Hendrix and Otis Redding and understood the fickle but fascinating nature of pop music and the egos and excesses that accompanied its creation. Yet nothing prepared him for the experience of working full time with Led Zeppelin and their manager.
“Peter was one of the most extraordinary people I’ve ever met in my life,” says Clifton, who now lives and works back in his native Sydney. Somewhat remarkably, he still regards Grant with great fondness, despite a long period of estrangement following the rows that accompanied the whole saga of making The Song Remains The Same. Reflected Clifton: “I never found it easy dealing with the group. They always had this enigmatic strength as musicians; that power they used on me and I found it very difficult to take sometimes. It was pure Led Zeppelin power – focused on me with no thought for manners or feelings. But very often it was because they couldn’t see what I was trying to do.”
There had been several previous attempts to film Zeppelin. These usually ended with their manager throwing buckets of water over the equipment, showing his innovative approach to the art of editing. Despite the early success of The Beatles with Dick Lester, rock and the movies just didn’t seem to blend well. Few directors quite knew what to do with a static band on a poorly lit stage. Some, like Tony Palmer, who filmed Cream’s last concert at the Royal Albert Hall in 1968, resorted to rapid zoom shots and trick effects that only succeeded in obscuring the group. Others went for the ‘rockumentary approach’ with interviews and scenes of roadies shifting gear. Grant, Zeppelin, Joe Massot and Peter Clifton all felt the need to do something different, something with vision. The problem was The Beatles were cinematic and had their Liverpudlian charisma and personality to win over moviegoers and critics. Ringo Starr was even hailed as ‘the new Chaplin’ after his cameo appearance in A Hard Day’s Night (1964). Peter Grant was more likely to be called ‘the New Al Capone’.
Joe Massot had been working in Hollywood on a rock western called Zachariah featuring Country Joe & The Fish and The James Gang before moving back to England in 1970. He took a cottage by the river Thames in Wallingford, Berkshire, in an area where many rock celebrities lived, including Jimmy Page. Joe had previously met his new neighbour, French model Charlotte Page, at a Cream concert in Los Angeles. Charlotte invited Joe and his wife to visit her at Pangebourne, where she shared their boathouse home with Jimmy. Joe became friendly with Jimmy and learned of his interest in antiques, art nouveau and, more intriguingly, the writings and philosophy of Aleister Crowley. Jimmy invited Joe to see Led Zeppelin at the Bath Festival and he was stunned by the band’s performance. He also saw Peter Grant for the first time, throwing a bucket of water (one of several he must have kept handy) over the stage manager. He was given to understand that this was a ploy to discourage the next band, Jefferson Starship, from taking the stage before Led Zeppelin.*
Two years later, Massot, having moved back to London, was looking for work as a film director. He spotted news stories in the papers about the progress of the band he’d seen at Bath and was amazed to find they were playing to huge audiences throughout America on a record-breaking tour. He also noticed they were due back in England and was seized with the idea of making a film of their tour. He tracked Jimmy Page down to his new home at Plumpton Manor in Sussex and explained his idea for a movie about the band on tour; complete with live concert footage and individual portraits of the band members. Page liked the idea and referred him to his manager. Massot worked out a budget, made some calls and went to meet Richard Cole at his Oxford Street office.
Richard was friendly and helpful but explained that he still had to convince his boss. Peter Grant eventually called Massot and turned down his proposal, on the grounds that while they wanted to make a film, they would prefer a ‘name’ director. Joe persevered however, even assembling a film crew, to show Grant he could be ready to travel to the States at the drop of a clapperboard.
The band returned to America and continued their tour. Then, on July 14, 1973, Grant called Massot and said he had decided it was a good idea for Joe to film Led Zeppelin after all. He’d got the job. He explained that the band had hired its own Boeing jet airliner, the Starship 1 and when they arrived in Pittsburgh on July 24, they would have their own police motorcycle escort, which he wanted filming.
Zeppelin was taking America by storm, earning thousands of dollars a night and selling out shows from coast to coast. Now was the time to capture all this excitement on film. However, Grant wanted to make sure that Led Zeppelin would own the film outright. They would provide all the financial backing and pay all the bills. Joe was ordered to fly to the States within two days, after he had rounded up his film crew. Among those he recruited was Ernie Day, who had been a camera operator on David Lean’s epic Lawrence Of Arabia and Robert Freeman who had worked on A Hard Day’s Night and Help!. They all agreed they fancied the idea of making a ‘pop film’ in America.
Massot flew to Boston to meet Grant and Cole. It was the first time he’d met Peter Grant in person, and found him wearing jeans and covered in Aztec jewellery. He explained that his lawyer Steve Weiss would handle all money matters. Joe’s plan was to film events around the band in 16mm and the three major concerts at Madison Square Garden, New York, on July 27,28 and 29 in 35mm. It was expected that given the wages and the cost of film stock and equipment, it would all cost around $100,000.
The band and their management were very friendly but it was hard for Massot to get a proper contract. He said later: “Getting Led Zeppelin to sign anything or grant me any real power was to be very difficult. But I trusted them. What I wanted was to make a great movie.”
Zeppelin were on a roll. Their show now lasted two hours and 45 minutes, and included such classics as ‘Rock And Roll’, ‘The Song Remains The Same’, ‘Dazed And Confused’, ‘Stairway To Heaven’ and ‘Whole Lotta Love’. The concerts were so exciting that Joe wondered why the band hadn’t been filmed before. Peter told him that they had commissioned a film at the Bath Festival but ‘something went wrong’ and the pictures came out blank. He didn’t mention the bucket of water thrown over the ciné equipment.
Once the cameramen had arrived from London, Joe began filming some of the concerts as a test run for Madison Square. Engineer Eddie Kramer, using a 24 track mobile unit, would record the sound at the Garden concert. Joe had to emphasise to the group that they should wear the same clothes each night. All of them agreed to do this except John Paul Jones, which later provided the director with a continuity problem.
Massot was soon caught up in the extravagance and glamour of touring with Zeppelin – the fleet of Cadillac stretch limousines, the private jet with its seven-man crew, the girls, drugs and champagne. It was all very exciting, but nerve-wracking too when it came to extracting the cash from Richard Cole to pay the film crew’s wages. They’d sometimes be kept waiting and threatened a revolt. But there was plenty to keep them busy, filming the scenes both inside and outside the shows, as young America went wild for the hottest band in the country. At the Baltimore Civic Center on July 23, 1973, they filmed cops chasing a half-naked intruder. This was also the setting for the scene in which Peter Grant berated the promoter. Amidst a flurry of abuse he more or less accuses the man of receiving kickbacks with the aim of squeezing every last nickel out of Zeppelin.
“We knew nothing about him. As soon as we found out about it, we stopped him,” protested the man, believed to be one Larry Vaughan.
Grant is having none of it, not least because it was a member of his crew that discovered the illegal operation. “As soon as we found out about it more like,” he rages. “It’s fucking typical. As long as you can screw an extra few bob out of the group.”
Meanwhile Massot hired some handheld 35mm cameras ready to shoot the big one at Madison
Square. Their plans were almost aborted when the local trades union tried to block the film crew from working. Grant announced that the film was off but the last minute hitch was sorted out by the negotiating power of Zeppelin’s attorney. The British cameramen were allowed in and filmed all three nights.
Years later Peter Grant gave his version of how the film had been put in motion: “We were in Boston in the Sheraton Hotel. Jimmy knew about Massot. We’d been on about the failure of the Stanley Dorfman film. So we got Massot and Ernie Day over and started filming. It turned out to be traumatic to say the least. They filmed three nights at the Garden and never got one complete take of ‘Whole Lotta Love’. We always planned for it to be more than just a concert film.”
Grant was quite keen to join in the creative process himself. “There was one idea I came up with. During ‘Dazed’ where Jimmy is playing really fast and the camera goes through his eyes to the black cop sequence – that was to show life going on around us – beyond the concrete wall.”