It has been said that you should never record yourself in the throes of passion. When I was a child, I often was left in the back of my parent’s Chevy Nova to fend for myself, eating melted crayons from a cigar box. It was one hot, August evening, as my mom went in to the store for some Benson & Hedges, that I developed my love for Led Zeppelin.
As that fire-yellow El Camino rolled up beside me and pulled in to the parking spot, I heard the glorious bellow of Mr. Plant. The opening wail of “The Immigrant Song” poured from the T-tops of that cuck (or trar) and bouyed my spirits in such a way that I knew I could hold on to my consciousness long enough for my mom to return and take me home to the comfort of my piss-stained mattress and my comic books.
As an grown-up, though now I have never been able to gain all that my parents gave me, I find myself sitting alone, very alone, eating Chef Boyardee from the can and fantasizing about the good olde days, when life was simpler and hotter and crayon-ier… this is my tribute.
This looks like a deranged rhinocerous in a Fred Flintstone costume rowing an imaginary boat with a table leg.
His lip sync-ing is pure genius.
You know what I learned from this?
There is a scientific balance to head banging / keeping your Viking hat on. Oh, the sweet, sweet balance.
I love that this douche’s boat has a conveniently placed bookshelf and a living room from which to row his boat…
Out of all the Zeppelin covers this is by far the greatest ever.
Awww the video is invalid! I really wanted to see it, too…but not badly enough to overcome my laziness and search you tube on my own. Oh well, another of life’s many disappointments…sigh.