Peter Grant: The Man Who Led Zeppelin

by Chris Welch

  Another of Peter’s tales from the rock’n’roll years fascinated Alan. “He told me a story about Little Richard playing the Lyceum in the Strand. Peter had been asked to take over as tour manager as the other guy was ill. Peter drove his Ford Zodiac 200 miles from Liverpool to the Strand Palace Hotel in London. He went to see Little Richard who said, ‘I don’t think I’ll go on tonight.’ Peter said, ‘Whadya mean, you don’t want to go on?’ And Little Richard said, ‘I really don’t feel like it.’ Peter said, ‘Are you ill?’ ‘No, I just don’t feel I have the right energy for a show tonight.’ Peter looked at him and said, ‘You look alright to me.’ So Grant grabbed him, threw him on the floor, rolled him in a carpet and carried him round to the Lyceum and said to him, ‘You’re going on!’”

  Many years later Alan Callan read an interview with Little Richard in Rolling Stone. “The singer was asked of all the amazing things in his life, what stuck out the most. Richard replied, ‘The fact that my chauffeur in England now earns more money than I do.’ And he talked about Peter Grant – his chauffeur – and the affair of the carpet and how wonderful Grant was and how much he came to trust him. ‘This guy always made sure I got paid and that everything worked.’” In 1996, the year after Peter Grant died, Alan was in Atlanta and met Little Richard who said, “I was so sad to hear about Peter.”

  Says Callan: “Peter was able to achieve all kinds of things by employing his remarkable persona and that included that terrible stare of his. If he decided to stand up and move a bit too close to you, he could intimidate you with his body language. And yet it seems that everybody that really got close to him or had dealings with him, found he also had this extraordinary charm. He had such a great sense of humour, absolutely fantastic.”

  Callan still questions Grant’s decision to run Swan Song from such a small office with just a telex machine. “But then Tamla Motown was started over a shop,” he says. “The band did decide to buy a big country house, which they were going to turn into Swan Song offices, residential apartments and a studio complex. They ran into trouble trying to get planning permission. Then they didn’t have time to get more detailed planning because they were going off on tour. Peter had this great idea they would lend the house to the local constabulary, so they could train their police dogs there. He was always thinking of these incredible ideas.”

  After its initial success with Bad Company Swan Song entered a slow decline from which it never really recovered, although all five subsequent Led Zeppelin albums were released on the label, starting with the double whammy Physical Graffiti in March 1975. The album’s release was delayed due to ‘artwork problems’ caused by the elaborate cover design, just the sort of thing that shouldn’t have happened on their own label yet entirely predictable considering the complex nature of the design.

  Equally predictable was Physical Graffiti going gold and platinum on the day of release and entering the Billboard LP chart at number one. In America it earned some $12,000,000 in a year and revitalised the entire Zeppelin back catalogue which resulted in all their previous albums reappearing in the charts. The new Zeppelin album was their most consistent and impressive work since Four Symbols and was greeted with acclaim by the critics, enamoured of such new works as ‘Kashmir’, ‘Houses Of The Holy’, ‘In My Time Of Dying’ and ‘Trampled Underfoot’. Even Rolling Stone, hitherto unimpressed with Led Zeppelin, changed their tune and featured them on the cover. Inside was a flattering profile by their youngest writer, Cameron Crowe. Rolling Stone’s about-turn probably had as much to do with timing as with Crowe’s undoubted enthusiasm. The mid-Seventies was UK rock’s golden age as far as conquering America was concerned. Bands like Zeppelin, The Rolling Stones, The Who, Pink Floyd, Wings, Black Sabbath, The Faces, Deep Purple, ELP and Yes, and artists like Eric Clapton, David Bowie and Elton John, all achieved extraordinary US success, filling giant arenas with ease and chalking up platinum albums with every release. It would never be the same again.

  Physical Graffiti was perhaps Zeppelin’s finest hour and certainly a peak moment in the Swan Song saga. Thereafter Peter seemed to lose interest in the label, which was eventually closed down and wound up after the demise of John Bonham and the break-up of the group in 1980. “In a way I was sad that it was wound up but on reflection it was too much for us to take on, what with me trying to manage Bad Company and Led Zeppelin,” he would say later. “There were just not enough hours in the day. That’s why I passed on managing Queen in 1975. I’d love to have done it but there just wasn’t the time. What I regretted about Swan Song was not getting someone in to run it properly. We kept getting it wrong or I did. I couldn’t trust people to make the right decisions. It didn’t work with Abe Hoch and in America Danny Goldberg became another pain in the arse. I think if we’d have had Alan Callan in from the start it might have been okay. He was a good friend of Jimmy’s and knew what we wanted to do. In the end he fell foul of Steve Weiss’ ego problems. This all really brought home the situation I found myself in with the label and my home life. I tried to run it like a nine-to-five job, driving up to London for three hours every day. It just wore me out. Then I’d get home and Goldberg or Weiss would be on the line. It was too much.

  “If I could have done a David Frost and jetted between New York and London, it might have been okay. But that was never on. That’s not to say I didn’t enjoy the success we had. I thought Bad Company were the perfect band for the label. That whole ‘Can’t Get Enough’ era was so fresh. We had Maggie Bell doing quite well and The Pretty Things.”

  As a souvenir of Swan Song achievements Peter took pride in a framed Billboard chart with all of his artists listed during one week’s appearance from early 1975. However the extra workload was getting too much, even for a man of his vaunting ambition. “It was just that even to do Led Zeppelin justice was a 24 hour a day job. Dave Edmunds and people like that – I just didn’t have the time to oversee. Dave had Jake Riviera as a manager anyway, which brought its own set of problems. Of course, we also missed a few acts by not getting to hear the demo tapes. When we cleared out the office we found loads, including demos by Paul Young and The Q Tips.”

  Although Swan Song missed out on these talents the label signed an unknown singer songwriter called Mirabai. Said Grant later: “That was a perfect example of people making decisions I wouldn’t have made and me having to support. That was a Goldberg investment that I persuaded Ahmet to bankroll. It was a similar situation to when I got him to take the Screaming Lord Sutch album that Jimmy and Bonzo had played on years earlier. Of course that wouldn’t happen with record companies nowadays!”

  * * *

  * A BBC TV children’s programme.

  9

  “DID YOU ENJOY THE SHOW?”

  “You’d think by looking at him that he’d have this great bellowing voice, yet he had a soft south London twang to him. He actually wasn’t loud and he had a slight lisp. He was just scary to look at and to be around.”

  – Journalist Michael Watts

  America was Led Zeppelin’s happy hunting ground. It was certainly where they found the most fun, excitement and rewards. As the Zeppelin empire grew, so they seemed like a behemoth bestriding the land and laying waste all opposition. Rich, powerful and immensely popular with a generation of fans hungry for rock, they could do no wrong. As albums turned gold and platinum and tours sold out overnight, the band and their manager seemed hell-bent on enjoying a non-stop champagne party while jetting in pursuit of the next audience to conquer.

  Such was their success it seemed scarcely possible that within two years the party would end amidst drama, tragedy and chaos. Yet the cracks were already showing. Fame, adulation and riches were heaped on Grant and his crew, but there was a price to pay in shattered nerves, damaged health and broken relationships. There was also that strange effect described by the Greeks as hubris, “an excess of ambition and pride, ultimately causing the transgressor’s ruin”, which undermines the best efforts of those who climb too high, too fast.
For the moment however, there was nothing that Peter Grant couldn’t handle, with an oath and a smile.

  His growling presence only added to the thrill of being around Led Zeppelin. People still found him charming, dangerous and fascinating. The growing problem, barely understood by himself or his entourage, was that his pioneering methods and Wild West approach might not be entirely appropriate now that Zeppelin was a mega-successful international business enterprise. The phrase ‘corporate rock’ was being heard. The music business was now reckoned to be bigger and more important than Hollywood movies. It was time for the smooth touch and the gracious gesture, a time perhaps to adopt a more conciliatory approach and laid-back attitude. Instead, as personal problems mounted, unseen and unknown to most of the outside world, Grant became if anything more combative, volatile and suspicious. His temper, always fragile, became worse.

  On his good days he appeared happy, relaxed and witty. He plunged into life on the road with as much fervour as the rest of the band. Yet his high spirits concealed a deeper malaise. When Zeppelin was off duty during 1974, he could contemplate the successful launch of Swan Song and the development of new talents within the fold, like Bad Company and Maggie Bell. He was secure in the knowledge that the vexed question of the ‘home movie’ was at last being sorted out. He also knew he had only to snap his fingers and the world would come running for another Zeppelin tour. He could sit back and name his price. As 1975 dawned he had good reason to be content. What could possibly go wrong?

  At the beginning of the year the band were confronted by the news that they had to go into tax exile. Said Peter: “The 1975 tour of America was the start of our ‘non-residency’ in the UK, which we were only told about three weeks upfront. Our accountant Joan Hudson told us of the massive problems we would have if we didn’t go. It was an 87 per cent tax rate then on high earners. Disgusting really.”

  As a result of this threat to their income the band had to live abroad for most of the year. It was a problem that faced many other successful British groups, including The Rolling Stones who began the decade in France. Zeppelin didn’t want to leave the country and hated being ‘exiles’. Plant and Bonham were particularly unhappy with the whole idea, and Bonzo waited until his daughter Zoe was born before he agreed to leave the country. It was explained to him that if he didn’t, practically everything he earned would simply go to the Inland Revenue.

  When the group weren’t touring they moved to France and Switzerland for a period. Peter Grant chose to live in America and took a rented house on Long Island. Later the entire group moved to Jersey in the Channel Islands, which was the nearest point they could get to England. They rented a large house and spent most of their time drinking and socialising. These long periods away from home only served to destabilise relationships, put temptations in their way and further disrupt their lives.

  Said Peter: “I had some problems myself that year and my wife was just fed up with it all and walked out on me. It was not a good scene at all. Jimmy’s health was suffering and there were definite drug problems with one or two people, including myself. It was really hard for me, because I had to leave the kids and my divorce was starting.”

  Drug problems and a divorce? This was devastating news. It showed for the first time that the seemingly tough and invincible Peter Grant had a vulnerable side that all the bluster in the world could not conceal. How he would cope remained to be seen. In the meantime he had a show to put on.

  Led Zeppelin returned to the fray, playing their first gigs in 18 months in Holland and Belgium on January 11 and 12, as a warm-up for their tenth American tour. Then came the first ominous blow to their confidence. Travelling up to London from his Sussex home, Jimmy Page caught the ring finger of his left hand in a train door at Victoria Station. It was a painful accident that caused Peter Grant to drop everything and rush to his aid. All 700,000 tickets for the US tour had been sold in advance and this relatively minor injury threatened economic disaster. But Jimmy carried on. He took a lot of painkillers and put his showcase number ‘Dazed And Confused’ on hold, until the broken finger had mended. There were other matters needing Grant’s care and attention. John Bonham’s fear of flying meant that he now hated touring to the extent that sometimes Peter had to drive him to the airport to get him on a plane to the States. He was much happier staying on his Worcestershire farm with his family and friends. It was undoubtedly this wrench from home that provoked the kind of misbehaviour that earned Bonzo such notoriety.

  But there was work to be done. Led Zeppelin’s public awaited. The logistics were awesome. The band that once had a couple of speaker cabinets and a drum kit was now using a 70,000-watt PA system and a huge lighting rig. They also introduced laser beams to the show for the first time. It required a 44-man crew to truck the equipment around the country. The group re-hired the Starship to fly themselves around the States, basing themselves at the Butler Aviation hangar at Newark Airport.

  Once the troops were assembled the Zep army kicked off in Minneapolis on January 18. Such was the thrill of expectation the city of Boston had already banned the group, following riots at the box office, long before they’d even arrived in town. A typical day at Grant HQ would see his phone ringing constantly with streams of calls about everything from ensuring there was fruit in the dressing rooms to fuel in the plane.

  Peter was able to strike terror into people simply by glowering at them. This was usually the precursor to what he termed verbal violence. (Relay)

  Peter with Ahmet Ertegun, the head of Atlantic Records, in New York, 1974. (Bob Gruen/Starfile)

  Peter Grant in his milieu, watching over his charges on stage like a sentinel. (LFI)

  Peter with Robert Plant at the Chislehurst Caves party to mark the launch of Swan Song Records in the UK, November 1974. (LFI)

  Peter with John Paul, Robert and Jimmy, accepting an Ivor Novello Award in London, May 1, 1977. (MSI)

  Richard Cole onstage in Oakland, 1977. (Richard Cole Collection)

  John Bindon, the notorious London underworld figure whose arrival in Led Zeppelin’s security team in 1977 would have disastrous consequences. (MSI)

  Peter with Robert Plant and John Paul Jones, backstage at Knebworth, August 1979. (Jill Furmanovsky/Retna)

  Peter kitted out in a tuxedo, the kind of garment he’d never have been seen in during the Seventies, at a Nordoff Robbins charity function in 1995. (Rex)

  A slimmed down Peter at the 100 Club in London’s Oxford Street, in September, 1995, two months before his death. (LFI)

  Defiant to the last, Peter Grant delivers a verdict that suggests his attitude hadn’t mellowed with age. (AKI/Renta)

  Peter Grant’s coffin is carried from St. Peter and St. Paul’s Church in Hellingly, East Sussex, on December 4, 1995. (Becket Newspapers, East Sussex)

  “Peter Grant changed the rules,” said Robert Plant after Peter’s death. “He re-wrote the rulebook. He was larger than life. A giant who turned the game upside down. Fierce, uncompromising with great humour.” (Corbis/SIN)

  John Paul Jones, placated after his threat to resign, had decided to stay the course. He understood the nature of the beast and was prepared to put up with the stress, as long as he didn’t get too involved in the wilder stuff. If he seemed mild mannered and quiet to outsiders, his role on stage remained a crucial element in the band’s all powerful music. Whatever happened, he remained well disposed towards his manager.

  Recalls Jones: “At its core, Zeppelin was quite a small operation and it was at its most fun when it was just a few people – us, Richard and Peter. Gee came to every gig. Yes he was tough with people. Basically, he hated artists being taken advantage of or screwed.

  “Right from the early days he’d had guns pulled on him and people were always trying to arrest him while he was just trying to do his job. It was more civilised in England, but in the States in those days it was still pretty lawless. The promoters would just say, ‘I’m not going to pay you.’ He kept the worst of what went on
away from us, so it wouldn’t interfere with our playing. But I remember playing somewhere in Tennessee while Peter was arguing at the side of the stage with the local chief of police, who didn’t have confidence in Robert to keep the crowd under control. Some bands would just send everybody wild and not be responsible. But Robert was always pretty responsible and he would never stir up a riot. If he saw trouble brewing, he’d as often as not, just stop and say, ‘Look, we’re not gonna play anymore.’