Peter Grant: The Man Who Led Zeppelin

by Chris Welch

  Striking out on his own, Robert Plant found a new musical partner in guitarist Robbie Blunt. They recorded Pictures At Eleven together followed by The Principal Of Moments in 1983. That same year he began a UK solo tour with a band featuring Blunt and drummer Cozy Powell. It was a good-natured expedition and Jimmy Page turned up to jam on one of the dates.

  After approaching such respected figures as Genesis manager Tony Smith and Dire Straits’ Ed Bicknell, Plant finally reached agreement with Bill Curbishly, who’d been managing The Who since Kit Lambert and Chris Stamp bowed out in the mid-Seventies. It was clear Robert was trying to erase the past, or at least those painful memories of 1977, but Peter Grant continued to take an interest in his former protégé.

  “I remember when we got the slick of his Pictures At Eleven sleeve, there was a problem with the lettering. I phoned Robert and told him and we put it right, but he made me laugh because he said, ‘I didn’t know you got so involved in all the cover designs and stuff,’ which says something about all the battles we had with sleeves in the Zep days. It was Jimmy and me who did the sweating then. It was surprising for some people that none of them wanted to work together again. I think there was an agreement that if they did get back together, any solo deal would be declared null and void, but they never really had the need.

  “Actually Robert and I did have a bit of a falling out and I said the best thing would be for him to manage himself. I heard him call me a ‘heavy manager’ on the radio once. He was always a wag, Robert. Tony Smith got involved with him for a while. But people have got to realise Robert always wanted to be the boss of the band anyway. He finally got his own way. Bill Curbishly did an excellent job in managing Robert. And Phil Carson. Yes, dear Phil. He was probably getting his own back for when they had him on stage in Japan playing bass on ‘C’mon Everybody’ and they played so fast he came off with his fingers bleeding. Phil was the man from Atlantic and sometimes took too much of the limelight. Phil went blabbing a bit too much. And I must say that Robert can still be a little bitter. He made a comment, when he was on the bed with Paula Yates on the Big Breakfast Show about Jimmy getting a better deal than him, which was a bit naughty. He can get like that though, but that’s Robert, larger than life as I found out so many times.”

  The solo projects by the former Led Zeppelin failed to achieve anything like the success enjoyed by the mother band. Says Mickie Most: “The ingredient that was missing was John Paul Jones. He was very sound musically and had his feet on the ground. If you listen to the bass and drum parts on the Zeppelin albums they really held it all together. Jimmy Page is a great player with tremendous imagination, but everybody wants to play along with him and it all becomes kind of rickety tickety. That’s why he needed John Paul Jones and John Bonham to lay down a seriously heavy rhythm, cemented to the floor rhythm. They gave Jimmy the freedom to fly.”

  While Led Zeppelin drifted apart Peter Grant stayed locked up at Horselunges. He retained the custody of his children after his divorce, and this provided some stability, but his depression got worse; nobody could get him on the phone, which partly explained Plant’s urgent need to find new management. Among those he’d approached was Ed Bicknell, the manager of Dire Straits, with whom he held an exploratory meeting. Bicknell: “I said, ‘Does Peter Grant know you’re coming to see me?’ And he said, ‘Well, I’ve written to him.’ He had written a year earlier and Robert still hadn’t had an answer. I told him I didn’t get into dialogue with artists who were represented by other people, especially not him. I didn’t want to be hung out of the window.”*

  It was sometime later that Ed Bicknell got to know Peter Grant. “I was living in Eastbourne and I knew that he lived at Horselunges. It was funny because all the local minicab drivers would say, ‘Peter Grant was in Asda the other day.’ He had this Range Rover with the number plate LZ 1 and everyone knew where he was. So later, when I met him, I’d say, ‘Did you have a good trip to the supermarket the other day,’ and he’d say, ‘Ere, are you following me?’ The cabbies would tell me everywhere he’d been. In fact the minicab drivers wouldn’t go to his house because they thought there were crocodiles in the moat. There was all this rubbish, which came from his days with Jimmy Page, about how they did black magic at the house. Peter always used to say to me, ‘It was really useful sometimes, especially when we went into a record company office. Sometimes I’d take Jimmy into Atlantic in New York and everybody would hide in their offices because they thought he was going to put a spell on them. He was very good at intimidating them.’”

  While Robert was carving out a new career, Jimmy Page was also casting about for musicians he could work with and get back into playing. He teamed up with Roy Harper in 1984 and played some dates virtually incognito, including one at the Cambridge Folk Festival in July. It was a stepping-stone to forming his own new band The Firm, but instead of Roy Harper on lead vocals, he liaised with Paul Rodgers. It was an uneasy match, although they were blessed with a fine rhythm section, including bass guitarist Tony Franklin and veteran drummer Chris Slade. Jimmy also employed Phil Carson as his manager for the project. In November 1984 The Firm went out on the road in Europe and attempted to recreate some of the magic of Zeppelin and Free; Jimmy even revived his old showcase number ‘Dazed And Confused’. In April 1985 The Firm played at Madison Square Garden in New York and a month later they were at Wembley Arena, where they were warmly received. But without Robert, Bonzo and Jonesy, the song clearly was not the same. It wasn’t even the same when the first Led Zeppelin reunion was held at the American Live Aid show on July 13, 1985. Page, Plant and Jones were reunited at the vast JFK Stadium, Philadelphia, with Phil Collins and Tony Thompson depping for Bonzo on two drum kits.

  The crowd roared as the ‘Zep’ quintet arrived on stage and blinked in the spotlights. Although the performance was a mess – the drummers couldn’t work together – there was still a suggestion of the old magic, even if it was largely the result of the occasion rather than the music they performed. Those on stage hated it, however. Said Robert Plant: “It was bloody awful. I was hoarse and Pagey was out of tune. Phil Collins wasn’t even at the rehearsal, which was painfully evident.” After ‘Live Aid’ secret rehearsals were held, supposedly in a village hall in Bath, Somerset, in January 1986 with Tony Thompson on drums. It was rumoured that Robert Plant walked out of the sessions after just a few days.

  Meanwhile The Firm broke up two years after a final album called The Firm Mean Business which came out in 1986. Another attempt at a Led Zeppelin reunion occurred at the Atlantic Records 40th anniversary party at Madison Square Garden, New York, in May 1988. They played ‘Whole Lotta Love’ and ‘Stairway To Heaven’ and were greatly assisted by having Jason Bonham on drums. Jason had been taught by his father and knew every note of all the Zeppelin classics. Even so, for many former Zeppelin fans these two ramshackle reunion gigs, screened around the world and captured on video, were a source of embarrassment.

  Says John Paul Jones: “I did the Atlantic Records anniversary reunion, although Robert insisted he had his own bass player. Although they were touting it as a Zeppelin reunion it was only going to be Page and Plant at the time. But I thought if it was going to be a Zeppelin reunion, I ought to be there. But it could never be Zeppelin because Bonzo wasn’t there. I don’t know what Peter thought of it because I never saw him much in the Eighties as I had moved down to Devon.”

  In fact their former manager was not best pleased. He watched these performances on TV at home groaning inwardly. If he’d had his old desk at 155 Oxford Street, he would probably have kicked it to pieces. Certainly, if he had been in charge, he would have been kicking ass and making sure the musicians were up to scratch. He would certainly have bawled them out for forgetting the arrangements. Or at least he would have bawled out whoever advised them to make these inappropriate appearances. After all, he had prevented them from playing Woodstock in 1969 on the grounds that it wouldn’t have done them any favours. As it turned out the much-vaunted
Woodstock was a shambolic mess of a festival, though it did help make a few reputations. If Grant had been in charge of the Live Aid appearance it is doubtful he would have allowed them to play unrehearsed with two unsuitable drummers. But as Live Aid in America was run by his old foe Bill Graham, it was probably just as well he didn’t show up.

  “It was fairly dreadful really, because they were obviously unrehearsed,” he said afterwards. “But it was nowhere near as bad as the Atlantic Records 40th Birthday show!”

  Richard Cole was also among those watching these turbulent events from afar. “When they did those reunion gigs in the Eighties, I thought the same as everyone else who ever worked for Led Zeppelin, that it was atrocious. We remembered a great band, as did anyone who was a part of the real Led Zeppelin. It was like, ‘What the fuck are you doing?’ Those four musicians were like the four pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. Two pieces don’t work. You’ve only got half the picture. Even three pieces don’t give you the whole picture!”

  To make matters worse, Peter Grant was dismayed at not being asked to attend the Madison Square show. “Actually, I was really upset that I didn’t get an official invitation for that show,” he said. “I may not have gone but that wasn’t the point. Phil Carson thought I wasn’t healthy enough. I am sure Ahmet expected me to be there, not realising what happened. I did feel a bit left out to say the least. Then there was this thing about Robert not wanting to sing ‘Stairway’ again. At least Jason got his wish to play with them all. In the mid-Eighties both Jimmy and Robert played Zep songs. Let’s face it, people wanted to hear them. I remember being there when Jimmy did a solo version of ‘Stairway To Heaven’ at the ARMS show at the Royal Albert Hall. Amazing. Freaked out [drummer] Simon Phillips a bit though!”

  The September 1983 ARMS charity event was in aid of former Faces bass player Ronnie Lane, who was suffering from multiple sclerosis. It marked Page’s first major public appearance since Knebworth and saw him playing with old mates Eric Clapton and Jeff Beck. Jimmy played ‘Stairway’ as an instrumental, backed by session drummer Phillips. The ARMS show became a tour of America and it was clear that there was still a huge yearning among fans to see Page again.

  Said Jimmy: “The ARMS shows did me the world of good. It gave me so much confidence. I realised people did want to see me play again. After Led Zeppelin I felt really insecure. I was terrified. On the ARMS tour I realised the fans wanted me back. Led Zeppelin was magic for me. It was a privilege to play in that band.”

  Even if the world thought Grant was a spent force and not worth inviting to a Zeppelin reunion, he kept a keen eye on developments. He was never a man to be underestimated, even at his lowest ebb and he never missed a trick. But as his health got worse he knew that eventually he would have to do something about his drug and weight problems or go under. In the event he would eventually make the transition – unaided – after a typically superhuman effort. The old Peter Grant re-emerged to take charge. This time, he took control of himself and not some feckless musician.

  The pop world had marched on since Led Zeppelin had fallen out of favour. They were reviled and dismissed at the end of their reign in what was perceived as a cleansing of the Augean stables – a Herculean task indeed. But a new generation of musicians spoke highly of them and were so clearly influenced by their work that a timely reappraisal resulted in the band and its music being recognised again by the critics. There was a spate of ‘Zeppelin clones’; bands that took imitation to almost insulting lengths, like late Eighties rock act Kingdom Come.*

  The original John Bonham rhythm tracks were sampled and recycled and their riffs were plundered. Audiences were desperate for Zeppelin at any price and in whatever guise. While Plant held out against a permanent reunion, it was obvious just how great a contribution Zeppelin had made to rock music. It was also becoming clear how important their manager had been in helping to create the band and in restructuring the modern industry. Just as musicians were in awe of Zeppelin, so fellow managers and record company men began to look up to Peter Grant as their mentor and a true pioneering spirit.

  The sins of the past were gradually forgiven, and as the Eighties gave way to the Nineties it became a time for reverence and paying tribute. Grant, normally so suspicious and hostile towards anyone that came bearing gifts and flattery, was charmed and delighted. For the first time in his life he began to feel humble. Without actually changing his values or his beliefs, he simply let go of the angst and the aggression and became a much happier man for it. With grandchildren to dote on and the challenge of improving his health apparently succeeding, he no longer had to fight the battles of his youth. Even so, there remained a twinkle in his eye and even the mere mention of his name was enough to cause panic and induce a chill of fear. “Hello, this is Peter Grant here,” was a phone call that still made people sit up and take notice. As he began to make a slow return to public life after years of isolation, he was helped in part by the renewed friendship of an old acquaintance.

  In the years since Ed Bicknell had first come to him as a young student booker in the late Sixties, the former drummer had become the manager of one of the most successful bands of the Eighties. Dire Strait’s album sales matched those of Zeppelin, except that Brothers In Arms was on Compact Disc, while Zeppelin’s output was from the age of 12-inch vinyl and was still waiting to be transferred to the ‘new’ format. Bicknell inhabited the new world of computers, hi-tech accountancy, business plans, lawyers and VAT receipts. Grant was the man with his foot in the door and a bag stuffed with cash. Yet both had a great sense of humour and got on like a box office on fire. Grant was fascinated by the way the music business had changed in his absence and the methods the ‘new boys’ employed. Bicknell, who had a university degree and had become an expert on law, was in awe of a man who had started in the music business with nothing but his wits and strength of personality.

  Bicknell sensed the latent fear and the hostility that remained in some quarters of the music industry towards the man who had so dominated the previous decade. He was still perceived as a violent bully by many who had never even met him. “There were a lot of myths about Peter Grant,” says Bicknell. “Yet the person I knew never bore any resemblance to the person I had read about. People would say to me, ‘How can you become a friend of Peter Grant?’ But I just thought he was a fantastic bloke. I would say that by the time I met him, because of all his past problems, he had undergone a great change in personality. You have to put Peter in the context of the times when he was operating.

  “In his day artists were ripped off all the time and he was simply determined to do his best for them, using the methods he understood. Nowadays the music business is very ‘legit’ but it is also very boring!”

  Simon Napier-Bell, who last worked with Grant in the Sixties, was not entirely surprised to see his fall from grace and understood only too well what had happened to the starry-eyed wannabes who had become world-weary rock music veterans. “Peter was always getting into trouble, particularly in the States. I guess it was due to a combination of the position he was in, the power he had, the money and the drugs. It all goes to your head, whoever you are. But I never saw him in that light, because I never bumped into him in that situation. I always found him very funny. I did a TV chat show with him on British Satellite Broadcasting when it was first launched, with Ed Bicknell. Ed is one big ball of humour and he and Peter were the greatest friends in the world. We did a great show with me, Ed and Peter. Suggs of Madness fame was the interviewer. Peter made us laugh the whole time. Towards the end of his life, when he had lost weight and given up drugs, he had become very benign and had either completely forgotten all the nasty things he’d done, or he hadn’t really done them at all!”

  When Bicknell met the man who led Zeppelin, Grant was coming out of his bout of hibernation and didn’t quite know what to expect. Bicknell was fascinated by the eccentric lifestyle Peter was leading down at Horselunges. “He had two roadies there, two brothers who went shopping at M
arks & Spencer and brought back mountains of sandwiches and trifles for him.” Spotted by a baffled supermarket manager loading up all this comfort food, they claimed they were buying it for a children’s home, so they wouldn’t have to reveal it was actually intended for an 18-stone hermit.

  Bicknell: “When he lived alone in the house … to put it bluntly he completely went to pieces. When John Bonham died, not only was it like the loss of a friend, it meant that part of his life had come to an end.”

  A mutual friend visited Peter and reported back to Ed that Grant’s house was falling down around him. Zeppelin researcher Howard Mylett also went to Horselunges in 1989 and found that Peter had virtually abandoned the house. “He was living in a flat above the garage because the house was in a state of disrepair. The stairs were rotten and there was an air of neglect. He weighed 18 stone, he was suffering from diabetes and he was living on water tablets.”

  Bicknell understood the reason for the neglect, as the house, which had once rung with laughter and been the scene of wild parties, fell into ruin. “He had got into what he called the ‘Peruvian marching powder’. He had developed a very debilitating and serious drug habit with cocaine. He was not motivated and didn’t go out. He had everything brought to him, hence the sandwiches and trifle. Why did he take cocaine? Because he was totally depressed. He felt responsible for John Bonham’s death in the sense that he felt he should have been there and could have saved him. Swan Song had gone belly up because he couldn’t cope with it and his empire had gone. He once had all these bands, a publishing company and a record label and all of a sudden he ended up trying to run an empire, which wasn’t what he really wanted to do.