So why is Led Zeppelin’s Physical Graffiti on this best 1,000 albums ever thing?
In thinking about “In My Time of Dying,” the sprawling, 11-minute hard rock This is the album that reminded me I’ve been obsessed with inhabiting worlds since I was a kid.
In thinking about “In My Time of Dying,” the sprawling, 11-minute hard rock odyssey buried inside the rambling genius tenement house of Physical Graffiti, I recalled how I came to read a Stephen King novel for the first time.
It.
It was the mid-1980s, and I was at the Costco with my mom on Long Island. I always beelined to “the books” at Costco, and I recall staring nearly in awe at the monstrously large softcover edition prominently displayed on one of those long tables. And that cover art – a creepy-ass clown staring at you out of a storm drain – was only matched by the grandiosity of its two-letter title.
I was kind of aware of who Stephen King was at the time, which meant I was in the worlds-colliding right place and time to devour whatever was between the covers of that tome. In fact, I stole off with a copy of It and curled up on a couch in the furniture section right up until the second my mom dragged me out of there (with the kind promise that, yes, I can bring It home with me).
Later I realized I was interested in stories from a young age, but I was even more interested in worlds – kingdoms, galaxies to get lost in. And to get found in, sometimes, too.
By the time I hit high school in the late ‘80s, two things were going on: hair metal was at its zenith, and I had rejected it fully, fashioning myself a “classic rock guy” instead.
Led Zeppelin was a cornerstone of this identity – along with The Doors and Hendrix and Cream – and Physical Graffiti’s double album was the musical realm that I retreated to most often.
“In My Time of Dying” is the longest studio track that Led Zeppelin ever recorded, and it takes a little bit of patience to fully uncover its many pleasures.
The opening section – which, I should note, is about four minutes long, a full-length song unto itself – is slow in tempo, more blues than rock in feel, really. And, in fact, it’s based on an old gospel blues song called “Jesus Make Up My Dying Bed,” recorded way back in 1928 by Blind Willie Johnson (which… you don’t get more bluesman in name than that, yes?).
In other words, this track is seemingly not my natural musical homeland, someone who would soon saturate in high energy genres like punk rock, ska, alt rock, and rap.
But this first section is compelling enough – intriguing and even slightly mysterious – to keep me hanging in. Finally, we hit the roughly four-minute mark, and we’re gifted with a sweet as all hell Jimmy Page guitar riff as the tempo picks up, John Bonham hammering the skins in accompaniment.
After a vintage Page solo, Led Zeppelin reaches peak heavy metal groove formation, the top of the hard rock and blues mountain.
I think that’s probably what a lot of music casuals miss about Zeppelin, which is that within what we refer to as “heavy metal,” the magic of the music these guys produced was as much about groove and swing as it was about crushing riffs and amps jammed up to 11.
What’s perfect about “In My Time of Dying” too is that after the ascent, there’s a relaxed, graceful descent over the last section of the song.
It’s a hell of a journey. Speaking of which, I’m compelled by best 1,000 albums ever doctrine to use that as a segue to talk about “Kashmir.”
That being said, what can I write about this one that is in some way original? That it’s a mystic masterpiece, an eastern-flavored trip of the senses? Sure, we could workshop it, but I’ll just lean on the fact that it’s a song that I never tire of.
And I’ll maintain that last sentiment, by the way, even after once having spent several hours as a teenager on Long Island sitting through my friend Jake’s drumming showcase, where it seemed almost every little drumming class would set up and then play through a lengthy section of “Kashmir.”
The deeper I delve into Physical Graffiti, the more my childhood comes roaring back. I have a visceral memory of discovering the spacey, strange, and deeply groovy “In the Light,” an epic song of its own at nearly nine minutes. It felt like my discovery, if you can dig, even though countless others had surely revered it before and after I first spun it up.
These days, I can’t get enough of the “alternate version” of “In the Light.” I can only find it on YouTube, and will specifically head over there to check out when I feel the craving for this stripped-down version, which is somehow both “more garage” and more delicate than the original at the same time. It’s a contradiction that breaks my mind in the most pleasant of ways.
But speaking of spinning it up! Physical Graffiti was part of my very first batch of compact discs I ever purchased, along with The Black Crowes’ Shake Your Money Maker (#329 of best 1,000 albums ever) and The Best of The Doors. For that reason alone, it became a cherished showpiece of my musical collection.
And here’s a slightly embarrassing related story. I recall being so enamored with the lush, multi-layered instrumental, “Bron-Yr-Aur,” (not to be confused with “Bron-Yr-Aur Stomp,” off of Led Zeppelin III, #233), that I felt compelled to play it for my mom. I likely also strategically figured that she’d dig it more than the more aggressive or weirder stuff from the album.
In her measured, polite way she said precisely the following after taking in a little bit of the track: “It sounds very professional.”
“Trampled Under Foot” is the closest Led Zeppelin veers into funk rock territory, and it does so entirely effectively – this is one stomping, kick ass, and hell of a good time. And bonus: every time Jack the dog “accidentally” gets in the way in the kitchen while we’re cooking, I get to announce, “Stop being trampled underfoot!”
It’s bonkers that I’m this deep into this piece and I haven’t yet gotten to so many beloved tracks. For example, if you had to pick one song to be representative of Led Zeppelin, you could do worse than the smoking yet loose album opener, “Custard Pie.”
And speaking of smoking, “The Wanton Song” is certainly that, while also looping in a wonderfully cheese-groove vibe.
“Houses of the Holy” (not to be confused with the album of the same name, #22, where this song would have slotted in brilliantly and been a standout) meanwhile is a pristine pop/rock showcase.
I could go on, but hopefully you’re picking up what I’m throwing down. Physical Graffiti is a sprawling, brilliant, fun, and deeply immersive experience that only gets better as I get older.
Like that massive paperback edition of It, Physical Graffiti was a world I got lost in – and still do.
In short: it’s one of the best of the best 1,000 albums ever.
Some stats & info about Led Zeppelin – Physical Graffiti
- What kind of musical stylings does this album represent? Rock Music, British Bands, Heavy Metal, Hard Rock, Album Rock, Arena Rock, Blues Rock
- Rolling Stone’s greatest 500 albums ranking – #144
- All Music’s rating – 5 out of 5 stars
- When was Physical Graffiti released? 1975
- My ranking, the one you’re reading right now – #3 out of 1,000
Led Zeppelin’s Physical Graffiti on Spotify
A lyrical snippet from Led Zeppelin’s Physical Graffiti that’s evocative of the album in some way, maybe
Talk and song from tongues of lilting grace, sounds caress my ear.
What does the “best 1,000 albums ever” mean and why are you doing this?
Yeah, I know it’s audacious, a little crazy (okay, maybe a lot cray cray), bordering on criminal nerdery.
But here’s what it’s NOT: a definitive list of the Greatest Albums of All-Time. This is 100% my own personal super biased, incredibly subjective review of what my top 1,000 albums are, ranked in painstaking order over the course of doing research for nearly a year, Rob from High Fidelity style. Find out more about why I embarked on a best 1,000 albums ever project.