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Robert Plant is interviewed by Uncut at 10.30am on Friday, January 18, at the offices of his management company, Trinifold, in Camden. It's cold and blustery and Plant has just driven down from Worcestershire for a day of business in London, which has meant an early start and a long journey. Not that either has had anything remotely like a diminishing effect on Plant's evidently bountiful energy. He's 60 this year, but there's little sense about him of someone thinking of slowing down, taking it easy. The day after we meet, he's off to the States, where in April he starts a major tour with Alison Krauss and T Bone Burnett with whom last year he made Raising Sand, the best album of his solo career. For the next hour and a half, however, sitting on the edge of a huge leather sofa, he talks at candid length and with enormous affection about his 40-year relationship with Jimmy Page — "my brother" — the triumphs and troubles they have enjoyed and endured, his excitement at playing with an "on fire" Jimmy at the O2 reunion on December 10, and what comes next for Zep.

UNCUT: So what was it like stepping out on the O2 stage with Jimmy after all that time?

Robert Plant: The kind of resonance in the air — for people who didn't have to blink an eyelid to get in there, for people who come from Australia or Japan, to Jason [Bonham]'s family, John's family, all the families — anticipation and expectation was huge. The potential for failure was also great because nobody knew what it was going to be like.

Did the success of the show test your previously stated resolve not to reform for a full-blown reunion and tour?

RP: Not at all. I really enjoyed it. And hopefully, one day, we could do it again for another really, really good reason. Our profit is — it's metaphysical. And that's the thing, especially with my connection with Jimmy. I mean, the two of us are almost umbilically attached in some strange way and have been down the years. And that's survived everything. From the time I was 19 to now, when I'm 59.

You first met Jimmy when he came to see [Plant's pre-Zep band] Hobbstweedle play. Can you remember your initial impression of him?

RP: I remember it very clearly. He was very reserved, very polite, slightly withdrawn and definitely it was evident to me that he didn't have the common touch and probably didn't need it. Even though I was hot and pretty self-confident, Jimmy, with all his sort of quietude, he had a great advantage. I felt immediately this was a different kind of guy to anybody I'd met before. So I was welcomed into Jimmy's home and immediately I realised his interests and the whole landscape of his music and his life was very broad and esoteric. And I just couldn't believe it. I just thought, 'God' — quietly to myself — 'this is going to be a real learning curve.' And of course it was, right up until the drugs, right up until it got kind of unworkable in Zep.

Are you saying to some extent that looking at him was like looking into a mirror, that what you saw in him was a reflection of yourself?

RP: Only on a superficial level. I was brash and bullish, and he was very retiring. And as much as I was tactile, he was quite the opposite.

As you became more confident with your own role in the band, and started to get a lot more personal attention, was Jimmy cool with that? Or was it a source of friction, given that it was Jimmy's band?

RP: No, not at all. No. I mean, surely, bearing in mind that he's a very bright man and there's always reserve behind the reserve, and he's always got two or three things going on, plus his charm, and he's got buckets of that now, why would he have a problem with that? He was masterminding the whole thing, so he had to encourage it. And it was there to behold. I mean, I was doing what I was doing and he was doing what he was doing and it was the two guys at the front. If I'd have been static or if I hadn't had the appeal or the front myself, I'd have been out of there. Gone. And during Led Zep I [1969], as far as I was concerned, I thought that I was going to go anyway. I didn't feel that comfortable, because there were a lot of demands on me vocally — which there were all the way through the Zeppelin thing. And I was quite nervous and I didn't really get into enjoying it until II, because I thought, 'Shit!' The equipment was so inferior in those days for vocals, I could never hear myself. There were no monitors, nothing. So I was quite demure, but at the same time when it came to playing live, that was when I was OK. I could perform 'cos I believed in it. I can't do anything I don't believe in. Now, especially.

You've described a flourishing personal and creative relationship with Jimmy. When did it start to unravel?

RP: Well, we went to Bron-Yr-Aur [in 1970, to regroup after a gruelling US tour] to write, to begin work on III and we were brothers then. II had been created in a flurry, on the road in various studios. But here we were on the side of a mountain near Machynlleth, going, "Er, OK." But the great thing was that we wanted to change it, we wanted to make it more pastoral. I think Robin Williamson and some of The Incredible String Band were in Machynlleth with some Bulgarian singers in some farmhouse somewhere, so there was a vibe around. It was like, I don't know, just a feeling, you know, "We've got to be able to do something here." So we wandered off to a — guess what? — waterfall and played and sang and took the cassette machine, and it was to me bliss, pastoral bliss. Because I really wanted to bring music out of the ground, if you like, rather than out of the city, rather than out of some "squeeze my lemon" place. We wrote "That's The Way" one morning, and the lyrics were good — I was, I don't know, 23. And the magisterial movement of the chords in the stanzas between the verses, it was all one could ever wish for. And as a couple of guys, we really… we sat by the fire at night and I've still cassettes somewhere of the old grandfather clock ticking. There was no electricity, outside toilets, the smell of woodsmoke and alcohol. I don't think we even smoked dope then. I know Jimmy didn't. He didn't drink or smoke, really. And we were on a roll. We were spectacularly close and we knew we'd got something going which was genuine, not some fabricated bullshit, and being together was something very special. We were really, really good buddies. Later, when Jimmy's health wasnʼt too good [Plant is presumably referring to Page's heroin use] it wasn't the same… it was a different time.

As Jimmy became more insular and withdrawn, how much did you miss those adventures you used to share?

RP: Inevitably, perhaps, the intimacy changed as time went on. Now, health problems are one thing — but also a genuine reason for it to change was the fact we had families. So we became part-time adventurers and part-time dads. And you know that's just a shame. Because you can never really give enough to either side of it, the wanderlust or the commitment to family. So the intensity changed. And that period of adventure moved into Physical Graffiti [1975], which was spectacular, which was recorded similarly to Houses Of The Holy [1973], to the extent that we rented a place with a mobile studio, and everybody was pretty cool and it was all great, great, great. And if there were some dalliances in one direction or another, it certainly wasn't a solo project. We were all up to no good, one way or another. It's just a question of how much you're doing and how the constitution will take it. So I wasn't upset with Jimmy, I didn't become remote. He didn't become remote. We'd both just moved to another place. And if you think about the difference between III and Physical Graffiti, they're both great, but Physical Graffiti really is the band at its most creative and expressive. So, I don't think there was ever really a problem right up until perhaps just before I lost my boy [Plant's son, Karac, died in 1977] and then the actual thing of being on the road touring was quite questionable for me.

In what ways?

RP: Well… I just thought… I think it was so big that there was no infrastructure to contain it. By 1977, I was 29, just prior to Karac's passing, and that sort of wild energy that was there in the beginning had come to the point where we were showboating a bit. Unfortunately, we had no choice. We were on tours where places were going ape-shit. There was no way of containing the energy in those buildings. It was just insane. And we became more and more the victims of our own success. And the whole deal about the goldfish bowl and living in it, that kicked in. And that's what happens. Look at any big group. There's no way around it.

No matter how much you all love each other and no matter how instrumental Peter Grant was and no matter how many security guys we had and all this stuff, it was still insane, because there was no way out. It was like being a crazy Elvis. And so everybody retired to their own corners within the environment, in the hotels. Everybody had their own way of dealing with it. So the group moved and the individual personalities in the group evolved again. We changed, all of us. But all the time, Jimmy was pushing it, which was great. He was always thinking about stuff. I mean, by the time we were doing Presence - which is before'77—I was in a wheelchair. I was pretty banged up. You haven't got enough time and neither have I to go through all these changes, but they were all quite amazing, because something pretty constructive came out of them, even when things were very painful. And that's a great thing, I think. We were men. We weren't teasy-weasy kids. We had to be men because of the things that we had to share — even if we did go home to our own individual soliloquies. But it kind of went off the rails in the end because everybody got a little bit too relaxed and haywire. For me, then, it didn't really work from '77 onwards. However, there were moments at Knebworth that were spectacular. But the price you have to pay to get to those moments, I didn't think was worth it anymore. It wasn't my idea of constructive open-heart surgery.

Did you ever confront Jimmy about his heroin use and the effect it was having on himself and the band?

RP: I think with most users, the denial is part of the condition and because most everybody around was in one way or another denying something, there was no central point of solidarity. If Peter hadn't been so unavailable himself, he might have pulled the whole thing he together, 'cos his influence was huge. But it didn't work like that. But nonetheless, I still think that by that time Jimmy and I had become quite adept politically at keeping it going, even though I felt very compromised. I also felt for him, you know.

How could you not?

RP: Exactly, exactly, yeah, yeah. I mean, he was my buddy. He will always be my buddy. But, you know, everything happened that happened and Jimmy's come through it and he's got himself back. He's now the same guy, almost, whatever the scars and the surgery. He's got it, he's back.

How different was he at the O2 reunion from the guy you worked with on the UnLedded tour in 1994?

RP: If Jimmy was as healthy then and when we came to do Walking Into Clarksdale, if he'd been as open and as healthy and he'd had the resolve then that he has now, we'd probably have gone somewhere else again. Because I'm always exhilarated by hearing him play. I think he's met his demons now and he's made that public now as much as he can without losing face. Without giving too much away, the olive branch came out. And when he brought that branch out — he said, "I offer you an olive branch."

Which you were happy to accept?

RP: Yes. I mean, I wish he could've given it to himself so many years back.

Has it been painful to watch what he's been through?

RP: Not really, no. You've got to make your own way. I mean he's got great kids, I'm his friend, he's got a lot of friends. He's just got to be honest with himself. I think that's where he's at now.

To what do you attribute this new resolve?

RP: He's had a lot of wake-up calls. I suppose in a way he must be intrigued that some people have stuck around when, like in my case, I don't need anything from him at all. I just don't. After all that, after you survey your own projection on others, some people will just walk. Others won't. Because there's unfinished business, definitely.

Do you think it’ll ever be finished?

RP: No. I don’t think so. And I don’t think there’s any need for it to be finished. Because as long as he’s got a bit of creative electricity going through his nut, then there’s going to be something to do sometime. It’s just in what form and how much of a compromise it would be to the real root of what we had as Zeppelin. Because all that razzamatazz, people are addicted to it. Everybody wants to have some fun, but we would probably try to go to a different place to have that fun, musically. With a different sort of canvas. But it’s easy for me to say now, with Raising Sand reinventing itself every two weeks. I mean, it’s got its own life. I've never been involved with anything with its own life like this. Especially since I wasn’t expecting anything more than a position on the Americana charts in Billboard or something. But he’s been incredibly gracious about that. Because it was quite an unusual thing. I mean, we’d been planning the release of Raising Sand for about a year, because Alison had to finish her projects last summer, so the release was set for around Thanksgiving. And then, when we agreed that we [Zeppelin] play together, there was definitely a feeling of ‘What’ s going on here? How come he’s doing that, when we’re rehearsing for Led Zep?’ Well, I couldn’t help that.

Did that cause any friction?

RP: Not really. But it was a kind of incredulous moment when they realised that I was bluegrassing it…

Finally, how did you feel as you finished that set at the 02?

RP: First of all, we did what we set out to do and more, in every respect. We showed people that Led Zeppelin did go on a bit. There was an opportunity to get a drink occasionally during the show. But at the same time, that’s what we were. The personality of the audience has changed from those days when everybody was in the same condition as the band. Now it was more like the 68th wonder of the world, rather than a gig. So I felt a bit embarrassed. I felt a bit like I’d gone into character, in a way, even though I sang my nuts off. And the interplay between us all was excellent. I just wanted to take it somewhere else for a minute. I kept saying during rehearsals, “Maybe we can just drop that bit there and perhaps finish off with ‘Goodnight’ by The Incredible String Band?”

What, from “A Very Cellular Song”?

RP: Yeah, that’s it. [Sings]: “I was walking in Jerusalem, just like John… Lay down my sweet Jesus, won’t you lay and take your rest.” And, “Yeah,” Jimmy said. “We always said we’d do that.” And of course we didn’t, because the occasion was bigger than that. And that’s the trouble with the whole thing about Led Zeppelin. It was always bigger than the beauty of what we had in mind. So I felt like it was a job done, that we were friends, strong, good. Allan Jones

John Paul Jones is interviewed by telephone, on January 28, a few days before he presents an award to, and performs with, John Martyn at the Radio 2 Folk Awards, and less than a fortnight before he makes an appearance with the Foo Fighters at the Grammys, conducting the orchestral arrangement to their song, “The Pretender”. Jones, 62, is one of the most respected musicians in the world, whose recent activities (notably as a mandolin player) have seen him collaborate with artists as diverse as Robyn Hitchcock, Ben Harper and Gillian Welch. Jones, who could be seen playing a banjo backstage during the hours before Zeppelin’s O2 Arena concert (“It calms me down”), is a famously dry-witted soul, who precedes most of his answers with a slightly puzzled-sounding “erm…” Uncut receives a preliminary call from Jones’ office, 20 minutes before the interview, just to check that we’re ready and that we are who we say we are. Jones does not sound like a man who enjoys having his time wasted.

UNCUT: Firstly, what did it feel like to be playing with Jimmy again at the 02?

John Paul Jones: Pretty damn good. We put a lot of work into it — I'd done a lot of playing with him in the months preceding it — and it was fun revisiting the numbers and playing with a really good player again.

Is he as good as the Page of old?

JPJ: Yeah, he is. I know it sounds obvious, but he was always one of my favourite guitarists and as soon as we started rehearsing, I was amazed to hear how he’d actually improved. He seemed to have grown since I saw him last.

It’s difficult for him, isn’t it, to perform these songs live? Some of them have upwards of five or six tracks of guitar on the recordings.

JPJ: Obviously, we always used to do songs that had a lot of overdubs, and we used to have to come to some arrangement about doing them live. So we’re kind of used to it, but yeah, you've got to be pretty nimble to cover all the important parts. He did it without a second thought.

He came on wearing shades. Was he nervous?

JPJ: Ha! No, he seems to like wearing shades… for pictures and things like that.

I know that Ahmet Ertegun was the reason for the reunion, but what do you think it meant to Jimmy?

JPJ: Ahmet meant a lot to us all. We wanted to be on his label in the first place, so, yes, it was a tribute to a very important man. That we did a full Zeppelin show… albeit a short one, at two hours… [Jimmy] was very happy. It’s probably similar to what it meant to all of us, which is: it’s nice to be able to do it, to prove to yourself that you can do it.

Can we read anything into the fact Jimmy oversees all re-releases and DVDs? Does he care more about Zeppelin’s legacy than you and Robert?

JPJ: No. It’s true that he certainly puts more work into it — he was the producer in the band, and so it’s more a continuation of those duties, I suppose. But the band was his original vision, it holds a very special place in his heart. It holds a special place in all of our hearts.

I know you weren’t involved with UnLedded, but was there a part of you that was at least glad to see Jimmy working with Robert again?

JPJ: [Doubtfully] Yeah… I wasn’t particularly glad for anybody at that point. [Laughs] But yeah… it was mitigated by that thought. At least he was playing. It was probably good for him.

Can you and Jimmy joke about that now?

JPJ: We don’t actually joke about it. It was quite a hard time for me. But we’re past it, if you know what I mean.

Would you like to make another Led Zeppelin album?

JPJ: Exrr… I’d have to think about that.

Really?

JPJ: Led Zeppelin’s a… I mean, it was great to do the [02] show. We spoke afterwards, and we both thought the same — it felt like the first night of a tour. You think, ‘Oh, I could do that a bit better, or change something in that song.” And we didn’t get a chance to do any more.

Would it be hard to build that momentum back up again? Because Robert’s off on tour with…

JPJ: [Interrupting] Yeah. Yeah.

Do you think the reunion began and ended at the 02?

JPJ: It’s possible. It is possible.

You don’t sound too certain about the prospect of an album.

JPJ: No. I’m not sure. I'm not too certain about anything, right at the moment. I’ve got no idea what’s going to happen. But I'd certainly like to play with Jimmy again. David Cavanagh

Jimmy Page is the last Zeppelin member to be interviewed, on March 10, at the Gore Hotel, a discreet establishment in London’s Kensington. On the day that the UK is hit by its worst storms in 25 years, a healthy-looking Page — 64 years old, clad entirely in black, with slicked-back white hair — meets Uncut in a basement room of the Gore, which is decorated with tapestries, candelabras, ornate mirrors and log fireplaces. The tapestries have a slight Transylvanian aspect, with spooky castles half-visible through small gaps in dense forests. The room is painted a deep, rich, peppermint green. After friendly introductions, Page, who has recently been filming a documentary with Jack White and The Edge (“three generations of guitar players — yep, you've got it”) sits himself down on a low, purple velvet settee. Teetotal for some six years now (although he still enjoys the occasional cigarette), Page drinks black coffee and sips water throughout our interview. Shall we begin at the O2 Arena? “Why not!”

UNCUT: What memories and emotions from the night of December 10 stand out for you?

Jimmy Page: First of all, I think that what we intended to do, we accomplished. Judging by the feedback, it really moved a lot of people. It was a totally different show to the production rehearsal beforehand, but that was intended; we wanted to be able to move this way and that, musically, within the framework of the songs. So, yeah, on reflection, it was mission accomplished.

Was there a point in rehearsal when you thought, ‘We’re going to be OK, we’re going to pull this off…’

JP: Yes, at the first rehearsal. Look at the psychology of it. If the four members get to get together in a room to play, nobody wants to be the one who causes it not to work. Everyone went into that room with a will, I believe, to make it work. And it was really exciting to be playing the music with such intent.

You walked onstage at the O2 wearing shades. What could you see in the faces of the front rows?

JP: I wasn’t concentrating on the audience. It was heads-down for the first three numbers, which we did as a medley, non-stop, and when I took my glasses off, I didn’t see the audience then, either. I was just getting lost in the music. We’d paced ourselves for this concert, we’d given it our total commitment, and nothing was going to get in the way of it — not even broken fingers — forget it, nothing was going to get in the way of this.

What were the most stunning performances that night?

JP: From the feedback I've had, it all built towards “Kashmir”. Everybody who remarked on it, whether it was the public or other musicians, said that “Kashmir” was totally out of this world.

What was it like backstage afterwards? Was it emotional?

JP: It was. I had my young kids there. I was really keen to see them before the show, and then after it, as I knew it was going to be a very intense spectacle for them. I spent most of the time in a room downstairs with my family, and the families of John Paul Jones, Robert and Jason. It was emotional. It was extremely emotional onstage as well. Intense. But a positive emotion. It was a joyous experience, a celebration.

Almost all the reviews praised your playing, and John Paul Jones has told us there were times when he felt you were playing better than ever…

JP: That’s really kind of him. I must say there were moments. The thing is, when you’re going for the spontaneity of the night, if you like, you really want to know that you can still do it. I knew I could. People think I haven’t been playing lately, but I have. I've been playing all along.

Led Zeppelin’s music was written while you were in your twenties and thirties. Is there anything intrinsic in those songs that makes them fiendishly difficult to play in your sixties?

JP: No, I wouldn’t say so, providing you’re mentally and physically sound. The original players, that is; I wouldn’t say that any guys of 60 could play that music. It’s a more complicated music than what you seem to be saying. There’s a subtlety in how it all synchronises together…

Sure. I wasn’t suggesting that Uriah Heep, in their sixties, would suddenly be able to play Zep stuff.

JP: No, and I wouldn’t be able to play Uriah Heep stuff. But with Led Zeppelin, that music is probably going to go through to the DNA imprint of my children and my grandchildren. It’s so much a part of me. I just go into a sort of… For example, a number that we did in the rehearsals was “The Rover”. Now, we hadn’t played “The Rover” before, not in a complete version…

I always think of “The Rover” as a perfect illustration of Zep at their most confident.

JP: That sort of swagger? It’s got a real swagger about it. An intentional swagger.

Well, I was thinking more about the fact that you write this great song, which most bands would kill for, and then you casually leave it off the album [Houses Of The Holy] that it’s supposed to go on.

JP: Well, yes, but it had its time and its place. The place for “The Rover” is quite clearly where it comes, in Physical Graffiti, as that’s where it really works.

Will there be a CD and DVD from the 02?

JP: It was recorded, but we didn’t go in with the express purpose of making a DVD to come out at Christmas, or whatever. We haven’t seen the images or investigated the multitracks. It’s feasible that it might come out at some distant point, but it’ll be a massive job to embark upon.

We learn in our Sunday newspapers that Robert has turned down an offer to tour the world with Zeppelin. What’s the situation? Could a tour happen?

JP: The focus was towards the O2 show. That’s what I had my focus on. As for Robert, he had a parallel project [with Alison Krauss] and it’s been successful, which I suppose means he doesn’t have time for Led Zeppelin at this point. What I do know — what I do know — is that the rehearsals, and the O2 gig, were really inspiring. OK? That’s all I'll say.

Right, but are Led Zeppelin…

JP: That’s as fair an answer as I can give you.

Can’t you go any further than that?

JP: I don’t know what John Paul Jones has said, and I don’t know what Robert has said. But I know how I felt about the thing, and…

But it sounds like you, yourself, are open to the idea of a Zeppelin tour, and possibly an album? I don’t want to put words in your mouth…

JP: Well, don’t put words in my mouth. I know how… Look, I started this by saying that there was a will to succeed, if you like, in those original rehearsals. And everybody had such a commitment to it. Now, if you're talking about a tour — other dates, maybe recording together — there’s only one thing that’s going to be the common denominator with that. And that’s commitment. That’s how we did the O2.

Somewhere in a Zeppelin office, though, is the phone ringing off the hook? Offers from American promoters, inquiries from record companies…

JP: Oh, I'm sure there is. I'm sure there is.

Do you get bothered with that on a daily basis?

JP: In what respect would I get bothered with it? No, I don’t get bothered with it.

In the respect that…

JP:I do get bothered with it, I suppose, because there’s so many people, who may recognise me, who come up and say, either (a) they went to the O2 that night or (b) they didn’t and are you touring? And I have to say, “Well, at the moment, we’re not. At the moment, there are no plans.”

At the very least, has this given you a new boost of energy and purpose? For instance, you were interviewed in 2004 and said you were working on “new, radical, unexpected” material. What stage of development has that material reached?

JP: I'll tell you exactly the sort of music I've been writing. They’re the sort of vehicles and frameworks that could be applied — because I remember saying one thing in that interview, that “a good riff is a good riff” — but these are vehicles that could be used in various situations. I might have one thing that could be just as easily recorded with an ethnic drum orchestra as with a rock’n’roll band. Do you see what I mean? Or you could play it acoustic. It’s the application of it. But I'm ready. I'm ready, now, to present the stuff that I've got.

I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but it’s been 10 years since you last released an album of new songs, which was Page & Plant’s Walking Into Clarksdale in 1998.

JP: That doesn’t matter! No! What does that matter?

There was a time when…

JP: No! I've done other things since then… There was a time when what?

When you’d have been desperate to let the public hear the latest music you’d created. To let it be heard, enjoyed and admired.

JP: What, you mean, within the working vehicle of a band? Oh, yes, yes, that’s right. But I haven’t had a band to tour with. No, but I’ve done a number of projects, though.

But not new albums. Not since 1998. You did a live album with The Black Crowes, but that wasn’t really a new album.

JP: Yes, but I've just done a documentary, and I did some of my new music in that. I've got enough new music to make it sort of… sort of tantalising and… yes, to reapply a commitment to that, shall we say.

When you look back at the way you put Led Zeppelin together in 1968, does it sometimes seem ridiculously easy? I mean, you ask Terry Reid to be the singer, who says no, but he knows this bloke, who’s absolutely perfect, and he just happens to know the best drummer in Britain…

JP: Have you heard River by Terry Reid? No? Because if you haven’t, I'm just trying to show you the reason why Terry Reid was considered. Also there’s something that’s relative to the whole timing of this. You just said that John Bonham was the greatest drummer in England. I thoroughly agree with you. But his reputation had not reached London. He hadn’t come out of the Midlands yet. He'd just started to play with Tim Rose — he certainly wasn’t playing with Robert — but when I heard John play, it was, well, there was just no doubt about it. Il tell you what, you just felt it. Everyone felt John Bonham.

If Terry Reid had said yes, Led Zeppelin would have got a great singer — but you wouldn’t have had that ethereal, haunting quality that Plant brings to the first album. It’s quite a disturbing sound in places; he’s almost on the cusp of male/female sexuality. Was anyone else singing like that at the time?

JP: Not to that degree, no. He stretched his vocal range way beyond what anyone else had done. The likes of Terry Reid and Steve Marriott had the attitude, and the mid-range, but Robert was doing sort of vocal gymnastics. He wasn’t singing like that when I heard him up in the Midlands. I don’t think he’d ever sung like that before the first Zeppelin album. I don’t think John Paul Jones had ever played like that before. Nobody had played like that before. I certainly hadn’t.

Is it true “Whole Lotta Love” was written onstage during a gig in America, when you were all jamming on a Garnet Mimms song?

JP: No. No. Absolutely incorrect. No, it was put together when we were rehearsing some music for the second album. I had a riff, everyone was at my house, and we kicked it in from there. Never was it written during a gig — where did you hear that?

I read it in a book.

JP: [Sarcastically] Oh good. I hope it was that Rough Guide. That’s the latest one, the most inaccurate. They’re all inaccurate, you know.

You were one of the first producers, around 1968, to realise people weren’t just listening to music on mono record-players anymore, but had moved onto stereo, and headphones.

JP: Yeah! Well, I'd been touring America with The Yardbirds, and something that was apparent was that there were two streams of radio. One was the Top 40 AM stations, which were playing the singles, and the other was the FM stations which put on whole albums. I thought this was magnificent, because you'd hear what a band was really up to. That registered with me. Those FM listeners were the sort of people I wanted to reach.

But the stereo aspect? There are a lot of very impressive sound effects on early Zeppelin LPs.

JP: I knew for sure that people were listening on headphones. It was something that was really important within the production. You get lots of movement going on [he waves his hands in the air]. Apart from the fact that it was fun to do, it presented an incredible picture in your head as you were listening.

How was the swirly effect at the end of “When The Levee Breaks” achieved? I always imagine you sitting there with a joystick…

JP: It’s sort of like that, isn’t it? It’s interesting on “…Levee Breaks”, you’ve got backwards harmonica, backwards echo, phasing, and there’s also flanging, and at the end you get this super-dense sound, in layers, that’s all built around the drum track. And you’ve got Robert, constant in the middle, and everything starts to spiral around him. It’s all done with panning.

Was it important that Zeppelin should become a huge band, an internationally renowned band, as well as a bloody good one?

JP: Initially, coming from The Yardbirds and putting it all together, I had a long-term plan that it wasn’t just going to be a band that would make singles and trite music. It was going to have longevity, and it was going to make profound music. That sort of ethic — well, you want to have success, don’t you, as that means your music is going to be heard. And also your contemporaries would say: “That’s a really good band you've got there.” And we didn’t — this is the key — we didn’t have to worry about singles, and ‘Is there a follow-up to “Whole Lotta Love” on the third album?’ No! We don’t want one! Because that’s going to restrict you. The whole thing was to burst out, burst open, and go over the horizon and beyond, and beyond, and beyond.

“In My Time Of Dying”, on Physical Graffiti, ends with a joke and a burst of laughter. It seems a bit inappropriate, I feel, after such a devastating 11-minute performance. Was that humorous reaction typical of Zeppelin in the studio?

JP: We were just having such a wonderful time. Look, we had a framework for “In My Time Of Dying”, OK, but then it just takes off and we're just doing what Led Zeppelin do. We’re jamming. We’re having a ball. We. Are. Playing.

When you worked on the DVD of The Song Remains The Same, what went through your mind as you watched footage of the young Jimmy Page in ’73?

JP: Well, it was sticky tape and glue, really. The live footage was shot by the film crew over three nights. They shot more than that, but they might have had problems with their communications because you’d find, when all the film was viewed, that they had whole areas that were missing in the songs. There were so many holes in it. So I'm sort of miming at Shepperton to what I'd played at Madison Square Garden, but of course, although I've got a rough approximation of what I was playing from night to night, it’s not exact. So the film that came out in the ’70s is a bit warts-and-all.

You haven’t quite answered my question. When you look at the guitar player in those scenes at Madison Square Garden — he’s the leader of the greatest rock band in the world, he’s dressed in a fabulous outfit, he’s playing guitar with a violin bow, he’s got the best haircut he’s had in his life…

JP: Hahahahaha!

…do you look at him and think, ‘Wow, my God, he’s pretty impressive?’

JP: [Pause] I look at him and think, ‘He’s really living it. He’s really, you know, in his music. And that’s wonderful. I can relate to that, and I can see him taking chances, and I can see him making mistakes.

You’re often described as the curator of Led Zeppelin’s heritage. Are you?

JP: No, I'm not, but I've certainly tried to make sure that there wasn’t a rape and pillage of it. I'm very conscious that less is more.

Was playing with Robert at the 02 a very different experience to the Page & Plant tours of the ’90s?

JP: Of course it was different, because it was better. With no disrespect to the musicians who played in Page & Plant, it’s got to be better to play the music with the key members who’ve written it. So that’s Robert, that’s me and that’s John Paul Jones.

Why did Page & Plant end when it did?

JP: The LP was all right, but it was scaled right down. There could have been a follow-up, but it’s a leading question, isn’t it? I had some material written for another album. I had about a dozen numbers, and some of them were really good, but Robert heard them and he wanted to go in another direction. He wanted to do a solo album. Fair enough.

Robert’s now touring with Alison Krauss. Does it infuriate you? Do you feel like saying: “But Robert, this is LED ZEPPELIN we’re talking about!”

JP: No, because he’s made many departures and that’s what he feels he needs to do. No, he can do what he wants. We’re all grown men, for heaven’s sake. But I know what is inspirational, and what is really challenging, and that is the sort of direction that I personally — personally — intend to go.

If there were to be a new Zep album, would you expect to be the producer as before?

JP: No, I'm not getting into that.

I know you built those Zeppelin albums to last, but could you really have imagined that people would be listening to them 40 years later?