Unhealthily Obsessed With Led Zeppelin

The rectangular white banner unfurled over the side of the top tier at the Boston Garden reads: “I was here in ’73, Robert’n’Jimmy!” And you look it, madam. Led Zeppelin’s original American fans have not aged well. Beer bellies go with the territory. But these are blimps with chest hair — wobbling, three-burger hippos at play, the sort of daredevils who like to shout, “Jimm-ayyyy!”, at the stage and turn round to check that the remark has carried to the 26 rows above. Meanwhile, Jimmy Page pouts his lips and plays his guitar, oblivious.

But then this, as one is continually reminded, is not Led Zeppelin. It’s Page & Plant: a new way of behaving, a caravan with an ampersand, a partnership with fresh purpose. Fittingly, therefore, there is a separate element among tonight’s feverish audience, an attractive splinter group. A shrill demographic of hip enthusiasts. They are called “young people”, and when Page & Plant’s band kicks into The Wanton Song — the first number of the set — it’s these youngsters, who were probably about one when Physical Graffiti came out, who lead the mushrooming cheer that lasts for four whole songs and threatens to drown out the music.

What have they come to see? A bold new Moroccan dawn for Jimmy Page (51) and Robert Plant (46)? Or a victorious night in the aspect of those legendary hieroglyphic hell-hounds Pagey (29) and Percy (24)? Take a guess. No pedantic nomenclature fools these kids. They’re thinking: it looks like a duck, it walks like a duck and it quacks like a duck. Oh, man… it’s a duck! Because of course, Led Zeppelin is young men’s music — and forever will be — so Led Zep’s singer and Led Zep’s guitarist are, by association, virtuous and vital again. “That’s right,” says Robert Plant, and frowns. “Young people’s music.”

And so the chain of matey backslaps and suppertime chats that reunited Page and Plant for MTV Unledded and the ensuing No Quarter album rotates a full circle and leads back to Boston. It was here, on November 20, 1993, that Page (thoughts of hatchet-burying uppermost in his impenetrable mind) turned up to see Plant’s band play the Orpheum Theatre. Fate Of Nations, the album Plant was promoting was particularly good and diverse. But the Orpheum only holds a few thousand people. Introduce Jimmy Page to the equation and your multiples accelerate — to 20,000 seaters, to stadia, to Wembley, to Valhalla…

When Page and Plant met that night in Boston, Plant was brandishing a CD of The Voice Of The Atlas by the Moroccan singer Najat Aatabou. “I said, ‘Listen to this!’” Plant recalls. “If we find a guy who can do string sections like this, then we have got something to do.” Plant’s invitation from MTYV to record an Unplugged was the perfect excuse. Unwilling to merely rehash Zep’s old classics, Page and Plant jetted firstly to Marrakesh to record Moroccan-influenced material in the vibrantly populated marketplace, and then up a mountainside in Wales, not far from the official “Zep cottage”, Bron-Yr-Aur, to shoot location footage for the MTV broadcast.

Back in London, now rehearsing in earnest for the MTV recording at London Weekend Television, Page and Plant wrote and recorded between eight and 10 completely new rock songs with Plant’s rhythm section of Charlie Jones (bass) and Michael Lee (drums) in a tiny studio in King’s Cross. Moving to the King’s Head pub in Fulham, they brought in a second guitarist, The Cure’s Porl Thompson and, in lieu of the musicians from Marrakesh (who had declined to tour), hired an eight-piece Egyptian ensemble comprised of London and Cairo-based percussion and string players.

The MTV project concluded, only then did Page and Plant break it to all these musicians (many of whom are married with children) that they would be going around the world, en bloc, for a year-long tour — in the style, as Plant smirkingly puts it, of “a North African steamroller”.

Amid all this new Zep entente it’s interesting to think back to that night in Boston in 1993, and especially to the forgotten matter of Jimmy Page’s travel plans. He was actually en route to Los Angeles to rehearse for a Japanese tour with his recent recording partner, Whitesnake vocalist David Coverdale.

The Boston Garden, an indoor sports stadium, holds 20,000 and Page & Plant are playing two nights here. The relaxed mélée backstage includes Bostonian well-wishers, Page and Plant’s grown-up children, lots of not unattractive women, people who’d like to be in Aerosmith, people who are in Aerosmith, a passing Egyptian or two with a wooden drum (bendir) in hand, and babies. There are babies. Thanks to his daughter and her husband (Charlie Jones), Robert Plant is now a grandfather. Page’s girlfriend, too, has brought her baby on tour. There is a sign on a dressing-room door that reads: “Please do not bang this door. Baby asleep. Thanx.” As Plant chats to me about Scott Walker and Stax Records, a well-dressed couple in their late 30s approach him nervously.

“Our son’s 12,” says the wife fondly, offering a piece of paper for Plant to sign. “He listens to Stairway To Heaven.”

“Shoot him,” Plant replies, signing his name, “because it can become an illness.” This makes them even more nervous.

Twenty-four hours later, in a dressing room unoccupied by babies, Plant and Page will mull over the question of Stairway To Heaven, their eight-minute epic of songbirds and brooks. It’s not a song they intend to play on this tour.

“It was a great piece for a period of time,” reckons Plant, who does 90 per cent of the talking, “but it’s so sanctimonious and redundant…” (Page frowns and fidgets) “as a live performance now,” Plant adds quickly. “It doesn’t make any sense. That whole kind of pious, aesthetic overview has got nothing to do with what this is all about. It would be like Pink Floyd doing Money every night, which I’m sure they don’t do.”

As Plant doubtless knows full well, Pink Floyd do indeed play Money every night. “Do they?” he says, looking surprised. “Oh.”

There are 15 musicians in the Page & Plant band and they range in ages from their 50s to their mid-20s. They don’t all speak the same language. Only Page and Plant themselves were on the original version of Kashmir, but all 15 of their band members — plus a Boston string section — play Kashmir at the Garden, stretching it past its original length and into the realms of a vast, trepanning, Anglo-orchestral, Egyptian mother-conceit that comes on like three separate gigs being held simultaneously at a Festival Of Musical Consciousness. It’s unfollowable, and so they don’t attempt to follow it. One of the Egyptians, Ali Abdel Salam, cries every night when they play it.

“There’s so many of us on the road,” says Plant. “It’s a bit like Coronation Street. Well, maybe more like Knots Landing. It’s amazing having all the different mentalities and cultural differences.”

The Egyptians are mostly Muslims (one of two of the non-Muslims have been frequenting the hotel bar after gigs for a wind-down ale with the rock musicians, who refer to them good-naturedly as The Cairo-practors). They have their own tour manager, Mal, who liaises with one of the five Egyptians who speak English. One of these is Ali Abdel Salam, a Cairo-born musician who lives in Acton, West London. Ali is having a great time on tour.

“To be totally honest,” he says over dinner backstage. “I never in my life heard Led Zeppelin before. I hate heavy rock. But when I heard the soft rock — which is what Robert and Jimmy play — I like it. It’s very emotional.”

Ali and the Egyptians are on a mission, he cheerfully admits, to make Egyptian music (which he’s quick to insist knocks Moroccan music into a cocked hat) a commercial crossover success. Neither naive nor unambitious, Ali has a solo album planned on the back of this tour. As do several of the other Egyptians, it turns out. After I speak to Ali, arguments break out in the ensemble about who exactly is their official spokesman and who should stand at the front in the photographs. Lads, lads… “I’m quite famous in London and in Egypt,” Ali assures us, “but Led Zeppelin is a big project for me. And I'm looking now to build a career worldwide.”

Ali can be forgiven for referring to Page & Plant as Led Zeppelin (not to mention describing them as “soft rock”). In fact, none of these extra musicians had ever been to a real-life Led Zeppelin gig. Hurdy-gurdy player Nigel Eaton claims never to have even heard a note of Zeppelin’s music.

“He’s full of shit, that guy,” scoffs Plant when he learns of this. “These old folkies. He never tells the truth unless he’s got a pint pot twisted round under his armpit.”

So what’s it like, this Page & Plant show? Does it rock? Does it roll? Does it go, ‘Push, push’? Where do all the Egyptians come into it?

A brief itinerary, then. At the appointed hour — after a bit of witchy, medieval narration on tape from the Incredible String Band’s Robin Williamson — Page, Plant, Charlie Jones, Michael Lee, Porl Thompson and Ed Shearmur (keyboards) take the stage and play four Led Zeppelin songs very forcefully and emphatically. America being a devoutly religious Led Zeppelin II sort of place, three of these songs are Ramble On, Bring It On Home and Thank You. The other is The Wanton Song from Physical Graffiti. The thrilling Lee propels from the back, Page and Thompson slam out the riffs and Plant takes a wide-legged stance at the microphone, wearing a cross-cultural two-piece of black leather trousers and a T-shirt showing the grinning face of Egyptian singer Abdel Halim Hafez (“Did you notice my Mexican pointy shoes?” he asks later.) Page sports a wine-red shirt and does several of the famous moves. Thompson, shaven-haired and in a white frock, resembles a slightly freaked-out Hare Krishna.

“Eighty per cent of what we do, generally, throughout the tour is old stuff,” reckons Plant, drawing the more prickly Page to instantly remark, “But a large percentage of that is what we wrote together anyway.” Other Zep numbers played completely straight (ie, not given an Egyptian makeover) are The Song Remains The Same (which is quite brilliant with two guitarists) and Black Dog, which is fairly ropey and gets dropped for the second gig.

“It’s all right for these guys,” Plant explains, gesturing to Page, “because they're playing a really neat riff with a skipped beats and stuff. But Black Dog, for me, is difficult… to sing those words.”

Difficult to associate yourself with the lyrics 25 years on? “Well, yeah, it is a bit. I live vicariously through the audience on that one.”

After a while, the set moves out of classic Zeppelin territory and into the unfamiliar and unrecognisable. No Quarter is played as a duet. An eerie Friends features the Cairo-practors. In The Evening has a long, wailing Egyptian introduction (during which there’s a perceptible audience rustle: What is this?) before it springs open with the familiar crashing guitar riff. Calling To You, which opened Plant’s Fate Of Nations, is a fantastic, Kashmir-like odyssey incorporating snatches of Dazed And Confused and The Doors’ Break On Through (To The Other Side) — and even two verses of Hello Mary Lou on the second night. On the giant video screen above their heads, Page & Plant’s holiday snaps flicker to the hypnotic groove: Marrakesh markets, wolfish grins, cobra-charming, carpet purchases.

But for real weirdness, you have to look to Nigel Eaton’s hurdy-gurdy. A 10th-century European folk instrument with zero prevalence in the pop world (other than a 1968 namecheck on a Donovan song), the hurdy-gurdy has a handle which Eaton turns with his right hand, thereby bowing across the strings to effect a fantastic ethnic drone not unlike a psychedelic viola. As he plays his unearthly sounding axe, Eaton headbangs and gyrates like a true Zeppelin alumnus, a man on a mission to acquaint hard rock America with the mysterious push and pull of the sacred hurdy-gurdy. Before Nobody’s Fault But Mine, he plays a five-minute solo of traditional Breton folk music, animated and electrifying. All he needs is a double-necked hurdy-gurdy and he’s there.

Now if someone were to say to you, “Oh, by the way, Page & Plant do Lullaby by The Cure and a track off the Coverdale-Page album that goes, ‘shake my tree’,” you would be perfectly within your statutory rights to reply, “That reminds me — I must make two appointments to see my dentist very soon.” But within the wide, non-prejudicial parameters of Page & Plant’s music, both songs have a home. The Cure song is sweetly sung by Plant in a suitable student moan, while Shake My Tree is the show’s unexpected belter. As well as possessing a pulverising riff, it breaks down into a creepy white-noise section (just like Whole Lotta Love) with Page waving his hands alchemically over a Theremin under flashing lights. Plant, meanwhile, is trying not to think too deeply about Coverdale’s lyrics. “I do actually make them up some nights as I go along,” he says. “And try and be Bob Dylan in some of the choruses.”

Since he brought up the subject of David Coverdale, this might be a good point to breeze through the years 1985-’93. If you recall, those years went thus. Page: albums with singers who weren’t as good as Robert Plant. Plant: derision and disbelief. When Page committed the cynical professional foul of forming a band with Coverdale — the Plant copycat and self-appointed love serpent, and by all accounts a stranger to Gabriel Garcia Marquez and the school of Magical Realism — Plant didn’t bother to hide his contempt.

“I probably dug several graves for myself in my relationship with Jimmy,” Plant admits, “because I really found it difficult to understand his choice of bedfellow. I just could not get it. The idea of sitting down with a guy whose mentality only goes up to here…” Plant’s outstretched palm indicates an intellectual Plimsoll line little higher than a skirting board. “I mean, the guy… hah…” He shakes his head.

While Plant is talking, Page is sitting right next to him. An hour or so before taking the stage for the second show, they’re sharing a dressing-room settee, sipping non-alcoholic drinks and fine-tuning the after-you-no-you-go-first politesse of old enmities now hopefully healed.

“But you’ve worked with lots of guitarists as well,” says Page patiently.

“Yeah, I ran away!” laughs Plant. “I ran away from Jimmy. Goodbye cruel circus, I'm off to join the world!”

Was it just pride that kept the one from calling up the other?

“I don’t know,” says Page after a pause. “I just think there had been far too much space between us. We’d never had a chance to sit down and talk — over a couple of days, even. At this point we’re able to really get to know each other again.”

“The playing is great,” says Plant, “and our camaraderie is really strong. I think we’ve probably [he takes a deep breath] licked all the wounds of time clean now. There’s nothing in the shadows.”

How would you rate these shows compared to Led Zeppelin gigs?

“I think we played last night… well, I think you did, Jimmy — as well as we did way back. Vocally and guitar-wise. It’s great doing things like In The Evening with the Egyptians that could never have happened in Zep. To me, the picture is broader and more colourful.”

Are you spending a lot of time together?

“We definitely spend more time together than we used to,” Plant says, and Page nods, “because now we can both remember what we said to each other a minute before. Which is handy.”

North African steamroller laughs in the face of the mountains. But what does it do to the earth? America was always Led Zeppelin’s terrain. And look at the state they left it in. They treated the place like a hotel. They never tidied up after them. They behaved like Vikings who hadn’t seen women for a while.

And their entourage, spearheaded by the terrifying Peter Grant, beat the shit out of security men for looking at them the wrong way (or so Bill Graham, the late American tour promoter, told writer Robert Greenfield in his mind-boggling, unputdownable memoirs, Bill Graham Presents).

Peter Grant and Zeppelin’s ex-communicated ex-road manager Richard Cole are far away from this tour, unwanted and undiscussed. The only person who dates back to Zep days is Rex King, once John Bonham’s personal roadie, nowadays Page & Plant’s tour manager. Travelling around America in 1995 is very different to the excursions Zep undertook in the 1970s. Limousines have been replaced by comfortable vans; penthouse suites by basic suburban hotels. The Starship has not been sent for. Life has changed. “Mmm,” says Page distantly. For the better? “Yeah,” says Robert Plant, and pauses. “Emphatically.” Pause. “Yeah.” Pause. “Definitely.” He has a good long think about this, then proceeds.

“But, you know, I guess when you're young… I mean, Happy Mondays, you can see how it’s gone for them. The momentum of actually achieving something for yourselves… In Led Zep, it was four people really (clicks fingers), there was so much fire and spontaneity, sometimes you could get drunk on the whole deal. I mean, when we were making Physical Graffiti, the stuff was just roaring out. Trampled Underfoot, I mean, all these times were, like, so good. It’s very hard to live with that, because it creates a tempo, creatively, the whole launching of the deal. Four people actually coming up with stuff like that. Starting at two in the afternoon and at seven or eight at night you’ve got it on tape, and it’s like, Wow…’”.

That deal having been launched, Zeppelin delivered Presence in 1976, their often-dismissed “comedown” album but actually, if you listen to it, possibly the funkiest of them all.

“Why the difference?” asks Plant rhetorically. “It was just a hell of a horrible time for me. I was in a complete state of wretchedness. I was in a wheelchair for seven months [after a car crash in Rhodes in 1975]. I was feeling really ill. I didn’t know if I was ever going to be able to walk again. And all that time, being carted around, lying on the floor of planes to get from one continent to the next because I couldn’t sit down, the break was so bad. It was a horrible time.”

Was Led Zeppelin a band that nobody could leave?

“Somebody put the milk bottles out,” says Plant cryptically, as Page brushes imaginary hair off his jacket. Or did they think it would last forever?

“Hypothetical question,” shrugs Page.

Plant says nothing. “You mean,” Plant sighs eventually, “was the writing on the wall? I think it was for me. By the time we got to In Through The Out Door [1979], I think I was so furtive then.” Some of Plant’s lyrics are believed to have been personally addressed to the heroin-addicted Page. “And I know you were too, Jimmy. I mean, the crazy thing is, if we’d communicated in 1979 the way we are able to now, I think we would have carried on working with each other. Not as Led Zeppelin, probably. But we’d have had the presence of mind and the maturity to keep going — if we’d been able to communicate. And I think for me… I'd just had a baby; Logan was born [now 16, Logan appears at the Boston shows with his mother Maureen, Plant’s ex-wife] and having lost a child already [his five-year-old son Karac died in 1977] I was feeling really like I just wanted to do fresh things. Because there were a lot of forces around…”

Page stirs. Plant begins the sentence again. “There were personalities around Led Zeppelin that I didn’t take kindly to in the end, and I found it very difficult to be a doting father on the one hand, and having to deal with Richard Cole and people like that on the other. I just wanted to be done with it all.”

Page agrees with this, funnily enough. He has a video of the two Knebworth shows from 1979. “You can see it’s really tired,” he admits. “And that was the kick-off to start a European tour…” Plant interrupts: “The first night was chronic. We were all nervous. The tempos were fluctuating all over the place — as a performance it was horrible. It was the first time we’d been back [since 1975] and we were coming in on the tail-end of a bashing from all angles, care of John Lydon and the gang.” Ironically, Lydon’s band PiL were playing Kashmir in their live set by 1992. Plant wants to reciprocate and perform PiL’s single Rise later on this tour.

It would take an extraordinary manager to reunite Jimmy Page and Robert Plant, and certain elements point to Bill Curbishley being highly unorthodox. Plant’s manager of a decade’s standing, he was instrumental in setting up the Nordoff-Robbins Music Therapy charity gigs at Knebworth, where Plant played in 1990 (joined briefly by Page) and it was Curbishley who persuaded Plant and Page to look to the future together. A mixture of near-spiritual serenity and controlled East End menace, he invites us to his hotel room to get a couple of things clear.

Firstly, no, he is not the father of football manager Alan Curbishley. They are brothers. More pertinently, he is no Peter Grant-style despot. Curbishley sees a bigger picture. Having managed The Who for 23 years, during which time Keith Moon died on him, Curbishley is very big on karma. And his influence on the Page & Plant tour is massive and far-reaching.

“You never get away with anything, karma-wise,” he will tell you. “And after this career finishes, if you’ve distorted yourself as a person as a result of what happened, you’re not living.” His gaze steady, he goes on: “A lot of people in this business have suffered as a result of the way they’ve treated other people. Inflated egos. The way they’ve misused power.”

Which is exactly what Led Zeppelin are believed to have done in their heyday? “Absolutely,” he says. “That’s why we’re not doing it now.” The anti-Grant stance implicit in Curbishley’s demeanour extends to doing the opposite of many of the things Grant did 20 years ago. Grant confiscated bootlegs from record shops; Curbishley makes sure recording facilities are on hand for anyone who wishes to tape concerts on this tour. Grant took little interest in local affairs; Curbishley not only demands reasonable ticket prices ($25-$30) but sets up a non-endorsement sponsorship with Miller Beer to help raise food and money for the poor in whichever city Page & Plant are playing that night.

“So in fact,” Curbishley says, “we’re feeding each city as we go along.” Rather than raze it to the ground, which is what Zeppelin — arguably the least socially conscious band in history — would have done? “Exactly,” says Curbishley. “To handle any kind of power, adulation or money is an art form. You’ve got to have a little bit of humility, and you’ve got to keep your feet on the ground. Otherwise you get punished on the way back.” And will feeding the homeless provide Page & Plant with limitless credit at the karma bank? “No,” he replies, smiling stiffly. “I don’t think so. But it’s a way of making amends. You know what I mean? And I think everybody’s entitled to make amends in this life.”

In the days of Zeppelin live, Page was a little restricted when it came to playing The Song Remains The Same on guitar. The album version was full of overdubs, textures, layers and obtuse arpeggios. While he might have had a double-neck Gibson, the guitarist only had one pair of hands. At the Boston Garden on April 9, halfway through the evening, Page plays a 12-string and Robert Plant cries, “Sing out Hare Hare and dance the hoochie koo”, while Michael Lee splatters snare-and-kick-drum murder. As Porl Thompson peels off two rapid-fire guitar solos, Jimmy Page finally hears The Song Remains The Same in concert on the epic scale that he imagined it.

As Page breezes into the cavernous London photo studio where we will conduct our business over the next couple of hours, there is a bounce in his step and an easy-going loose-limbed quality to his gait. Most striking, though, is his hair, which he has let go from black to its natural white. The effect is striking, as if the former badass Dionysian has transformed into a good-vibey Gandalf.

“Check this out,” Page says as he enthusiastically cracks open one of the guitar cases he’s brought to our meeting. Inside is a brilliantly beat-to-shit cream-colored Fender Stratocaster. “This is the guitar I used to play all the parts on ‘Ten Years Gone.’ I gave it to John Paul Jones ages ago, and he gave it back to me during our rehearsal for the reunion show,” he says with a smile.

Yes, Page is upbeat. And he has every reason to be. His beloved Led Zeppelin, the band he formed in September 1968 with singer Robert Plant, bassist John Paul Jones and drummer John Bonham, is regrouping to take one final victory lap, and response to the reunion has been nothing less than seismic. At last estimate, more than 200 million ticket applications had been received for the band’s only scheduled show, at the O2 Arena in London on November 26. Page, Plant and Jones will take the stage with Jason Bonham, son of the late Zeppelin drummer John Bonham, to headline a concert in honor of Atlantic Records founder Ahmet Ertegun, who died December 14, 2006. The show will be the first time Led Zeppelin founding members have performed together since May 1988, when they played at Atlantic Records’ 40th anniversary concert, also with Jason Bonham on drums.

To add to the excitement, on November 20 the band is reissuing its 1976 concert film, The Song Remains the Same, in a two-DVD set. (A two-CD companion set will be released simultaneously.) Featuring performances from the band’s epic three-night stint at Madison Square Garden in July 1973, the film has been remixed and remastered in 5.1 Dolby Digital surround sound, and more than 40 minutes of previously unreleased material - including performance footage of “Over the Hills and Far Away” and “Celebration Day” - have been added.

Although Page cautions not to read too much into it, the two events share a subtle link: the reunion show and the revamped concert film offer him an opportunity to address some long-standing unfinished business. First, there is the matter of Led Zeppelin living up to their legacy. During their 11-year reign, Zeppelin went from strength to strength, producing one of rock’s most durable and celebrated bodies of work. Outside of the Beatles, it’s hard to think of any other band with such a consistent track record. Yet, if you wanted to look for chinks in the armor, you would undoubtedly find them in the band’s previous two reunions: a 1985 appearance at Live Aid featuring drummers Tony Thompson and Phil Collins, and the 1988 set at the Atlantic Records’ 40th Anniversary concert. Even Page admits the shows were disappointing.

This time, he insists, will be different.

“The show in November represents an opportunity to really present Led Zeppelin properly, and we’re taking it very seriously,” Page says. “The performances at Live Aid and at the Atlantic event were not good for various reasons. It won’t be the case this time.”

Second, there is the matter of The Song Remains the Same, which has been in great need of an overhaul. As Page notes, when the movie and soundtrack entered into the digital realm back in the Nineties, they “never received the care they’ve deserved.” The new DVD and CD reissues will, at long last, present Zeppelin’s celebrated 1973 concert performances as they deserve to be seen and heard.

Obviously, we had plenty to discuss with Page, and given his frame of mind, he was in a mood to talk. In this latest, and perhaps most surprising, installment of the Led Zeppelin saga, the guitarist weighs in on the future of led Zeppelin and offers some revealing insights on their celebrated past. What’s more, Page serves up what is perhaps his most candid discussion ever of Zeppelin’s legendary 1973 tour, the notorious “fantasy sequences” the individual band members filmed for The Song Remains the Same and the role that magick played in his life at that time. The song may remain the same, but as Page explains, no one ever said it couldn’t change its tune.

GW: Before we talk about the reunion, I would like to go back to 1973, Led Zeppelin’s “Golden Age,” and talk about The Song Remains the Same. What was the genesis of that project?

JP: At the time we were interested in presenting the band on film. We had already shot the Royal Albert Hall shows in 1970, but by 1973 we had moved on so far in such a short time that we felt the Albert Hall footage was passe in every respect. We looked and dressed differently, and the whole communicative quality of the music had been improved. We also had another two albums under our belt, so the 1970 shows were quite clearly behind us.

We also felt we could do a more professional job, using multiple cameras and more sophisticated equipment. Prior to the three Madison Square Garden shows in New York, the film crew came to two dates to prepare camera angles and quickly realized that there were huge gaps in the filming. The crew hadn’t covered basic things, like filming the verses to certain songs! We surmised that they were probably stoned; it was quite as simple as that. Everybody was stoned at the time, but at least we did our job. [laughs]

GW: From what I understand, it was at this time that the band came up with the idea for each member to film a fantasy sequence that would cover these massive gaps in the film.

JP: Yes. It was our solution to that problem. The director, Joe Massot, was asked to work with members of the band to develop their own segment.

GW: Which was your favorite?

JP: I really liked John Bonham’s. It really captured his essence as a family man. It was fun and the flip side of his roaring stage persona. In many ways, it reflected the way we all were at home.

GW: How were the fantasy sequences developed? Did you guys discuss them with each other beforehand?

JP: Not really. I knew what I wanted to do, and Robert did, too - storming the castle and all of that.

GW: When you saw the segments put together, did any of them surprise you? Was the band mutually respectful of one another’s sequence?

JP: In those days, I think being mutually respectful still meant there could be some piss taking. [laughs] I’m sure there were nudges behind people’s backs, and fair enough! I mean it was hard to find the dividing line between doing a fantasy sequence in a rock and roll film and trying to be a star of the silver screen.

GW: John’s segment might’ve been fun, but yours was the most striking.

JP: I had very strong ideas about my segment. I wanted to be filmed climbing this mountain face by my house in Loch Ness on the night of a full moon. Massot was astonished, because the night was perfect and the location was just how I wanted it to be. We shot it in December, so there was snow on the ground and these great clouds going past the full moon. We created this scaffold for filming the shot, and everything was perfect and ready to go, but I’d forgot the most obvious thing: that I was going to have to do multiple takes climbing up and down this rather steep mountain. It was actually easy climbing up, but it was difficult getting down. I kept thinking, What have I done! It was bloody cold up there, too, I know that much!

GW: At one point in your segment, you’re dressed as a hermit and you rapidly age into an old man. How was that done?

JP: The transformation was done with a life mask [a mask produced from a cast of the individual’s face], which I still have. Using that as a foundation, they created several different faces that showed me as I might look at various ages of life. I don’t know how many there were, but there were quite a few. Then they joined all those shots of the different faces together.

When the film came out, I took my daughter, who was then six years old, to see it. That probably wasn’t a great idea, because the film was so long and she was so young. But at the point where my transformation scene came about, the theater was quiet, except for this little voice that cried out, “That’s not my daddy!” [laughs]

GW: Could we talk a little about the meaning behind your sequence?

JP: To me, the significance is very clear, isn’t it?

GW: Well, I find it interesting that you were choosing to represent yourself as a hermit at a time when you were really quite a public figure.

JP: Well, I was hermetic. I was involved in the hermetic arts, but I wasn’t a recluse. Or maybe I was…

The image of the hermit that we used for the [inside cover] artwork on Led Zeppelin IV and in the movie actually has its origins in a painting of Christ called The Light of the World by the pre-Raphaelite artist William Holman Hunt. The imagery was later transferred to the Waite tarot deck [the most popular tarot deck in use in the English-speaking world]. My segment was supposed to be the aspirant going to the beacon of truth, which is represented by the hermit and his journey toward it. What I was trying to say through the transformation was that enlightenment can be achieved at any point in time; it just depends on when you want to access it. In other words, you can always see the truth, but do you recognize it when you see it or do you have to reflect back on it later?

GW: There was always a certain amount of speculation about your occult studies. It may have been subtle, but you weren’t really hiding it.

JP: I was living it. That’s all there is to it. It was my life - that fusion of magick and music.

GW: Your use of symbols was very advanced. The sigil [symbols of occult powers] on Led Zeppelin IV and the embroidery on your stage clothes from that time period are good examples on how you left your mark in popular culture. It’s something that major corporations are aggressively pursuing these days: using symbols as a form of branding.

JP: You mean talismanic magick? Yes, I knew what I was doing. There’s no point in saying more about it, because the more you discuss it, the more eccentric you appear to be. But the fact is - are far as I was concerned - it was working, so I used it. But it’s really no different than people who wear ribbons around their wrists: it’s a talismanic approach to something. Well, let me amend that: it’s not exactly the same thing, but it is in the same realm.

I’ll leave this subject by saying the four musical elements of Led Zeppelin making a fifth is magick unto itself. That’s the alchemical process.

GW: After you finished the fantasy sequences, you changed directors.

JP: Yes. After inspecting the footage, we discovered that we were still lacking. So the decision was made to hire a new director, Peter Clifton, and go into a British facility called Shepperton Studios. We recreated the Madison Square Garden stage and shot the remaining bits that we didn’t have. It was a good idea, but the only problem for me was figuring out how to mime my own lengthy improvisations. It was pretty impossible to do with any degree of accuracy. But after we finished at Shepperton, it was time to stitch it all together. We knew that a lot of things would be completely out of sync, but we weren’t that concerned because we thought it was just something fun for the cinema.

[missing page]

JP: To make the visuals sync better to the music, we had Kevin Shirley [sound engineer on Led Zeppelin DVD and the band's 2003 release How the West Was Won] move the music around with Pro Tools. He really did a fantastic job. It's much better now.

But as I mentioned earlier, in the original film I'm out of sync a lot because I was trying to mime to my own improvisation at Shepperton, but it didn't look so obvious because everyone else was out of sync, too. Since Kevin was able to really tighten the vocals and the drums, now I really look out of sync! [laughs]

GW: The album soundtrack to The Song Remains the Same has also changed substantially.

JP: Yes. Our first major change was to include the entire set in its original running order, something we've never done on a live album before. So of course the new soundtrack album features songs that weren't on the original. The pacing of the movie is different from the pacing of our actual 1973 set, but for those that are interested, the CD gives you that original experience.

GW: I appreciate the new mix on the CD. I always felt that the original was a little dry and lacking in concert hall ambience.

JP: That may be. I always thought it was a little flat dynamically. But I've got to tell you, when Warner Bros. put out the movie on VHS and DVD, they just threw it out there without involving us. The same with the soundtrack. So, to be fair, this material has never been remastered or received the care it's deserved until now.

GW: When the movie finally came out, it was a pretty big box office hit.

JP: It was really gratifying. This was in the day before VHS tapes or DVDs, so the only place you could see it was at the movie theaters. It had a big cult following, and people would see it multiple times at midnight movie festivals. It was like the Rocky Horror Picture Show.

GW: And it was probably hard to get Led Zeppelin concert tickets. The movie was the only way many people could see the band.

JP: That's why we did it. It made sense to do it. But, as usual, whenever we worked with people outside of our core group, it was a shambles. We did our best to pull it together, and it required a lot of imagination to salvage what could've been a disaster.

GW: It's always harder than it should be to get people to put the same care into a project as you would.

JP: You'll see a great example of that sort of carelessness in the film. Before I went onstage, I warned all the cameramen to stay away from me within reason, because I didn't want to be distracted while I was trying to perform. Of course none of them listened, and at one point you see this guy with a camera coming up to me and he's stepping all over my wah-wah pedal! You can hear it going up and down, so I just carried on using that wah-wah sound. What else are you going to do? It's "warts and all," the whole damned thing!

GW: Watching the film, I was impressed by the amount of precision, finesse and control you applied to working the volume and tone knobs on your guitar. It's almost a lost art.

JP: First, you have to be lucky enough to have an amp that operates on the threshold of clean and dirty, so that it can interact with the controls of the guitar. Once you have that then you can start really playing with the volume and the control.

It's different these days because there are so many way to create guitar sounds, but back in the Seventies you had to use what little you had to the greatest effect. All I had to really work with was an overdrive pedal, a wah-wah, an Echoplex [tape delay] and what was on my guitar. It wasn't a lot, and I had to create the entire range of sounds found on the first five Zeppelin albums. With that in mind, the volume and tone controls, and how and where you picked, were quite important.

GW: How did the rather lengthy live improvisations on songs like “Dazed and Confused” and “No Quarter” develop?

JP: Well, when you’re playing with a band that was as good as we were, you didn’t really want to stop after a one-minute solo! And look, if you’re playing the same songs night after night on a long tour, improvising was a way to keep the music alive and interesting for yourself. I never wanted the songs to settle in. I’ve always enjoyed living by my wits with regard to my guitar playing. That goes back to even my session musician days, where I had to come up with parts on the spot.

People have complained to me through the years that I never played the solos from the albums live, particularly on something like “Stairway to Heaven.” But maybe I should do that at the reunion show, just to prove I can actually play them. [laughs]

What I liked about improvising is that great music is about tension and release, and sometimes you pull something out and sometimes you don’t. It’s not exactly a failure when you don’t play something great; it’s more like a heroic glitch! [laughs] Your chance of success is greater, though, when you’re surrounded by other great musicians, like I was.

GW: Did you prepare for the film? Were you concerned about playing your best for posterity?

JP: No, it wasn’t like that at all. I think the only way I prepared for the filming was by staying up for five days straight! [laughs] That’s the truth. I mean, we were in New York, we were making a movie and playing great shows, and it was difficult to shut down that kind of electricity. You’d try to go to bed, but most of the time you gave up, because it was more fun just to go out and enjoy yourself. It was seriously conductive to that.

During a typical Zeppelin show there was such an intense exchange of electricity between the band and audience. The band set off the charge and the audience gave it back, and it just built through the night. That was the phenomena: that transmission.

GW: Weren’t you having some problems with your hands at that time?

JP: No, I did have some tendonitis around that time, but I was over it. There was no injury there. Not to the fingers, anyway. [laughs]

GW: When you went back and revisited the soundtrack and the movie, did something stand out for you?

JP: Yeah, I thought “Rain Song” was really good. I bet you didn’t expect me to say that, but it has a real drama to it. It’s not as good as the studio version, but I think it has its own character. I also liked the bowed section on “Dazed and Confused,” which really went well with the fantasy sequence.

GW: One last dumb question regarding the ’73 performances: Who re-haired the violin bow that you destroyed night after night while playing “Dazed and Confused”? Fixing a bow is not something just any roadie can do.

JP: As you know, new violin bows are expensive, so what we would do is buy a bunch of warped ones and take them on the road. They were much cheaper!

GW: Let’s talk about the reunion show in London. Why the reunion now?

JP: I know why I’m keen on doing it. I really enjoy playing with the other musicians, and it’s a chance to do it properly. We’re taking it very, very seriously, and I know it will be good. It could’ve happened anytime, anywhere, but we respected Ahmet Ertegun, and paying tribute to him was a good motivation.

GW: How long have you been rehearsing?

JP: Actually, the bulk of the rehearsals are going to be in November, but we’ve gotten together a few times and started working on some things.

GW: How is the band different?

JP: Well, Jason Bonham is not John, but I’ve played with him quite a bit, so it’s going fine. I brought him out with me as my drummer on my solo Outrider tour [1988], so he’s aware that I might not play the same thing every night. [laughs] So that’s good!

GW: How long are you going to play? Any surprises?

JP: Initially, they asked us to play a certain amount of time, but we’ve extended it to get more songs in. We quickly realized that we couldn’t play “Dazed and Confused” for 30 minutes, have a drum solo and then play “Stairway to Heaven” for 20 minutes and leave. [laughs] You know, do “Rock and Roll” as an encore and be off! We just couldn’t do that. So in order to show people how we used to perform, and play with flair and passion, we’re going to do a pretty long set.

One surprise is that we’re going to play “For Your Life,” which we’ve never played in concert. I don’t think we’ve played it any other time than when we recorded it. It’s quite a tricky piece of music, so I’m pleased we’re doing it.

GW: What was the first song you guys played together at the reunion rehearsals?

JP: It slips my mind, but I think it was “Houses of the Holy.”

GW: Did the music come back to you easily?

JP: It’s not like I haven’t played over the last several years; I just haven’t made a profile of it. I played a lot of Zeppelin when I toured with the Black Crowes [in late 1999] and with Robert.

GW: Are you using your original gear?

JP: I’m using some of the original guitars like my number-one Les Paul and the [Gibson EDS-1275] Doubleneck. I’ve got a Les Paul Custom that I’m pleased with. I haven’t settled on what amps I’m using yet, but I’ll be using the pedal board that I used on all the Plant/Page projects.

GW: What’s the prevailing mood? Do you think the reunion will extend to other shows?

JP: I don’t know. I’ve read that Robert Plant doesn’t think it will, but it’s a bit silly because there is such a massive demand. It’s a bit selfish to do just one show. If that’s it, we probably shouldn’t have taken the genie out of the bottle.

There's a lot to talk about. In a conversation that runs to 80 minutes, Page will discuss everything from his life during those heady days of the early 70s as the leader, guitarist and primary creative force in one of the most successful rock groups of all time to his plans to release new music in 2015, music that he has been crafting for years. And he will also address the one question that will not go away: will Led Zeppelin ever perform together again?

But there's a more immediate matter at hand, which is the release of the two Led Zeppelin albums that form the second instalment in the high-profile reissue programme of the band's entire catalogue: Led Zeppelin IV and Houses Of The Holy. Page smiles broadly when he recalls that untouchable period. "It was a wonderful time," he says. "I can't remember it all. But let's see what I can remember…"

With Led Zep IV and Houses Of The Holy, there's a broad consensus that this was the band at its absolute peak.

Well, I can’t say which album is the peak. The first album was a pretty fair introduction to what the band was. That album has so many ideas, and those ideas blossomed as time went on. But the fourth album, yeah, it was really serious, really good.

The received wisdom is that Led Zep IV was a reaction to the negativity that greeted the previous album. Is that how you remember it—that Led Zeppelin III was poorly received?

By the press—yeah. The press didn’t ‘get’ any of the albums. With the third album, they didn’t understand why we were doing acoustic music, except that it was all over the first album anyway. I wondered, where are these people coming from?

But the public got it.

We did great by the public, because once you've listened to Led Zeppelin, it's got you. You get it: what’s going on, why it ticks, and the brilliant musicianship.

So with the fourth album, did you feel that you had to stick that press criticism back down their throats?

It just got to the point where you didn’t bother to pay any attention to them. Even after the third album, there were silly elements of the press in America that were saying, ‘Oh, the band’s a hype.’ And I was thinking, ‘Goodness gracious, this is just ridiculous now!’ But it didn’t matter.

For the making of the fourth album, in December 1970, you took the band to Headley Grange in Hampshire.

It was a manse, an old Victorian house, a wonderful place, and very imposing. I liked the idea of the whole band being in the same house, in residence, working. Fleetwood Mac had rehearsed there, although they didn’t record there. So I knew there wouldn’t be noise problems. It was in the countryside, so you weren't going to have neighbours complaining. It seemed ideal.

What was the appeal of working there and being in residence? Was it the fact that you could make music at any time, day or night, whenever the inspiration came?

That's the whole point. It's a working environment. If it didn’t work, we’d go into a studio. But in fact it was great. While touring, we would mutate songs. From the beginning we were doing it, but now it was really evident from one concert to the next.

Did you take that improvisational approach into the writing and recording of the album?

Yeah. And we used the acoustics of the house. We were playing in this drawing room to begin with, and then John Bonham had another drum kit set up in the hall, with this really high ceiling. When he started playing I said, ‘Right, we’ll have to do something in here now.” The drum sound in that hall was just huge. You've heard it—on When The Levee Breaks. So we were moving from drums in the hall to drums back in another area, and really using the acoustics of the building.

Did you have a way of preparing for a take, for getting in the right headspace?

Collectively—absolutely. This is how we managed to record so quickly and efficiently. At any time there would be a few songs that you're working on. But working on one number to record, we'd get it up to a serious speed, so it’s really firing on all cylinders and the real essence of the song is cooking, and then you'd start recording. It was very easy to get to that point, because you're already rehearsed, but with the red light on there’s even more urgency to it. We'd arrive at those takes in a pretty short time—just a handful of takes, maybe.

What if a song just wasn't working?

If a song started to labour, if the essence wasn't happening, we'd stop and do something else. We didn’t over-rehearse. We just had them so that they were just right, so that there was this tension—you know, ‘Maybe there might be a mistake. But there won’t be, because this is how we're all going to do it and it’s going to work!’ That was a measure of how good everybody was in this band. And because of that, you could get these ‘character’ numbers through the whole of the Zeppelin soundscape. Each song has its own character. Theoretically, there was nothing we couldn’t do, because musically we were all capable of doing anything. Together, I mean. We didn’t need to get in horn sections or whatever. It was all in-house.

Did you feel that you were pushing the envelope with this album?

The whole history of Led Zeppelin is musical expansion. We were really pioneering in every way, I think. And with this album, we were moving the acoustic aspect of what we’d done on the third album into these more intimate areas with Going To California and The Battle Of Evermore.

When I interviewed you in 1993, you said that with Stairway To Heaven you set out to make a "profound" piece of music. Did that make it a difficult song to write?

I had the sections for it. It was a question of piecing them together. But by nature of the fact that it had acceleration through it, it needed some work on it. There was a lot to remember in Stairway, when you were playing it and routining the track.

You also said that Robert wrote the lyrics for Stairway To Heaven very quickly, while you were at Headley Grange, with the band working on the arrangement.

I can say—he’ll probably deny it, ha ha—but during the running through of Stairway, I remember Robert was sitting down in the room and he was writing and writing. At the point where he came to sing it he had a major percentage of the lyrics already done. And he went home and tweaked things. That’s how it was. That’s what the whole magic of the environment was like. Everybody’s creative energies were all joined.

Over the years, Robert has made light of those lyrics, as if he were embarrassed by the naivety in them. But the words in that song are very evocative, very deep.

They are. They come at you on many levels. I thought his lyrics were superb. So… maybe we all criticise our past work. I'm not going to tell you what, but I could say, ‘Well, I could have played better guitar on such and such a number.’ But I ain’t gonna do that, because it is what it is.

Is it true that you would record your solos alone, in complete isolation?

Always. I'd use the same approach as doing the tracks. I'd try to put the solo on at the end, because I wanted it to be totally in character of what’s going on with the lyrics. What I'd do is just limber up, limber up, limber up and then, “Okay, put the red light on.” Those solos weren't done over hours and hours. I'd know if I was there with it. And they were pretty much improvised. They weren’t worked out note for note. Never. The solos were always… take a deep breath and go for it. might have worked out how I might start it off, but that’s it. The solo for Stairway comes right into that equation.

Famously, there is a story that the release of the fourth album was delayed because there was a problem with the mixing at Sunset Sound studios in Los Angeles.

There wasn't really a delay. I was at Sunset Sound for much less than a week. I arrived there with [engineer| Andy Johns, and there was literally an earthquake going on when we walked through the airport. In the hotel you could feel the bed shaking with all the aftershocks. We were due to go into the studio, and I said, “Okay, but we’re not going to do Going To California till the end.”

Why not?

Because the lyrics in that song were talking about an earthquake, and we've just arrived during an earthquake! But I wasn’t going to turn around and go back to England. It was just Andy Johns and myself, and Sunset Sound was a superb studio. We mixed a lot of the stuff that was done at Headley. But the only evidence you'd know of the Sunset Sound recordings up to now would be When The Levee Breaks, because that was the version that went on the album.

It has it been reported that the Sunset Sound sessions were a disaster.

How could it be a disaster if you've heard When The Levee Breaks? It’s all myth.

So why did you remix the album in the UK?

When the rest of the band heard the Sunset Sound mixes, they didn’t get it. So I said, “Okay, we’ll remix it again over here.” At Sunset Sound, the playback system was so colourful—really sort of high top-end and low bass-end. But when we came back and played it at Olympic [studio in London|, where the speakers were very middle-y, suddenly the huge headroom had disappeared. That's all it was—the monitor systems in each studio were so vastly different. It just needed a little bit of EQ mastering and it was fantastic.

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The Ages of Page

“No ego at all”

Producer/musician John Carter recalls hiring the young JP for his band.

It must have been 1964. The personnel of my band, Carter-Lewis And The Southerners (pictured), was flexible, and we had a tour coming up but we didn't have a proper band. Me and Ken Lewis knew Jimmy from sessions. We'd played together on [Dave Berry's] The Crying Game, and we'd booked him for a few Carter-Lewis sessions, which he was brilliant on. So we asked him to join: "Yeah, why not?’

“I remember the first session I ever saw Jimmy on. He was eighteen or nineteen, a young lad. He wore normal sixties clothes. I don't even remember his hair being long. We'd all meet round the corner from Decca Studios after sessions and go for a drink. We'd talk about music, the old blues guys, rock'n’roll. He may have been quiet with blokes, but not with girls. I mean, I don't want to give away any secrets.

“Jimmy was different from any other player going around. His invention was the best at that time. But he never took over on a session; no ego at all. He'd say: "'What do you want?' And we'd say: Just make something up. Then he'd make up a solo which was absolutely fantastic. That was when you got the best out of Jimmy Page.

“What happened next? Sessions were getting very busy for him, and I think he wanted to concentrate on that, more than being on the road, because you earned a lot more money. The band broke up soon after. I really did think he'd go on to big things. I was pleased for him with Zeppelin, because he deserved to become famous. He was brilliant then, but with Zeppelin he just went higher and higher.

“For a while we kept in touch. I saw Jimmy again maybe four or five years ago, at an airport. We passed each other and we both just said: ‘Ahal! It's you!' HY

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On the companion disc included with the new reissue of IV, there is a previously unreleased mix of Stairway To Heaven from the Sunset Sound sessions.

What did you think of it? It’s Stairway. You've heard it a million times.

It sounds a little warmer, maybe a little cleaner.

Do you think so? Personally, I think it's more of a hi-fi mix. It's got that expanse, that headroom, a real depth to it. But that’s the whole thing about doing a companion disc. It just gives more information, more colours. I really thought that this is so important to do, to give all this extra information to the whole of the studio life of Led Zeppelin… for the fans. I know what they love. I know why there’s a bootleg industry out there. I've paid a lot of attention to what was out there on the bootleg market as far as studio material, because I wanted to make sure that what was going on these releases wasn't already out there. I know that no one’s even heard the Stairway mix, apart from the band.

You first played Stairway To Heaven, Black Dog, Rock And Roll and Going To California live in Belfast on March 5, 1971, eight months before the album was released. Do you remember the reaction?

In Belfast at that time, there were the Troubles. I don’t know what sort of mix of Catholics and Protestants were in that hall in Belfast, but the response to everything was fantastic. And here’s the key point. You've just said that we went over there before the album was released. You couldn’t do that now. The whole intrigue and mystery of it would be blown because people would be publishing it on YouTube, all the new numbers. But in those days it was really good, because things would just travel by word of mouth.

When that fourth album was released on November 8, 1971, there was no band name and album title on the cover.

It was my idea to have no title. It was a novel idea to put something out which had no title on it, rather than, oh, it’s just selling on the name.

The album is officially untitled yet it goes by various names: Led Zep IV, 'Four Symbols', and also 'Zoso', after your symbol…

I think it's good that everyone calls it different things. With the [Zoso] symbol, people were calling it that, and that was a bit upsetting for the rest of the band [laughs]. It wasn't intended to be like that.

The bosses at Atlantic Records thought that an album with no title and no band name was tantamount to commercial suicide.

They did. I went over to New York with [Zep manager| Peter Grant, and Atlantic were determined to have some words on the cover. I knew they thought: he’s impossible to deal with, this one. But it was so right to do it. That album cover is so iconic.

Is it true that the painting on the album cover was found by Robert in an antique shop?

It is. When I was living in Pangbourne, I used to go around the junk shops, picking up all this Arts and Crafts-era furniture. On this one occasion Robert came with me and there it was, this painting.

The cover was symbolic: the painting of the old man on the wall of a demolished house, with modern high-rise blocks behind it.

The imagery there is the old making way for the new. Those new buildings don’t look new anymore. But that was the idea.

The way you sequenced this album—the juxtaposition of hard rock tracks and acoustic numbers—is expertly judged.

We were crafting albums for the album market, a certain league outside of pop singles. So it was important, I felt, to have the flow and the rise and fall of the music and the contrast, so that each song would have more impact against the other.

You placed Stairway To Heaven at the end of side one of the original LP. Did you think about having it at the end of side two as a grand finale?

No, no, no! Levee Breaks had to end it, because it was just so ominous and dense and it was just going to disturb people. After you've caressed them with Stairway, now you're going to disturb them [laughs]. That’s what it’s all about—conjuring up all these different emotions.

That side one is probably the greatest side of vinyl in all of rock history: Black Dog, Rock And Roll, The Battle Of Evermore, Stairway To Heaven. Really, it's unbeatable.

It is good, isn't it? But with the whole album, you get the feeling of the creativity of this band. It’s just coming in with full force. It's showing the whole picture of what this band is musically. These were really honest performances—performances that you feel. No doubt about it.

If Led Zeppelin's fourth album was the band's masterpiece, what followed was their unsung classic: Houses Of The Holy, released on March 28, 1973. In a sense, it was overshadowed by what came before and after it—IV and 1975's monolithic Physical Graffiti—but it contained some of the most powerful tracks that Zeppelin ever created: No Quarter, The Rain Song, Over The Hills And Far Away, The Song Remains The Same. Adding to the mystique was the artwork created by Hipgnosis: a surreal image of naked children climbing the rocky terrain of the Giant's Causeway in Northern Ireland, beneath a glowing yellow-orange sky. "It's evocative, isn't it?" says Page. "Its innocence, and the idea of us all being vessels of houses of the holy."

The story goes that you rejected the original artwork submitted by Hipgnosis' Storm Thorgerson, and then turned to their other designer, Aubrey 'Po' Powell.

Well, we got on better with Po than with Storm, but that's how they were. If people didn't like one person they'd work with the other one.

Did you know that the children on the cover are Stefan Gates, now a TV presenter, and his sister Samantha?

I heard it was Sam Fox. So it's not true, then?

That old story about Sam Fox? Most people dismissed that as just another urban myth about Zeppelin.

I thought it made sense because she probably was put in an agency as a child model and all that.

Perhaps you could verify another story about Houses Of The Holy—that you wrote The Rain Song after George Harrison complained to you that Zeppelin never do ballads.

No, it wasn't from George Harrison. He didn't say it to me. I just heard it on the grapevine that he had said, "Oh, Led Zeppelin don't do any ballads." I'm paraphrasing, but it was something similar to that. He probably said it lightheartedly. He probably hadn't really listened to very much Led Zeppelin.

There is also a similarity, in the opening notes of The Rain Song, to Harrison's classic Beatles song Something.

Yeah [laughs]. I thought it would be interesting to put the first two notes from Something into the beginning of The Rain Song. But I thought that The Rain Song was really nothing like Something, so nobody was even going to think of it.

There is such beauty in The Rain Song. Do you consider it one of your best?

As a whole piece, yes, it's pretty up there, for sure. As a guitar piece it was really good, but again, it came to life with Bonzo playing really sensitively on the brushes.

On the Houses Of The Holy tour, in the summer of'73, Zeppelin's gig at Tampa Stadium broke the attendance record that had been held by The Beatles.

What was it, 52,000?

More. 56,800, to be precise.

Well, we'd played fifty-something thousand the day before in Atlanta. Then we went into this huge thing in Tampa, where your main worry is, can everybody at the back hear what we're doing?

Going on stage for such huge audiences, were you ever nervous?

I always had an edge, what you might call nerves, going on wherever it was. I wondered whether it was just the adrenaline. But I'd always get that sort of edge. There's no doubt about it—you suddenly go into this sort of change, which you might call stage fright. But I was more realistic about what it probably was. It wasn't being frightened on stage. I love being on stage. There's nothing to be frightened about. But there was this edginess, sure.

With all the heavy touring that Zeppelin did in the 70s, doing three-hour sets, what kept you going? Was it that the music elevated you?

The whole set just kept stretching, because we loved playing. We could have just done an hour and a half, but we didn't. We wanted to give everybody everything that we could every night. We were totally committed in the ethic of doing that.

Let's talk about your life at this time. With all the work and the success and everything that came with it, did you ever feel disoriented?

No, nothing like that. It was all just a natural progression. In retrospect, if you look at the work we did, you think, Wow, how was that done? But, you know, we were all pretty young. I wouldn't be able to take on a workload like that now—all that touring, five nights a week and the rest of it. But I was young. It was perfectly natural. That's all there is to it.

Did Zeppelin's fame at that point ever feel overwhelming, even frightening?

No. The whole climate was different then, wasn't it? When you're talking about that sort of passion from the fans, the way that it would be manifested was simply that the concerts just got bigger and bigger. So you could see, by the record sales as well, that the popularity was immense. And that was the manifestation of it, playing bigger shows and the response to it. And it never went away. The reality of Led Zeppelin, when you look at it all the way through, was that the audiences just kept swelling, right through to the end when we were doing Knebworth in 1980.

Who apart from the band would hear Zeppelin music before it was presented for release? Ahmet Ertegün, the head of your label?

[Flatly] He'd get the finished album. That's how it was. It was wonderful, because it was so insular. You know what the climate was as far as what you had to do in those days. Literally what you had to do was make albums, then present them—with the cover—and then do more concerts. The record company wasn't all over you. They couldn't be all over you, because you're telling them, "This is it—this is the new album." And because of the demand for the Led Zeppelin albums, they couldn't really get in the way. They didn't want to get in the way of it. Because they could see—I guess history was proving itself—that we knew what we were doing.

Your power was your popularity?

Yes. And as you can see with the history, it was the right decision not to do singles along the way. That gave us the benefit to do exactly what we wanted to do, without having to think, Oh, what's the single going to be? Or having some person from the record company saying, "Where's the single?" Or even worse, saying, "I think you should do this!"

So there was never interference from them?

No. I'd lived through it with The Yardbirds, and I knew the climate wasn't right for that.

Were you as much of a perfectionist in terms of business as you were with the music?

God, no! But that perfectionism applied to everything, to be honest.

Being such a perfectionist, were you a difficult person to work with?

No. I don't think I was at all.

Did you ever sense that the band thought you were driving them too hard?

I don't know if anyone thought I was. You're always trying to strive to be better and better and better. That's all there is to it. And sometimes, whatever you've done isn't good enough. Do better, do better. But, you know, that's my own thing. And I haven't changed. That's how I am.

In the 34 years since Led Zeppelin disbanded following the death of John Bonham, Page has continued to make music, albeit on a limited scale. There have been collaborations with Paul Rodgers and David Coverdale, and even with his old foil Robert Plant—the pair played on each other's solo albums before officially reuniting for two albums in the 90s, 1994's Zep-reimagining No Quarter: Jimmy Page And Robert Plant Unledded, and 1999's all-new Walking Into Clarksdale.

But Led Zeppelin remained part of his life throughout. Ever since 1982's archive collection Coda, Page has served as the curator and the guardian of the band's legacy. But now, seven years after their one-off reunion show, this is all that remains of Led Zeppelin: the past. And for Page, it is now time for a new challenge.

What does the future hold for you? In terms of the music you're making now, does that necessitate having a band?

Yes. I'm not going to just go out and do concerts with one guitar or even two guitars—one electric and one acoustic.

If you're going to make a new album…

Maybe…

If so, would it be similar to Outrider, on which you had three singers?

[Smiling] We'll have to wait and see, won't we? The music I've been writing, it's got various moods to it, various textures. That isn't going to change. So there will be real surprises within it, you know? But there would have to be. I wouldn't really be happy about it unless there was. But I have got material. It's sort of there. And in a way I'm really pleased that I haven't recorded it yet.

Why?

Because it will still be good. If something's good, it is good, isn't it? Riffs and things—they're either good or they're not good.

Robert Plant was recently asked about the possibility of making a modern Zeppelin album. He said: "The weight of expectation is too great." Do you understand where he's coming from?

No. No, no. Because I'm not doing a modern Led Zeppelin album. I'm doing the music that will be a summing up of where I am at this point in time.

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The Ages of Page

"We'd drink JD together"

John Miles on collaborating on Page's 1987 [1988] solo album Outrider.

“I'd never met Jimmy before we started working together in '87 on Outrider. His manager called to ask if I'd be interested in doing some writing. So I went down to his studio and we wrote Wasting My Time, Wanna Make Love and a few other things. We'd both jam and come up with riffs. It took a while to get to know him, but we hit it off. And I discovered he had a wicked sense of humour. Then he decided he was going to take the album on the road and he said to me one day: 'Can you do it?'

"Most of the shows were in America. And I felt a lot of pressure having to sing Robert Plant's songs—I think Jimmy felt pressured too. I remember Robert turned up at a gig in Boston. Jimmy didn't want him anywhere near the building, so Robert turned up in a baseball cap and disguise.

"There wasn't really much time off, but when there was, Jimmy and I used to drink Jack Daniel's together. I remember flying to a gig in New Orleans on a private plane. As I was sitting with Jimmy, talking, I looked out of the window and there were fucking flames coming out of the engine. So we just had a couple more drinks! It was surreal.

"There were ideas left over from Outrider, but we never got round to doing anything with them. There was talk of making another album, but I felt the whole Zeppelin thing was pulling Jimmy back into that. The demand for a reunion was just ridiculous. So any plans we had just went by the wayside.

"My favourite memory of Jimmy? Just being on stage with him. He'd be standing there with sweat and snot everywhere—and a cigarette hanging out of his mouth. It was just incredible to turn around and see him playing with all his might." RH

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But do you get what Robert was saying? Do you feel that what you created with Led Zeppelin in the past is in some way a burden on you as you're making new music?

Well, there is pressure. But then you have to put it in context with actually thinking of all that pressure that's built up over all those decades and putting your arse on the line for one night at the O2. What sort of pressure is that? You can imagine what it was like for that show. You know, one shot. At least when you're recording an album you've got more than one shot at the solo. So you just have to look at it like that. New music is new music. But it still has to be good. It has to be vital. It has to connect with people. It doesn't want to be limp and half-hearted. It really needs to connect on one level or another, whether it's got that intensity to it, or it's something that is more rhythmic or voodoo-like, or something that is more sensitive or caressing. And that is what you're doing—you're a musician. You're not thinking about whether it's paling in the shade of Led Zeppelin. What sort of nonsense is that? [laughs] But you know what I'm saying.

Yes. But when we think back to Walking Into Clarksdale, your last original album…

Yeah, that's like a minimalist album.

That was sixteen years ago.

Was that my last album?

Your last original album, yes.

Good. I've only ever had one solo album out in the past anyway, and that was in 1988. So I didn't really try to cash in on the market, did I? I've done other projects along the way. I've worked with David Coverdale and this and that.

But do you feel that you've done enough?

Well, you can never do enough. But I don't care. It doesn't matter. It is what it is. And hopefully, next year I will be seen to be playing—because you need to be seen to be playing. That's why I've put so much effort into stockpiling all of this new material. I know the importance of the Led Zeppelin legacy, if you like. So that's why I've been stockpiling over a couple of years. I think it's important. That's the way to look at it and that's the way to do it.

So do you need a singer to make this new music work?

Why, are you volunteering?

Come on, Jimmy. Don't be silly.

Well, let's put it this way: I don't sing. I've said that on numerous occasions. I'm not a singer.

What is your singing voice like?

I don't know. I haven't really given it a shot, although I sort of sang many years ago, on the first Zeppelin album and a little bit on the second album.

But to answer the question about a singer…

You're asking about what I'm going to do? Okay, let's put it this way. What I would concentrate on would be the music that is going to be there. I wouldn't approach whatever was going to be recorded in a flippant way at all. But I haven't got any musicians ready at the moment to do anything, because it won't be until next year that I'd even be able to do that. I've got so much promo to do relative to all of this [the Zeppelin reissues].

There's one last thing I have to ask, and I know that it's a pain in the arse…

Go on.

After the O2 show, you wanted to continue with Led Zeppelin, to do more shows. Robert did not. Seven years down the line, nothing has changed. Are you resigned to the fact that Led Zeppelin is finished and should fans just accept that too?

Yes, it's time for me to move on to do other things. I've got a pretty fair old musical heritage. It goes way, way back to being a teenager. It goes all the way through from there to almost yesterday. I enjoy that. Ever since I was a kid, it was my passion to play music, to make music, and, you know, it makes people happy. If you do something as a living that makes people happy, you're a very fortunate man. That's bloody great. And I don't mean this lightly when I say that is a wonderful lifetime achievement. That's a great feeling.

For Jimmy Page, seven years of frustration have come to an end. After that O2 show, when Plant refused a Led Zeppelin tour—no matter how much money was on the table—Page, Jones and Jason Bonham rehearsed with Steven Tyler and Myles Kennedy. Whether they would have used the Led Zeppelin name, Page would not say. But in the end, nothing came of it. The subtext was quite simple: without Robert Plant, there is no Led Zeppelin.

In August 2014, Plant said of Page: "He should get on and do something. He's a superb talent. Come on and give it to us." Making new music, and playing it all over the world, is what Plant has done since that last Zeppelin performance. And now, belatedly, Page is gearing up do the same.

Monday, December 24th, Christmas Eve, 1973

Plumpton Place, East Sussex, England

Cynthia’s P.O.V.

The smell of tea and my toasted sourdough filled the kitchen as I leaned against the counter, watching Jimmy flip pancakes all while entertaining Scarlet and my parents.

My parents sat at the small wooden breakfast table across the kitchen, the morning light filtering through the windows as we discussed the plan for their last day of visiting.

“I have to admit, Cynthia, I can see why you’re so smitten with your life here.” My mother said, her voice crisp devoid of its usual New York, posh edge. “It is captivating.” She held her teacup tightly as her gaze drifted toward the green field outside that was now covered with a soft blanket of snow.

“Captivating? Since when do you find anything outside of Manhattan captivating, mom?" I teased, sliding a plate of fruit toward her.

“Don't get smart.” She softly laughed before continuing. “It’s restorative. The air doesn't smell like exhaust. I don't mind the dampness as much as I thought I would.” She shrugged softly, her gaze holding mine before she heard my dad snort a laugh across the table.

We turned to him as he beamed at my mother, his eyes crinkling with his soft chuckle. “I told you, Rose. And to think, I had to force her to board the plane!” He squeezed her arm lovingly as she shooed his touch away, shaking her head and a soft smile and a roll of her eyes in joyful defeat.

As I sat, Jimmy came around and slid a stack of pancakes on a platter on to the table, flashing that smile that made my stomach flip.

“Glad we could win you over, Rose. It’s been wonderful having you.” Jimmy said delicately, his polite, British charm making me flush as my stomach continued with its backflips.

“You’ve been very welcoming, Jimmy.” She replied, her voice and face softening. “And your taste in architecture is impeccable. I’ve come to really enjoy all the woodwork. Don’t see this often in the city where we are.” My mother added, gazing about the kitchen, looking up at the wood varnish cradles in the ceiling.

“I fancied it the moment I’d toured it the first time.” Jimmy started. “But I’ve grown to really appreciate it now that our Cyn is with me.” He finished sweetly, kissing my temple as he settled down in his chair. “Wouldn’t be home without Cynthia here, I assure you.” His hand rested on my thigh underneath the table and I looked up at him, and couldn’t hold back my smile.

Scarlet suddenly bounded into the room, her pajamas all ruffled and her curls the same, like a wild halo around her face. She dove straight into my mother’s lap, nearly knocking over her tea. But my mother didn’t seem to mind.

“Grandma Rosie! Is it today?” She shrieked, her voice full of excitement as the idea of today finally being Christmas Eve. Since Scarlet had to leave in the morning to be back with Charlotte to fly out to France by the end of the day, Scarlet knew we’d be opening some presents tonight.

My mother laughed, hugging her tight as she spoke softly. “It is, sweetheart! It's finally Christmas Eve!” My mother spoke joyfully, though I could tell she wasn’t exactly happy about she and my father’s approaching departure.

“But-but… I don’t want you to go…” She said, the weight of their departure suddenly hitting her, and me.

I sat down beside them, reaching for both Scarlet’s and my mother’s hands. “It feels like you just got here.” I pouted softly, using one of my hands to push back the curls off Scarlet’s forehead.

“Time flies, Cynthia, all while you’re having fun. Doesn’t it?” Rose sighed, squeezing my hand back. She looked surprisingly disappointed herself that this was their last night here.

“But seeing you so happy, Cynthia... seeing how you've built a life here… it makes the distance feel shorter. I’ve truly enjoyed this. And I’d love to come back soon… maybe in the spring, when your garden is in bloom.” She smiled softly as her gaze fell back on Scarlet, with whom she started to tickle lightly, Scarlet’s cute giggles filling the air.

I felt a lump form in my throat as I looked on at the tenderness of my mother, with Scarlet, and me, for a change. My mother's approval was a rarity these days, especially with her overt disapproval she’d possessed of Jimmy and I’s relationship for months. Hearing her say she wanted to return felt like a victory now.

“We'll hold you to that.” Jimmy said, leaning back in his chair, wiping at his mouth. “It’d have to be a lengthier visit, that.” He grinned, his hand returning back to my thigh beneath the tablecloth, and pure happiness surged in my body.

The rest of the morning went by in a lazy, jolly fashion. We migrated to the sitting room after breakfast, with Scarlet bouncing around while the television blared her favorite cartoons.

She soon settled into Jimmy’s lap after he got the fire going, chasing away the chill that Plumpton constantly possessed. That was one thing about this old architecture - it was drafty. And though my mother was in much better sorts than ever before, she didn’t hesitate to make a comment about how cold the house always was.

We sat in the sitting room for a while with the tree lit all day, our conversation drifting through our moments of enjoyment of the past week; our snowy walk through the village, the shops, and the way my father and Jimmy had spent hours in that music shop just staring at all the vintage amplifiers and guitars.

“I think I caught the bug!” My dad admitted to Jimmy, leaning back in the armchair with a sigh of contentment. “The guitar… there’s something about it. It's a different kind of expression, isn't it, Jimmy?” And by the way Jimmy’s eyes lit up at the mention of his passion, he agreed.

Jimmy nodded at my father, deep in thought before his soft voice sounded over the crackle of the fire. “It is. Found that sometimes it’s the only way to express myself that words perhaps would ruin.” Jimmy murmured, his eyes catching mine across the room as he smiled, setting his mug down before heading to flip whatever record was playing.

As the afternoon faded, snow had begun to fall again before we gathered for dinner. I had prepared a proper English dinner, a stew with root vegetables and roasted potatoes, and a bottle of red wine that Jimmy had been saving for the occasion.

My mother was impressed by my efforts, which I, again, practically fainted at her overt praise of me since she’d arrived days ago. I was shocked she was being so accepting, generous with her love for a change. It was nice, and I felt that it also put Jimmy more at ease as well. They hadn’t exactly been on the best of terms since Jimmy and I began dating.

“I can't believe we're almost at the end of your trip.” I said, sipping my wine, watching my mother go for another glass. She looked like she was truly enjoying herself. And I hadn’t seen her drink in years. “I'm going to miss having you both here.” I added truthfully, a slight feeling of sadness filling my tummy next to the stew and wine.

“We'll miss you too, sweetheart.” My father replied, reaching across the table to softly squeeze at my arm. “But I’d say we’ve left you in good hands. Even if those hands are covered in guitar calluses.” My dad joked, winking at Jimmy, making Jimmy spurt out a little chuckle, his arm coming up and around the back of my chair.

“I promise to keep her well-fed and entertained.” Jimmy pronounced matter-of-factly, making us all laugh jointly. Once I caught a glimpse of Jimmy’s crooked, cheeky smirked he flashed at me, I knew just what he meant by that. Thank goodness my parents were oblivious to his, most of the time, dirty mind. My mother would be scandalized if they knew what Jimmy and I had done on top of this very dining table just days before they arrived…

It didn’t take long for everyone to clear their plates and finish the last drops of wine. The energy had suddenly shifted, and the anticipation of the gifts under the tree became electric. I couldn’t wait to see the looks on Scarlet’s and my parents’ faces when they unwrapped them.

“Alright…” Jimmy announced, standing up with a mischievous look in his eyes. “Before our little one crashes and others have to prepare for their early flight, I believe there are some gifts under that tree.” Jimmy smiled as Scarlet began to practically vibrate in her seat.

“Pwesents! Pwesents!” She jumped up and down, clapping her hands excitedly as we all looked to her with loving eyes.

“Just for you, darling.” Jimmy smiled and laughed as he pulled her into his lap, plopping down next to me. "Let’s start with Rose and Dave, eh?” Jimmy suggested, looking up toward my parents as they seemingly agreed, and I hurriedly went to the tree to retrieve their presents.

I produced two elegantly wrapped boxes, and images of wrapping these just days ago before they arrived flashed through my head. “For you.” I handed them off to my mother, who’s smile grew as she peeled back the bow and paper.

Her jaw dropped as she revealed a bottle of a rare, early nineteen-hundreds Chanel perfume bottle, and a stunning, exotic orchid in an antique ceramic pot. She gasped, her hand flying to her chest as she viewed her gifts with wide eyes.

“Jimmy, Cynthia! This is... oh, the scent is divine! And this orchid! Where on earth did you find this, especially being so healthy, in December?” She asked breathlessly, admiring the gorgeous bulbs of the blooming orchid that Jimmy had specially ordered for her. It was all his idea, knowing she loved flowers as much as I did. Now I just hoped they’d let her take it on the plane.

“A little contact in the city.” Jimmy said modestly. “I remembered Cynthia mentioning how much you love the rare ones.” Jimmy stated proudly, smiling as his arm familiarly wrapped around my shoulders, bringing me closer to his warm side.

My mother looked at me then, her eyes almost glistening as she spoke. "You remembered?” She said, her jaw dropping again just slightly, seemingly shocked that I’d remembered her long-interest in rare flowers over the years. How could I ever forget? She always had them around the house. She even had gotten rid of our new kitten one year because it had ripped up all of her exotic plants around the house.

“Of course I did.” I smiled, pushing my negative thoughts away and focusing on the present. I focused on the love in the air, along with the acceptance and appreciation that wafted between the five us. It was a wonderful feeling to have this togetherness once again, and I decided to enjoy it while it lasted, before Jimmy and I were on our own again.

Once my mother had settled with her gifts, Jimmy turned to my father, after reaching behind the couch and pulling out a heavy, rectangular case to hand over to my dad.

I watched as my dad’s shaky hands grasped it slightly before unlatching it. Inside the case laid a gold-top Les Paul, the finish gleaming under the twinkling Christmas tree lights, and it was almost a mirror image of Jimmy's own guitar that he’s so iconically known for.

My dad stared at it in silence for a long moment before he spoke, his voice almost as shaky as his hands as they stroke the guitar softly.

“‘60 Burst, Dave. Searched round and round for it. Thought it’d be perfect for you.” Jimmy broke the silence proudly as my dad stared down at the guitar in awe. I was still so amazed by Jimmy’s thoughtfulness, since the day he’d started searching for the guitar for my father.

“Jimmy... I can't- I can’t accept this. This is too much.” My dad breathed, all while his arms were reaching for it, setting the case down carefully before strumming a few chords on it.

“Nonsense.” Jimmy said firmly. “Cyn and I thought that a man who appreciates the instrument deserves the best tool for the job. Besides, now we can have a proper jam together when you come back for your next visit.” Jimmy smiled wide, a genuine smile that made my heart skip a beat as he watched my father continue to study the guitar with stars in his eyes.

After a moment, my father finally looked up, his eyes wet with slight tears of joy forming. “Thank you, you two. Truly…” My father murmured, awestruck, before setting the guitar down and heading towards us for a hasty, appreciative embrace.

Mumbling a few more words, my father returned to his spot next to my mother on the loveseat.

“Now it's our turn!” My mom announced, her voice returning to its usual poised, classy cadence. She hurried to reach for the gifts she’d had next to her and my father before handing Jimmy two packages.

Jimmy gave me a small, almost imperceptible nervous smile before he opened his first gift from my parents, only to find a collection of antique poetry books, all their leather exterior cracked with age, some with gold lettering that’s faded through the years. All very elegant books that Jimmy began to admire, his long fingers sifting through the pages of each collection.

“Victorian?” He immediately recognized, flipping through pages, skimming through quickly with wonder. “Christ, these are incredible!” Jimmy expressed, gazing back up at my mother and father with gratitude. I smiled as I watched him, almost like a young boy on Christmas who’d gotten exactly what he’d dreamed of.

“I thought you might appreciate the words of the era.” My mother explained. “The way they structured their words... it could inspire some new compositions.” She finished, looking at him inquisitively before catching my eye. I smiled thoughtfully at her before setting my gaze back on Jimmy whom couldn’t quite take his hands or eyes off of the books in front of him.

Once Jimmy had opened his second gift, a wide, heavy guitar strap with engraved leather, with the initials 'J.P.' embossed in a sophisticated cursive design. It was gorgeous, and, despite my mother avoiding getting to know Jimmy the last few months I’d been dating him, she sure knew what style to choose for him.

I watched as Jimmy ran his fingers over the stitching, reaching for one of his guitars to latch the strap onto.

“This is wonderful.” Jimmy murmured, hooking it around his shoulder, resting his Gibson on the lap for a moment. “Exactly my style, Rose, Dave. I love it.” Jimmy set his guitar, new strap latched lovingly, next to the couch in its cradle before everyone turned toward me, Scarlet bouncing onto the couch next to me with the cutest, awaiting smile.

My parents handed me an elegantly wrapped gift box, and I was overly curious what on Earth they’d gotten me. The box was a bit heavy.

Once I unwrapped the box, there was a leather volume booklet inside, and my eyebrows furrowed, almost confused as to what this could be.

I opened it to find a custom scrapbook, all photos of me as a toddler in New York, pictures and pamphlets from my school plays, handwritten notes from my grandmother, and pressed flowers from my high school and college graduation.

“Oh, mom... dad..." I felt tears spilling over. “My God… this is beautiful, I… when did you find the time to do all this?” I sniffled breathlessly, taken aback by the wonderful gesture.

Being so far away from the state I called home all my life, away from all of my family and the friends I’d made, this is the perfect gift for me to hold close whenever I need to remember what matters, when I’m homesick.

“We've been working on it for months.” My dad explained softly, raising to kiss my forehead. “Just a little piece of home to keep with you here in England.” He smiled, mirroring my mother’s soft expression, and I couldn’t help but let a few tears escape me as I flipped through a few of the pages. And I could tell I caught Jimmy’s attention with my tears, as he embraced me into his side lovingly, comforting me as he, too, glanced at each of the momentos the book held. It was such a beautiful gesture, and I was breathless by the time we’d moved on to my next gift.

Along with the book came a delicate, little porcelain tea set, designed with intricate blue and yellow flowers along the ridges.

“When I saw it, I immediately thought of you, since you've become an Englishwoman.” My mother joked, and I couldn’t help but smile, raising my eyebrows funnily at her. “We figured you'd need something proper to drink your gallons of tea from.” She waved her hand toward tea kettle that was always sat on the coffee table, with tea always readily accessible.

As we all laughed, the lovely sound filling the room, I got up hurriedly and gave my parents bear hugs, just grateful for them being here and being so loving these last few days.

And, with her biting at the bit, it was finally Scarlet's turn. Her mountain of wrapped toys were piled in front of her, and as she opened one by one, her smile grew wider and her heavy gasps of excitement began to fall from her mouth.

From dolls, building blocks, and a plush, pink dragon that Jimmy had tracked down at one of specialty shops in town, she was thrilled with the gifts we’d all gotten her, and couldn’t help but begin to play and dig into the confinements of every single one.

“You got me so many!” Scarlet squealed, hugging the dragon and a doll from my parents to her chest.

“We had a little help.” My mother said to her, winking. “I may have picked up a few secret things along the way…” She added sweetly, smiling down at Scar as she jumped up and down with joy, now clutching a new teddy bear to her chest.

“Tank you, grandma Rosie!” Scarlet shouted, reaching up to offer my mother and father and hug, to which they gladly accepted.

I couldn’t hold back my smile at the sight in front of me before I reached behind the tree and pulled out one last, smaller gift box for Scar.

“I have something special for you, Scarlet.” I murmured as she quieted down, reaching for the small box with wonder swirling in her wide, blue eyes.

I watched as she opened it slowly, revealing a brand new, child-friendly camera, very sleek and colorful and perfect for Scar’s personality. Her eyes widened as she realized what it was, especially since it seemed she had been obsessed with taking photos of everything lately with my camera; of the animals outside, the sitting room, Jimmy's guitar accessories, anything that caught her attention.

“Camera?” She whispered as she studied it closely, recognizing that it was just a smaller version of my own that she had been using.

“Yes, Scar… you very own!” I said. “Now you can take all the photos you want, sweetie!” I smiled down at her as Jimmy encased my shoulders in his arm, looking down at Scarlet proudly, sweetly.

Once she’d realized exactly what she’d received, she didn't just thank Jimmy and I; she erupted in a fit of excitement. She suddenly leaped from the sofa, already strapping the camera around her neck, and began sprinting around the sitting room, taking photos of everything.

“I take picture of this… this… and this!” She yelled, snapping blurry photos of my mother and father’s laughing faces, the fireplace, and then a photo of the lit Christmas tree that was many times her size.

“I take pictures of you, too, Cyn-dia!” She wailed happily, her smile as big as ever as she started snapping pictures of Jimmy and I.

Her joy was infectious and we spent the next hour watching her document our Christmas Eve, listening to her her small feet pattering across our hardwood floors as she took a photo of basically everything in sight.

After a couple of treats and cups of sleepy time tea, eventually, everyone’s excitement wound down.

My adrenaline had certainly faded, as well as Scarlet's, and her yawns suddenly became uncontrollable as she slumped on the couch, camera still clutched in her hand, her eyes half-closed with tiredness.

“Time for bed, darling.” I heard Jimmy say softly, scooping her up as I cleaned up a bit of our mess off the coffee table.

I hurried to lay the dishes onto the kitchen counter before the four of us walked her upstairs, to tuck her in.

My parents murmured their goodnights to sweet Scarlet before Jimmy and I kissed her forehead, sitting down next to her and whispering a short story about a magical Christmas miracle that sent her into a deep slumber. Within minutes, she was fast asleep, her new camera resting safely on her bedside table.

Jimmy and I quietly walked back out into the hallway, down to the landing, where my parents were waiting for the two of us.

“Thank you for everything.” My dad said, shaking Jimmy's hand while simultaneously pulling him into an embrace. “This has been the most wonderful visit. I don't think I've ever felt this relaxed.” My father admitted, looking happier than ever, making my heart ache with joy.

“The pleasure is ours.” Jimmy stated, pulling me closer to him, relinquishing his grip on my father’s hand, his other hand holding at my waist firmly.

“Goodnight, children. Thank you for the wonderful night.” My mother added, making my heart soar as she kissed both our cheeks. “We'll see you in the morning. Try to get some sleep.” She requested softly, offering us a small smile before following my father down the hallway to the guest bedroom.

Once we’d heard their door click shut, there was a heavy, but comfortable silence that settled over our home. It wasn't like it was a lonely silence, it felt charged, and my body was tingling as Jimmy followed me down the stairs, hot on my heels.

The sitting room was a like battlefield, wrapping paper, ribbons, and left over tea cups scattered about. The kitchen counter was littered with crumbs and sticky rings from our wine glasses, and we had quite the mess to deal with. But it was worth it.

We tidied up in a daze, brushing against each other here and again as we cleaned, just overly thankful that the entire visit was coming to an end seamlessly and we were alone at last.

“Quite the aftermath…” Jimmy murmured in my ear beside me, his soft voice soothing me as the glasses in my hand clinked.

“We should probably finish this up before the house decides to swallow us whole.” I said, giggling softly before picking up a stray piece of red ribbon on the floor.

We worked in silence for a few more minutes, the sound of the dishwasher starting and the rustle of garbage bags filling the air.

As I was scrubbing the counter, the scent of the lemon cleaner filling my nostrils, I felt a presence behind me.

Jimmy's chest was suddenly pressed against my back, his heat radiating through my thin sweater as his arms came up to slide around my waist, pulling me flush against him. I leaned my head back against his shoulder, closing my eyes as my hands halted their movements.

“This turned out perfectly, hmm?” He whispered, his breath hot against my ear. “I was so worried your parents wouldn't like me… or the house… or whatever.” Jimmy murmured nonsensically, tightening his grip on my body.

“They love you, Jimmy.” I breathed. "And it seems that they love me being here, being happy. I can't tell you what that means to me. Thank you for having them.” I replied, turning in his arms, his green eyes meeting my blue ones as my smile grew.

He kissed me then, not gently. He took my breath away as his kiss translated into something that he had clearly been holding back for days.

My arms immediately, instinctively, came up and around his neck, pulling him closer, my tongue meeting his in a frantic dance. I could taste the lingering sweetness of the red wine on his tongue, along with his usual minty taste that still made my mouth tingle.

As our kiss deepened, becoming more urgent, more desperate, his hands drifted down, gripping my hips and lifting me up onto the counter I’d just cleaned.

I gasped against his unyielding lips as he hoisted me up, my legs instinctively locking around his waist, making sure he hadn’t broken our kiss.

I was breathless as he smushed his body as close as he could against mine, and the cold granite of the counter top against my thighs was such a sharp contrast to the heat of his body.

I felt his needy hands slide underneath my skirt that had already ridden up, and by the time I caught my breath, he had already begun to touch me, his skilled fingers like molten lava against my tingling skin.

“Jimmy…” I moaned, my head tilting back as his lips left mine to trail a path of fire down my throat. “Parents... my parents... they're just upstairs. And Scarlet...” I rasped out, gasping as his teeth grazed my collarbone.

“They're asleep.” He groaned, his voice lowering to a dirty tone. “They won't hear a thing.” He assured. I wanted him, but my mind and body were two separate entities at the moment. My mind told me to pull away, while my body betrayed it entirely, grasping onto his as tight as I could, needing more, more, more.

Jimmy pulled back for a second, his eyes scanning my face as he felt me softly push against his chest, the idea of my judgemental, uptight mother potentially catching us weighing heavily on my mind.

"I've wanted you since breakfast, love… watching you with them, with Scar, seeing you so happy... oh Cyn, it just made me need you more.” He moaned as our centers met, his hands gripping at my bottom, bringing me impossible closer against his slender frame.

God, this is so wrong… what if…

“But…” I whispered the weak protest, though I was already arching my back, pressing my chest against his, my head lulling back at the sensation of our centers merging with one another’s.

“Shhh…” He smiled brazenly against the skin of shoulder, knowing exactly what I was about to say, as his hands simultaneously slid under my knit skirt, his fingers brushing against the lace of my panties.

I gave in, like always. I was defenseless to his addictive, filthy ways. And he began to speak to me, softly, almost too softly, to a point to where his accent, melded with his sweet voice, made my ears strain to hear him.

As he pulled my tights and panties to the floor, he told me exactly what he wanted to do to me, how he wanted to feel me around him, how he wanted to hear me say his name as he took me.

The risk of this, what with the thin floorboards upstairs, and the close proximity of my parents, sent a jolt of electricity through my veins.

This was a bad idea.

But I loved this about him… the way he always pushed boundaries, the way he could turn any domestic situation into some kind of sexy gamble. There was never any stopping him, and, shamefully, I didn’t want to.

I gasped suddenly, my thighs trembling as Jimmy found my center, and I could feel myself already aching with anticipation, which hadn’t gone unnoticed by Jimmy.

It had been a while since we’d made love, since my parents arrived actually. It was rare for Jimmy and I to be without for a period of time, we’d gotten into a rhythm of giving in whenever we wanted, wherever we wanted, and with the presence of my parents and Scarlet up and about, it became difficult to give into any temptations.

“Look at you…” Jimmy whispered lowly, his voice thick, pulling me from my longing thoughts. “You’re so wet for me, Cyn. You secretly love this, don't you?” He taunted, that familiar, sensual, all-knowing smirk plastering itself on his perfect face.

“You love this.” He repeated, his long fingers beginning to rub at my most sensitive spot, his lips coming forward to meet mine once again. I whimpered, couldn’t help it, clutching at his shoulders, his curls, as my arousal heightened.

“Jimmy… please.” I couldn’t say much, with Jimmy’s feverish touch and skilled mouth working its way upon my body. There was nothing left to do but to follow suit, give into him, give into my own needs.

Jimmy didn't make me wait. He fumbled with his trousers for a moment, before freeing himself from their confinements, softly guiding my hand to touch him.

He moaned low in my ear, his warm breath fanning into my cheek as I stroked at his sensitive skin. I found myself stroking faster, my grip tightening softly on him, the soft sounds falling from his mouth encouraging me. I loved hearing him like this… losing some control because of me.

He gripped my thighs once again, spreading them wider on the counter, guiding himself to my entrance.

As he paused for a moment, the tip of bim brushing against me, teasing me, his movements slowed, taking his time, and in this moment of risky business, it wasn’t necessarily the time to take things slowly.

I whimpered once more, my breath coming fast and my hips bucking upward, pleading for him. We needed to do this before my parents woke, before my mind caught up with me, with the situation.

“Slowly…” He murmured, like we had all the time in the world, though his own breath was ragged and quick.

I let out a cry as he pushed, burying my face in his neck to muffle the sound, scared that I’d give us away.

“Shhh, Cyn…” Jimmy spoke against the shell of my ear, smiling against my skin. “Quiet, love.”

He began to move and my breath hitched, along with a small moan escaping my lips as I felt him pick up his pace slightly. He immediately cloaked my mouth with his own, shoving his tongue in my mouth, swallowing my sounds.

“You feel so good… oh, Cyn…” He groaned softly, his pace increasing slightly. I felt as if I was already so close to the edge in just mere seconds, and I wrapped my legs tighter around his waist, pulling him deeper.

The friction had begun to build, a coil of tension tightening in my tummy, and by the way Jimmy had began to move faster, more intense, shuddering, I could tell this wasn’t going to last much longer.

He suddenly shifted his angle, lifting one of my legs higher onto the counter top, allowing him to drive deeper, hitting a spot that made my vision go blurry.

I began to shake, my muscles clamping down on him as waves of pleasure coursed through me.

“Jimmy... oh god, Jimmy...” I got out, breathless, the moans falling from my lips now uncontrollably.

“I've got you.” Jimmy gasped, his movements becoming more frantic as his grip on my body stiffened, pulling me closer to him. “I've got you, Cynthia…” He murmured, kissing my cheek with slack lips as he continued to pound into me.

I felt my orgasm building, like a crashing wave, and I I gripped at his hair, pulling him impossibly closer, my breath coming in jagged gasps.

“Just let go, Cyn… come for me, baby. Let it go.” Jimmy commanded softly in my ear, and I shattered.

The pleasure exploded in my core, and my entire body felt like it was on fire, and I gripped Jimmy with an intensity that made him growl.

As I arched my back, my toes curling, I felt the pleasure vibrating through my entire body, and I found myself covering my mouth to stop the moans from escaping my lips.

Jimmy didn't stop, continued to move, hard and fast, before he let out a low moan, a loud sigh erupting from him as he stiffened, his muscles locking as he poured himself into me.

His body went slack instantly, leaning against me, his forehead resting against mine, while both of us were still heaving for air. The only sound in the kitchen was the hum of the refrigerator and the beating of our hearts together.

Despite the situation being as risky as ever, I couldn’t find myself to feel wrong or dirty. I loved the feeling of togetherness with him, and it was a nice end to our wonderful Christmas Eve.

As he slowly slid out of me, still holding me lovingly, we stayed there for a moment, the adrenaline slowly receding. Jimmy peppered kisses onto my shoulder where he’d pulled down my sweater, leaving warm embers in their wake.

“Alright?” He asked softly, kissing the tip of my nose.

I laughed softly, leaning my head against his chest. “I think I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be.” I told him genuinely, meeting his gaze again, my eyes full of wonder as I relished in the feeling of being connected so intimately with him once again.

As he lifted me off the counter and set me on my feet, my legs were still a bit shaky and I reached up to his shoulder to keep steady as he grabbed a kitchen towel, gently wiping the both of us, his movements so tender and caring, making my cheeks flame and my smile grow.

“We should probably actually finish cleaning now…” I said goofily, though I made no move to leave his arms.

“In a minute.” Jimmy replied, pulling me back into a slow, passionate kiss. “I want to stay right here with you, love.”

We stood there in the quiet for a while, migrating to the breakfast nook by the window. We dug into the leftover sponge cake that sat on counter, along with a cup of tea we shared.

I sat on Jimmy’s lap, feeding him, spooning little fluffs of pound cake and whipped cream into his mouth, his face holding that smile I loved so much, before he spoke, breaking the comfortable silence in the kitchen.

“I love you, you know.”

“I love you too, Jimmy.”

“No, really.” He paused, his eyes turning serious, gleaming. “I really do.” It was as if he was saying it once more for emphasis, like this was the first time in his life he’d ever really meant it. The intensity in his eyes, his touch, his voice, hit me like a freight train. He had always possessed the ability, since I met him, to make me feel like I was floating on a cloud, somewhere deep in space, head full and in a daze of wonder.

Nothing more was really said, except a few hums of appreciation of the goodness of the cake and how well the night had turned out.

As my eyes drifted from Jimmy’s whipped cream smeared lips, I looked around at the kitchen, still sort of a mess, my eyes following across the hall to where the Christmas tree’s lights shined through the door way.

For the first time in my life, I didn't feel the need to look back at what I had in New York. Everything I needed is right here, in the arms of the man I love. I belong here, with Jimmy… I knew that now more than ever. And all at once, now, it seemed to hit me.

~~

*Christmas Morning*

The next morning, Jimmy was already awake in bed.

How I felt was wonderful, the feeling of dreamlike flowers and soft colors floating through the air, stuck in a hazy, half-conscious space as I felt Jimmy’s soft lips place kiss after kiss along my jawline, big hands softly traipsing up and down my torso.

His touch was so lovely, so solacing, I had no desire to wake at first. But with another kiss from Jimmy upon my collarbone, up to my neck, I turned lazily, like a cat stretching in a sunbeam, in his arms to look at him.

“Mmm… morning…” I murmured softly, looking up his gorgeous face, his green eyes shining in the rare winter sunshine that gleamed through the window.

I looked around the room briefly, seeing a couple of crossiants and cups of tea on our bedside table, and smiled to myself at how thoughtful Jimmy always was.

“Hadn’t meant to wake you, love. But you looked so beautiful, I couldn’t keep to myself.” He leaned down to kiss me, and once I’d felt his lips on mine again, it was like I surged fully back to life, to consciousness, and I had never felt a feeling quite like this in all my life.

Before the chance had come to deepen our kiss, before things would go dirty, passionate, in a way where there was no stopping once we started, Jimmy pulled away softly, placing a soft peck on my lips before he spoke.

“Cyn, I believe there’s one last, extra special, Christmas gift left to open.” Jimmy had that silly smirk plastered on his face suddenly as he reached back into the side table next to his side of the bed, pulling out a small gift box, with a glittery, gold bow strapped onto it.

The small, squared off size and shape of the box had my mind suddenly reeling, overly curious of what could be in this mystery box.

“Open it, love.” He directed, placing the box into my hands, his expression suddenly vulnerable. I hurriedly sat up in the bed, criss-crossing my legs to be up with him.

My pulse thrummed as I clicked open the box, and seen what was inside.

On the small plush, satin bed, sat the most gorgeous ring I’d ever laid my eyes upon. It wasn't a traditional ring; it was a yellow gold setting that cradled two stones that caught all of my attention.

One was a deep red garnet and the other was a beautiful diamond. And then it hit me once I’d noticed that the two stones weren’t just set side-by-side, they were woven together.

I stared at it for a long moment in awe, my breath catching in my throat.

“Jimmy...” I whispered, unable to articulate my feeling in the moment.

“Look at the stones, Cyn.” His fingers ghosted over mine, gesturing to the garnet and the diamond.

Another realization flowed through my brain. “A garnet… your birthstone.”

“And the diamond is yours.” He finished, his voice soft and sweet. “Entwined together.”

“It’s beautiful… my God, Jimmy. It’s gorgeous.” I said breathlessly, my eyes unyielding on the lovely ring.

Jimmy took my hand suddenly, his fingers trembling slightly as he slid the band onto my finger. It fit perfectly, and I couldn’t stop admiring it as he spoke once more.

“It’s a promise…” He began, picking my chin up to look directly into my eyes. “A promise that you’re the center of it all. All of it… none of it matters if you aren't there. And the stones... they're us. No matter where the road goes, no matter what happens, I want to be next to you.” Jimmy finished, smiling softly as he caressed my ring finger.

His words, along with the loving look in his eyes, left me in a complete sob. I didn't even try to stop the tears. They continued to spill over, Jimmy’s expression of his love was sudden, so intense, it felt like a physical blow.

I threw my arms around his neck, burying my face in his shoulder as I weeped with a joy that felt too large for my body.

“Oh, Jimmy…” I choked out, holding him as tight as I could, impossibly tighter.

He wrapped his arms around me, pulling me flush against him, his own voice breaking as he pressed a kiss to my cheek, the top of my head.

“Shhh, it's alright. Everything’s all right, Cyn. I love you, I love you so much.“ Jimmy murmured into my ear, along with other sweet words that had my heart fluttering.

“I love you too…” I sobbed into his skin, my fingers grasping at the loose strands of his wild hair on his shoulders. “Thank you, Jimmy…” I whispered, hoping he’d heard me over my voice breaking.

He pulled back just enough to cup my chin, lifting my face to his as he searched my blue eyes, wet and shimmering, before crashing his lips onto mine.

This wasn't the tentative kiss like before. This was intense, passionate, as he began to lay me back against the pillows, his body a heavy weight above me now, his long, porcelain arms engulfing me entirely.

Our kiss deepened immediately, turning heated and hungry. As Jimmy shifted, slotting his hips to meet mine, his lips migrated to my ear, his voice now low, like a dirty velvet.

“I can’t get enough of you… I need to make love to you again, Cyn. Please, let me.” He whispered, his breath hot against my cheek. “Just you and I, baby… I’ll never-“

Before Jimmy could go any further, the door suddenly vibrated under a series of loud knocks from the other side, making us both freeze.

“Cynthia! Jimmy!” My mother’s voice shrieked from the hallway. “For heaven's sake, get up! We have a flight to catch! We cannot be late for the airport!” She wailed from the other side of the door.

Jimmy and I collapsed against each other, a synchronized groan escaping our lips. We just stayed planted for a second, our foreheads pressed together, before we both burst into a fit of muffled, breathless laughter. Though my mother had lightened up these last few days she’d been here, she was still as demanding as ever. That hadn’t changed.

“Coming!” I yelled, though it sounded more like a squeak as I started to lift up with Jimmy.

“We're awake!” Jimmy bellowed back, his voice laced with a mocking tone, making me giggle, softly pushing at his chest as we rose up from our position.

We shared one last, lingering kiss, like a promise of things to come, before grumbling our way out of our bed. We scrambled for clothes, pulling on sweaters and jeans in a frantic race against my mother’s ticking clock.

Once we got downstairs, after checking in Scarlet’s room, surprised to see that she was already up, her bed was made, and her suitcase was already packed.

To my surprise, my parents had already taken charge of Scarlet. She was already standing by the door in the foyer, new teddy bear in hand, looking like a miniature Christmas doll in a red velvet dress with a white lace collar, which was one of the dresses that had been tucked away in her closet.

“Oh, Cynthia! Jimmy! It’s about time! Just look at her!" My mom beamed, her judgment completely forgotten in the face of Scarlet’s adorable appearance. “She’s such a little angel!”

“She isn’t, she? Thank you, Rose.” Jimmy said, kissing her cheek while helping Ron gather the last of the luggage.

Right before we were ready to walk out of the door, the telephone in the foyer began to ring and I hurried over to answer it.

“Hello?” I called into the receiver.

“Oh, hello. Is this Cynthia?” A woman’s voice, with a soft English accent sounded over the phone.

“Yes, this is Cynthia.” I straightened my posture instinctively, my heart beating a bit faster.

“Oh, lovely! We’ve heard much about you. I'm Margaret, Jimmy's stepmother. I do apologize for the surprise call on Christmas morning, dear.” She said, and my stomach immediately dropped, realizing I was talking to Jimmy’s stepmother. I’d never met her before. I’d heard about her and James, Jimmy’s father briefly, but he didn’t talk about his parents much, including his mother, Patricia.

“No, not at all! It's a pleasure to finally speak with you, Margaret. Merry Christmas.” I say hurriedly, realizing I probably sounded a bit flustered. I hoped she didn’t notice.

“Merry Christmas, darling. I'm calling because we would simply love to have you, Jimmy, and little Scarlet over for Christmas dinner this evening. It's been far too long since we've seen the boy, and we'd be delighted to have you at our home.” She explained, and a surge of excitement hit me.

This was it… was this my chance to meet Jimmy’s parents? Enter the bridge to the other side of Jimmy's life?

“We would love to come!” I said eagerly, hoping not speaking to Jimmy first wouldn’t be a problem. I mean, seeing his father and stepmother on Christmas should be a good thing, right?

“Though, I should mention, Scarlet is being dropped off at her mother's house, Charlotte's, for the holiday until after New Year's. But Jimmy and I will be there!” I smiled, trying to hide my overt excitement.

“That's perfectly fine, darling. We'll look forward to seeing you. Shall we say half-seven?” She suggested, her voice light and airy. She sounded so kind.

“That works perfectly. We'll see you then.” I hung up the phone, a beaming smile on my face. I practically floated back to the foyer where Jimmy was helping Ron with the bags, my parents and Scarlet already strapped into the car.

“Jimmy! Your stepmother just called! She invited us for dinner tonight!” I raved, my hand reaching his shoulder excitedly.

And as soon as the words left my mouth, the change in Jimmy was instantaneous. The light in his eyes dimmed slightly, and his jaw tightened into a rigid line on his now twisted face. He didn't look excited in the slightly.

The smile slid off my face completely, and I realized I may have made a mistake. "Is something wrong, Jimmy? Isn’t this great? You get to see your folks.” I smiled softly, hoping to sound cheerful, to brighten him up.

“Right.” He replied, his voice flat, trying his best to smile. “Great.”

I felt a sudden prick of regret bloom in my chest as I watched him shrug off my next words. I had agreed without asking him… I suppose I had assumed, in my family-fueled optimism, that he’d want this.

“I... I'm sorry. I should have checked with you first. I just thought-“ I started, but he began to shake his head.

“Don't worry about it.” He interrupted sharply, no warmth in his words. “Let's just get your parents to the airport.” And he headed out of the front without another word.

The car ride was agonizingly slow. The traffic was moving at a snails’ pace, and the silence wasn't the comfortable kind Jimmy and I usually shared, it was suffocating.

Jimmy just stared out the window, holding Scarlet’s hand, his fingers on his free hand drumming a beat on the door handle. Every time I tried to catch his eye, he just looked away from me.

When we arrived at Charlotte's to drop off Scarlet, the tension shifted slightly, but was still palpable.

Charlotte was surprisingly pleasant, giving me a friendly smile and a brief hug, wishing me a merry Christmas, as well as Jimmy.

“Thanks for bringing her.” Charlotte said, kissing Scarlet on the forehead.

My parents and Jimmy said their goodbyes to Scarlet, whom had slight tears in her eyes from having to part from us.

“See you soon, sweetheart!” I told Scarlet, who clung to my leg for a moment before being whisked inside by Charlotte and her boyfriend.

We soon arrived to the airport shortly after, with Jimmy’s attitude unchanging. As we said our goodbyes to my parents, I tried to be as strong as possible, keep my spirits warm, but I felt the tears prickle my eyes as I watched them go.

I was so thankful they’d come, and we’d had such a wonderful time together, with no issues. My mother had finally come around, and it felt like a new beginning for Jimmy and I. That is the main reason why I thought Jimmy, who seemingly hadn’t seen his family for as long as I had, would want to go and see his father and stepmother today to celebrate Christmas.

As Ron drove us back home, Jimmy remained ominous, mute would be the term, and I had no idea what could possibly be going through his head.

The moment we stepped through the front door, Jimmy didn't say a word. He didn't even look at me. He walked straight past the sitting room and vanished into his office, the door clicking shut with harshly, echoing through the eerie silence of the hallway where I stood, dumbfounded.

I stayed there in the silence for what felt like forever, the garnet diamond ring on my finger suddenly feeling heavier and heavier. I weighed my options of what I thought I should do next.

I sat and waited, tidying up the sitting room and the kitchen. Ten minutes passed. Then twenty. The house felt empty despite him being only a few rooms away.

The present I had for him, that I hadn’t gotten a chance to give him this morning sat hidden behind the tree. I wondered if this would be a good time to attempt to give it to him. Maybe that is why he is mad… had he thought I hadn’t gotten him anything? No no, he’s not like that. And anyway, I planned to give it to him this morning, but with the unexpected, wonderful gift he’d given me, paired with rushing this morning to our multiple destinations, there hadn’t been a good opportunity.

I grabbed the present and walked toward his office, my footsteps hesitant, almost tiptoeing across the creaky floorboards.

My bare feet sauntered forward before I pushed the door open an inch, spotting Jimmy sitting behind his desk, not working, just staring at the wall.

“Jimmy?” I called softly. “Are you alright?”

“I'm fine.” He snapped back, unmoving.

“You're not fine. You haven't been fine since the phone call I had with Margaret.” I accused, though I knew I was right.

“I'm just not in the mood for the performance, Cynthia.” He sighed, his voice still holding that tone of annoyance, resentment.

“Was I wrong? To say yes?” I stepped closer, leaning against the edge of his desk, watching his features. “We don't have to go. Truly. If it's going to make you miserable, I'll call Margaret back and make an excuse.” I told him truthfully, not wanting him to be upset or angry on Christmas.

Jimmy looked at me then. All of the hardness in his eyes softened, and he almost had a weary sort of sadness settling in them. It was like a punch to the gut, and I wanted to get to the bottom of this.

“It's not that simple.” He murmured. "My father... he isn’t the most supportive. Or kind. Especially when I started taking the music seriously. To him, it was a whim. Stupid, really. He wanted me to be a bloody doctor. Or a chemist. Someone with a 'real' profession. And he never fails to bloody remind me.” Jimmy grumbled, reaching for a cigarette in his new pack that sat on his desk. I looked on disapprovingly, but didn’t protest.

“But you're a success, Jimmy. The whole world knows that. Doesn’t he understand?” I tried to reason, relating to him on some level in terms of judgemental parents. I was beginning to get the whole picture, here.

“Understand? He doesn't even see it as success, let alone my success.” Jimmy informed me with a bitter laugh. "He sees it as a result of his 'guidance.' Or his investment. Bloody hell, he hates the goddamn music.” Jimmy shook his head, flicking ashes into the ashtray, the bitter smell of the smoke wafting around us.

I reached out, taking his hand in mine, coming around the desk to be stand next to him. “Maybe he’s trying to be closer to you now. And it’s Christmas. I'd still love to meet them. But only if you want to.” I said carefully, ready for his refusal, but was met with a shocking response.

He looked down at our joined hands, then back up at me, managing a small, strained smile.

“Perhaps you’re right. It is Christmas after all.” He sighed. "I suppose I can manage a dinner.” He shrugged, putting out his cigarette and taking me into his arms. “We'll go.” He announced simply, kissing my forehead, hugging me close to his body.

As our lips met, everything else seemed to disappear around us, and we melted in each others arms. Even the small period of silent treatment Jimmy had given me made me miss him with an intensity that felt like years since seeing him.

But before I forgot, I pulled away from his soft, wet lips, hurrying over to where I’d set the present down by the door.

“Jimmy, there is, indeed, one last, extra special, Christmas gift left to open.” I winked as I shook the present in front of him, imitating his own words from this morning in bed.

He laughed a boisterous laugh, the one I loved so much, and it tickled my heart as I watched his smile beam as I approached him.

“Love, you didn’t have to.” He said, all while hurrying to tear open the wrapping adorably.

As he opened it, his jaw almost dropped at the sight of his gift, and I knew, immediately, I’d made the right choice at that antique shop months ago.

It was an antique scarab necklace, popular in the mythological world, with its unique and distinctive design originating in Egypt. These are the things that Jimmy took strong interest too, and it took me months to find this specific style pendant. Since he’d gifted his Horus pendant to me months ago, when we’d parted for the first time on tour, I figured he needed another for his sterling silver chain. And I thought this was the perfect find for it.

He admired it for what felt like minutes at a time, the clock ticked on and his fingers gently caressed the jewel, up and around its edges, his eyes unyielding.

“Jimmy, do you… do you like it?” I finally broke the silence, and he lifted his head finally to look at me, breaking his trance.

“By Christ, Cyn… what… how… how on Earth did you find something like this?” He stuttered, stunned, his jaw ajar.

“I searched around for months, it’s the only one of its kind. The gentleman said it’d been tucked away for years until someone had come in looking for something like it.” I explained, admiring it alongside him. It was unlike anything I’d ever seen before. It was unique, different, beautiful, like Jimmy.

“Jesus, I’d been searching for something like this since I was in the Yardbirds. What a miracle worker you are! Christ, it’s magnificent!” He hurriedly reached for his loose sterling silver chain, attaching it before handing over for me to latch it onto his neck.

It was heavier than I thought it was.

I went around his perfectly quaffed curls, lifting them up and over the chain as I attached it to his neck.

I walked him over to the mirror on the wall above his desk, and I got on my tiptoes to attempt to equalize my height to his, to no avail.

God, he’s so tall… look at him, so sexy… that smile… that chest hair… look at how the necklace sits on that toned chest so perfectly… I’d love to have that pendant hanging above me as he…..

CYNTHIA, FOCUS.

I pushed my dirty thoughts away before I actually took myself up on them, and admired the way the pendant looked on Jimmy; how it fit him, his aesthetic, his aura, so divinely.

“Oh, Cyn… this is perfect, you’re perfect… how do you do it?” He turned to me, scooping me in his arms before I could even catch my breath.

“The things you do to me, for me… the way you make me feel… Christ, I love you.” He breathed into my hair, the cold silver of the pendant indenting itself into my skin as it touched me.

“Thank you, love. I owe you, Cyn. The world, I do.” He murmured into the skin of my cheek, planting kiss after kiss on my face.

With my hand on his shoulder, I admired the ring he’d gifted me this morning with a soft smile, sighing contently into his chest as we embraced for what felt like an eternity.

~~

The drive to Jimmy’s father and stepmother’s home took longer than expected, winding through narrow English roads where every flat was sort of similar, all the neat hedges frosted white.

Ron finally pulled up in front of a quaint, stone home, nestled in among hills currently smothered in sleet and snow. It looked like something from a postcard. Very quaint and peaceful in what looked to be a sort of quiet neighborhood.

The glow of a lit Christmas tree shone through the curtains of what appeared to be the front room as we walked up the path.

My nerves returned immediately as we strolled up the sidewalk, terrified of making a bad impression. Jimmy squeezed my hand in his, his grip firm and comforting as we stood on the porch.

“Just breathe, love.” He whispered to me, placing a kiss upon my rosy cheek. “If you get nervous, just look at me.” He told me simply, making my heart flutter.

As we knocked and rang the bell, the door opened almost immediately, Margaret standing there, her face radiating an open warmth. She had a wide smile and eyes that twinkled with excitement as she took in our appearance.

“Heavens, you’re here! Oh, welcome, welcome!” She stepped forward and pulled us both into an enveloping bear hug. “It's so wonderful to finally meet you, Cynthia! Jimmy has told us much about you, but seeing you is quite another thing!” She smiled as she looked at me up and down lovingly.

“It's a pleasure to meet you, Margaret.” I said, feeling my nervousness melt away under her kindness.

She led us into the cozy sitting room, that had a wonderful aroma of cinnamon swirling around the room.

“I brought this for you. Apple pie.” I offered softly, smiling as I handed it over. She thanked me kindly, laying it down onto the bar with the other desserts before she called out to the kitchen across the hall.

“James! James, they're here!” Margaret bellowed toward the kitchen.

And suddenly, an older man emerged, his stern, weathered face and assessing eyes taking the three of us in. He held a glass of whiskey in one of his hands as he offered me his free hand to shake.

“Hello.” He said, his voice deep.

“Mr. Page, it's a pleasure to meet you.” I said, stepping forward to introduce myself.

He gave me a brief, polite nod while giving my hand a soft shake. “The pleasure is mine, Cynthia. About time we meet, hm?” He smiled curtly.

He then turned to Jimmy, and didn't really smile before he reached out and gave Jimmy a handshake that looked more like a grip of authority than a loving greeting, followed by a stiff hug to us both.

“Good to see you, son. Looking thin these days.” He told Jimmy, looking him up and down with disapproval, tugging a bit on Jimmy’s sweater.

I felt it then. The tension certainly wasn't gone; it had just gone beneath the surface of our first meeting. I hoped that Jimmy wouldn’t give into his father’s snide remark, and fortunately, he didn’t. He smiled and secretly rolled his eyes before giving me a knowing look as I squeezed his hand in mine reassuringly.

We sat for a while, catching up and drinking some tea. It was nice to finally get to know some people who’ve known Jimmy his entire life. Margaret was such a lovely woman, and it was clear she’d come to love and admire Jimmy in a way that you’d think he was her own.

They asked me questions about where I was from, how Jimmy and I met, what I did for a living, and more. It was refreshing to see they were interested in me, and I was much more at ease by the time we finished our tea.

For a moment, I believed the night would be smooth, but as Jimmy’s father continued to drink and give Jimmy an unnecessary evil eye throughout our conversation, I was just waiting for something to happen.

As my stomach started to growl, what with the wonderful smell of the spread Margaret had prepared for dinner, we finally moved to the dining room.

The dinner was magnificent as Margaret had prepared a roast, with glazed vegetables, all the food glistening under the chandelier.

We sat down and Margaret said a quick prayer before we dove into our supper, the sound of cutlery the only sound in the room until Jimmy’s father, thoroughly drunk by now, spoke up once more.

“So…” James said, leaning back in his chair, refilling his glass with more whiskey. “How is the band, Jimmy? Still going strong with that zoo of a crew you’ve now?” He asked condescendingly, making all three of us lift our heads up sharply at that. My jaw almost dropped to the floor at his words, and Jimmy looked as if he was trying his best to bite his tongue.

“The music is doing well, da’.” Jimmy replied, his voice staying surprisingly neutral, shoving a last forkful of his food in his mouth.

I watched James chuckle dryly before shaking his head. “Music… it was always the music. Your mother, she could never get you away from that damned guitar. I remember it. Every room, every corner of the house, just that constant strumming. It was like living with a bloody woodpecker, I tell you, Cynthia.” He began to laugh to himself obnoxiously, and I let out a nervous giggle, swallowing the lump that had formed in my throat.

I looked at Jimmy as I noticed he was just staring down at his empty plate, his jaw tighter than ever. I hoped his father would just quit while he was ahead.

“Patricia was far too easy on you, you know.” James continued, slightly slurring his words before glancing at me. “She let you goof off. Let you bring that instrument to school. I told her back then that a boy needs discipline. I had a plan for you, Jimmy. Not all this... wandering.” He waved his hand around for emphasis, as if Jimmy being the leader of the most revered band in the world was just a case of ‘wandering’.

“I'm not wandering. Made a life for myself, I did.” Jimmy said quietly, though I could see his blood boiling.

“Used to be a good boy, did our James. Until that guitar got hold of him. Always thin as a rail he’s been, but these days, all this rock and roll stuff, I fear it’s gotten worse.” Jimmy’s father said harshly, gesturing to Jimmy’s frame.

“And yet, I suppose it’s working out, hasn’t it?” James said, his tone shifting to a tone of patronizing. “Which just goes to show that sometimes a bit of indulgence pays off. Though, let's be frank, James, you owe the bulk of this success to me.” He continued to slur. By this point, Jimmy’s face was on fire. Matter of fact, his neck, the slight skin of his chest exposed by sweater had turned red. I knew this probably wasn’t going to end well. And at this point, I hadn’t any idea how to stop it.

“If I hadn't bought you that first electric guitar, you'd probably be playing that tripe in some dingy pub in Surrey.” His father finished, and my eyes widened at his cruel words. He was much better earlier, before his indulgences… perhaps that’s where Jimmy gets his mean streaks from, especially when he himself gets a bit intoxicated.

The silence that followed Jimmy’s dad’s words was deafening. I could see the vein in Jimmy's temple begin to throb and I placed my hand on his leg underneath the table to try and soothe him.

“I paid for most of that guitar.” Jimmy said, his voice trembling with rage. “I worked to cover the difference. And as for the success... that came from a lot of sleepless nights and bloody hard work. Not from a goddamn gift.” Jimmy spit, now speaking up for himself, and I was hopeful this would end soon.

Unfortunately , this was going from zero to one hundred quickly.

I looked over at Margaret, and she looked horrified by James’s words, but not surprised. I assumed this has probably happened times before, and she may have gotten accustomed to their arguing.

I suddenly had a feeling of regret wash over me, feeling shameful that I’d convinced Jimmy to come here with me. I had no idea his father would start this. Especially in front of me, a special to Jimmy that he’d never met.

“Don't be ungrateful!” James snapped, his voice rising now. “Everything you have started with what I provided. You've always had this tendency to rewrite history to make yourself the hero of the story, haven’t you, James? Perhaps we should indulge Cynthia on a few of those, eh?” His father exclaimed, looking between the two of us, his eyes flooded with red rage, the whiskey in his cup toppling out of his glass with each word and gesture of his hand.

“I’m not rewriting anything!” Jimmy shouted, popping out of his chair so abruptly that it nearly tipped over. “I'm just telling the bloody truth! Perhaps if you had done that more often, mum wouldn’t have rid of you!” Jimmy spewed, now thoroughly riled, and seemingly hurt by his father’s words.

“You sit down, James! You and your mouth… you’re acting like a spoiled fucking child! Nothing has changed, I see that now!” James growled, stumbling up from his chair.

I was now scared the two would start fist-fighting at any moment.

“Not as spoiled as you, you cunt!" Jimmy roared, throwing his chair into the table. “I'm bloody done with this!” He shouted, before turning and storming out of the dining room.

A moment later, we heard, rather felt, the back door slam with a force that shook the entire house. Margaret jumped in her seat, her hand flying to her mouth. God, what a mess.

James didn't move, and my eyes rose to his frame as he sat back in his chair, simply taking a long, slow swallow of his whiskey, mumbling an incoherent, “spoiled... always had a temper, that boy. Just like his mother.” He shook his head as he poured more liquor, and I watched as Margaret shot up out her seat to stop him, scolding him quietly in front of me.

I pondered what to do for a moment, and all I could think about was Jimmy. And I couldn't sit and watch his father drink while Jimmy was out in the freezing darkness.

“Please excuse me.” I said, my voice a bit shaky as I hurried to the hallway, grabbing my coat, snatching Jimmy's jacket from the hook. He hadn't taken his coat, and it was frigid.

I stepped outside, the cold hitting me like a physical blow, the whip of air stinging my cheeks.

I spotted Jimmy immediately in the dim patio light, pacing the narrow strip of the backyard, and the orange glow of a cigarette hanging from his lips. He only seemed to want to light up when he was angry, upset, hurt. I didn’t like when he smoked, but this wasn’t the time to tell him to ash it.

As I approached, my feet trudging in the snow, he turned, his eyes wild, flashing with anger. But as soon as he saw it was me, his expression softened, though the tension remained, swirling around us rapidly.

“If you've come out here to try and convince me to come back inside and apologize, bloody save it.” He spat.

“Okay.” I said softly. “You don't have to.” I told him simply.

Jimmy stopped pacing momentarily, his eyes laser-pointed on me, a genuine look of shock crossing his features.

“What?” He pondered, seemingly stunned.

“I said you don't have to.” I repeated, my voice firm. I stepped closer to him, the cold wind whipping my hair across my face. “I'm not going to force you to go back in there and pretend everything is fine when it isn't.” I explained.

He stared at me for a long moment, contemplating his next move, his next words.

“Okay.” He replied, sounding completely taken aback.

He looked at me strangely. I think he had expected a fight. Perhaps he had expected me to play the role of the mediator, to treat him like a toddler who had just been scolded.

But that wasn't how we worked. From the moment we met, there had been an unspoken pact between us; a give and take. I didn't push him, and he didn't push me.

I held out his jacket to him, and of course, he shooed it away at first, his pride still hammering on, but when a sudden shiver racked his frame, he finally gave in and pulled the coat on, hopefully shielding him from the wind. The last thing we needed was for him to get sick.

He took another deep drag of his cigarette, the smoke curling around his curls in small, grey clouds. The air outside smelled wet, cold, with the smell of the acrid tobacco making for a heady bitter scent. I scrunched my nose as the smell wafted around us.

“Are you okay?” I asked him genuinely, and he scoffed.

“Oh, just peachy, Cynthia. And you, darling?” He mocked, contorting his face into a sarcastic grin.

I rolled my eyes, ignoring him.

“So what was all that about?” I asked him another question, hoping he’d simmer down slightly if he talked about it.

“He started it.” Jimmy growled, his voice thick with resentment. “Talking all that rubbish about what the hell he’s done for me. Who owes who. All that tripe.” He shook his head angrily, fuming.

“So you stoop to his level, call names, and storm out?” I shoot back, worried, but also disappointed in him and his behavior tonight. He should have ignored it, perhaps even deescalated the situation.

“The bastard had it coming! He knew exactly what he was doing. He’s always provoking me, Cynthia. Why do you think I haven't come 'round lately? You see what happens the second I step through that goddamn door.” He inhaled the rest of the cigarette in one furious draw and crushed the butt beneath the heel of his boot. He turned his gaze toward me, and the anger shifted, and it seemed it was set on me now.

“What’s it to you, anyway?” He spat, his voice hardening. “You’re the one who agreed to all this without even speaking to me first. I knew this was a bad idea.”

His accusation stung and I felt the heat rise in my cheeks, not from the cold, but from a sudden wave of guilt. I felt like crying. I never meant for this to happen.

“I figured you’d like to be with your family for the holidays.” I whispered, my voice sounding so small against the wind. “I enjoyed being with mine this week. I just wanted... I wanted you to have that too…” I looked down at the snow clinging to my boots. “I'm sorry, Jimmy.”

I felt defeated. This was supposed to be the perfect Christmas, my ring, our peace with my parents, my introduction to his. Instead, we were standing in a freezing cold backyard, arguing about a purchase of a guitar twenty years ago, and a father who should have probably been a bit more patient, more loving, with his son over the years.

Jimmy sighed deeply, I could hear it over the wind. There was no hesitation now as he stepped toward me, wrapping his arms around me and pulling me tight against his chest.

He smelled of smoke and winter, but his heart was racing against my ear as he spoke, his voice coming out slowly, soft, I almost didn’t hear him.

“I’m sorry for this, Cyn.” He whispered into my hair. “I need him to know that I don't need his approval. I just... I’ve always wanted him to see me, you know… just me.” He confided, and I pulled away just enough to look up at him, meeting his eyes as he continued.

“My mum, you know, she always supported me, the music. She always saw me, what I wanted to do, what I was capable of. She never doubted me.” He indulged, almost looking like he was going to cry.

“I see you, Jimmy. I see all of you.” I assured him, my hand coming up to rest upon his rosy cheek, now almost feeling like it was on verge of being frostbitten.

“I know she’d love you, Cyn. Perhaps we’ll have a visit with her soon, hm?” He looked at me for a long moment as I nodded, my heart swelling, and his anger seemingly beginning to drain out of him.

He leaned down and kissed me slowly, chastely, holding me to him, somehow still keeping me warm even in the frigid air.

“Let's get out of here.” He suggested. “I’ve had enough of all this quality family time to last me a bloody lifetime.” He let out a deep breath, one he’d been holding, as he lead me up to the back door.

“Agreed," I said, slipping my hand into his. “Let’s head back in before we go, though, Jimmy. No Irish Goodbyes tonight.” I winked at him, and he grumpily mumbled something before following me back inside.

As we walked back into the house, Margaret was sat in the kitchen, looking as disappointed as ever.

As she heard us bound in, she immediately rose, hurrying over to us and apologizing profusely.

“Oh Heavens, I never expected him to be so cruel. And on our first meeting with our beautiful Cynthia, how embarrassing. Please, don’t let this deter you from coming back ‘round, you two. James was completely out of line tonight.” She continued to apologize and I assured everything was alright, and the evening, despite the small blowout between Jimmy and his father, had been absolutely lovely.

With promises to see each other soon, sending us off with some desserts, and no sign of Jimmy’s father coming back downstairs to say goodbye, we went on our way.

As Ron drove us home, I admired the garnet and diamond on my finger. The stones still entwined, locked together.

I wondered about Jimmy and his father. What had transpired in past years to build such a wedge between the two. It made sense now, why Jimmy never spoke much about his father, or about his parents’ divorce. I could tell tonight hurt him, and he was trying his best to mask it. I felt so guilty during that ride home, and it proved to put a damper on our last couple of hours of Jimmy and I’s first Christmas together.

-

A/N

Hello! It’s been too long, MUCH TOO LONG! I’ve missed you all dearly. I hope you enjoyed part three of this chapter. I can’t wait to share what’s next, what with Jimmy and Cyn’s first New Years coming up :D

I look forward to hearing from all of you again, and so sorry this took so long. The next won’t, I promise.

Love you all, and thank you so much for reading! xxxx