Kashmir

Red is going nuts over Kashmir and who can blame her? I love it too, and I came to the Led Zep party late, just like Red.

It was 1988. My husband and I lived in a shotgun duplex in Greensboro, within walking distance of downtown. We sat on our porch with our duplex neighbor, Jim, listening to music and stoking a small fire in a large Hibachi. Jim provided the music, because he had a better sound system than we did. I noticed one night that everything he played was just incredible. The songs rolled into one another, building momentum. They snagged my interest and hustled me away from the conversation between Pep and Jim. It was awesome. I decided whatever he was playing was some of the best rock I'd ever heard.

"Hey Jim what is this?" I asked

"Led Zep," he said.

And the next weekend on the porch, Jim cranked up his tunes. They were seductive. Thrilling. They twined around my spine and made me shiver. They cast a powerful trance like a fine woven net of stars. But they seemed different than the ones we'd heard the week before.

So I said, "Hey Jim what is this?"

"Led Zep," he said.

And the next weekend on the porch, Jim played tunes. And these tunes stroked my hair. They massaged my shoulders and bit my neck. They pulled me down into a river of back velvet and silk. These tunes, had to be different, I thought. These tunes wanted to go all the way.

So I said, "Hey Jim what is this?"

"Led Zep," Jim and Pep said together in one exasperated voice.

And then I finally knew what what every stoner in my high school parking lot had known ten years earlier; the power and the glory of Led Zeppelin.

May Led Zep bless you and keep you;
May Led Zep make their tunes wind around you,
And be vital unto you;
May Led Zep lift up sustained notes and primal screams for you,
And give you rock.
Amen.