Robert Plant: The Unlikely King Of Americana

Indeed, he’s not just cherry-picking classics for his albums. As Plant talks in the hotel’s courtyard, it becomes increasingly clear that he’s lived a life of music almost to the point that it’s all he knows. He namedrops like none other, but it’s not exactly namedropping. Nearly every answer is peppered with artists, influences, stops on the never-ending trip through music that his life has been. At one point, during the course of a two-minute answer, he references more than a dozen musical personalities. He’s enthusiastic to a fault, and a conversation with him requires much googling afterward. But he’s not just interested with the past. For every Howlin’ Wolf, there’s an Arcade Fire. For every Chet Atkins, a Low Anthem. He has no use for resting on his laurels or subscribing to any particularly restraining line of thought or path to discovery.

“Raising Sand was great because it swung and it was quite, well, it was dark at times. Pretty dark. Whereas this thing here now, it’s wide open. Its arms are open. It’s just kind of a great exhalation.”

For Plant, it doesn’t matter than he’s a British man in an American man’s genre. It doesn’t matter that he was once the singer of one of the biggest rock and roll bands of the ‘70s. If someone is bothered by his stepping into their territory, they’ll just have to deal.

“All that possible, you know, encroachment,” Plant says. “It doesn’t have to exist in this. Everybody can go back to wherever they come from. You know, I’m not. I’m sticking with this, whatever it is.”

*****

The specter of Led Zeppelin hangs heavy over Robert Plant’s current work. A platinum album, a stack of Grammys – these haven’t changed things. Maybe never will. This is unsurprising, but also sad in a very specific, nostalgic way. Yes, Plant once sang for one of the most popular rock bands of all time, but if he’s ready to let it go (unlike, say, The Rolling Stones), why can’t his fans? As I circle Ruth Eckerd Hall a few hours before show time, I come upon a small mass of them, awaiting with a mixture of hope and exhaustion.

It’s troublesome, though, going to a show like this one where so much of the audience and appreciation is based on something that is so clearly long gone. Plant, a thoroughly professional interviewee after 40-plus years of answering people’s questions, refers to the idea of Led Zeppelin playing more gigs together as something that’s “not even a talking point,” quickly taking the opportunity to steer the conversation to a talking point of his own, songwriting, and how he’d like to get back to it someday with the help of his new friends from Nashville. And yet, that legendary band is seemingly all anyone in this part of Florida cares to talk about today.

“First time seeing Zeppelin?” a man in line for beer asks me. At first, I think he’s looking for a year, perhaps to compare notes. But then I realize his actual question. “Tonight, you mean?” I respond, and he smiles, eagerly nodding. “We’re not seeing Zeppelin tonight,” I say cautiously, hoping I don’t upset whatever it is he’s expecting. He looks a little embarrassed and a little disappointed. “This is about as close as it gets,” he says, resigned.

Plant, Miller, Griffin, Scott, House and Giovino will play seven Zeppelin selections tonight, spread throughout a 20-plus song set that also includes solo Plant material from the ‘80s as well as a couple of Plant/Krauss songs. The Zeppelin material, despite its sometimes-drastic reworking, draws a raucous standing ovation every time. “I know it’s very difficult to sit through a lot of new songs, but this is the beginning of a new career,” Plant says to the capacity crowd of 2,200 toward the end of the main set, before the encore. He sounds pretty earnest, but he’s also an entertainer who wants to please the folks who have bought him houses over the years. So, he continues, “What’re you gonna do? But, slowly, the door opens, and…” The band launches into back-to-back renditions of “Houses Of The Holy” and “Over The Hills And Far Away.” The people are exceedingly happy to be here.

But it’s clear that it’s the material of these last couple albums that is making Plant truly happy these days. On this tour, he and his Band of Joy are ending their shows with the old chestnut “And We Bid You Goodnight.” With its slow, swaying pace and repeated refrain of “goodnight, goodnight,” it’s a fitting ending to a show, but more importantly, it’s a holy grail of sorts for Plant, a long-coming accomplishment.

“I know what I’m doing, but there are so many things that I don’t know,” he says. “There are so many techniques and bits and pieces of gifts that I can hear in all these voices, and the last song of the show is six voices singing, and it’s a song I’ve wanted to sing since I was very young. Jimmy and I always vowed we would end our Led Zeppelin shows with it.”

I ask him if that ever happened, and he’s quick to reply in the negative. Softening, though, he smiles. “But it does now.”

The king looks fulfilled.