Jan. 1, 2007

Here's a statistic for all 30- to 50-somethings to shake their slightly graying heads over. It's been nearly 25 years since Robert Plant launched his solo career, bounding onstage in Peoria, Ill., to start his 1982 tour. Never mind the 12 years before that when he was fronting Led Zeppelin, when he became the voice of hard rock and heavy metal.

"I come from a very strong and demonstrative lineage, as well as coming from the land of ice and snow."

In many ways, time eventually grounds all who once flew high and mighty. Like many of our generation, the man whose wailing vocals pushed Zeppelin to the forefront of the electric blues/rock scene in the late '60s, and up to rock Valhalla in the '70s, is now a grizzled veteran, a father and a grandfather. But unlike almost all of us, he could retire to a life of landed leisure on his expansive estate in Wiltshire, England.

But Plant does not choose to (errr) plant himself as such. At 58, he continues to tour and still enjoys life on the road. He creates music with the advantage his legend brings him: the freedom to pick and choose from an A-list of collaborators that, at times, includes his former bandmate Jimmy Page. He still finds fulfillment in musical exploration, experimenting with the overlap of his favorite sounds and styles: '50s doo-wop and Mississippi Delta blues, Egyptian and North African folk music.

In June 2006, Plant spent a week in New York City rehearsing and then performing as part of an all-star effort (June 23 to be exact) to raise money for ailing rocker Arthur Lee, of the psychedelic '60s group Love. (Lee sadly succumbed to leukemia only a few weeks later. "Arthur Lee is an American heirloom," Plant says sincerely. "But people's awareness of what he's done is negligible, nobody really knows here. Led Zeppelin was drinking from the same chalice as Love.")

Plant's performance proves the highlight of the evening and included the uncorking of a few vintage Zeppelin tunes ("Thank You", "Ramble On"), a number of his own rockers ("Tall Cool One") and a duet with fellow '70s hero Ian Hunter ("When Will I Be Loved".)

With plans afoot for a late November 2006 release of "Nine Lives," a box-set collecting Plant's nine solo albums to date, the singer agreed to a rare chat that would cover his entire career.

In person, Plant is the picture of middle-aged grace and leisure: T-shirted, denimed, and still the golden tresses are shoulder-length locks (if slightly less golden). The legendary lean physique is but a bit wider, and his demeanor is friendly and surprisingly open. He regards his legendary status mostly with amusement, often tossing out a lyric from days of yore -- see sly references to "Immigrant Song" and "Misty Mountain Hop" below.

It soon becomes clear that he enjoys discussing his craft and his passions, like the World Cup match in progress ("Oh no, oh sugar!" he blurts when Ghana scores a goal in their match against USA.)

I arrived determined to resurrect at least one personal memory long tucked away, even though the publicist had requested primary focus on Plant's solo career. But at the height of the '70s, in my personal rock pantheon -- which stretched from Aerosmith and Alice Cooper to Frank Zappa and ZZ Top -- Led Zeppelin sat higher than all others. My friends in high school held such devotion for Deep Purple or the Grateful Dead; I was the Led Head. When the group made it to Cincinnati in 1977, I had four tickets to Riverfront Coliseum, for myself, my brother and two friends.

It was a concert that I recall for a number of details and moments. The spine-rattling volume of John Bonham's drumwork. The smoky haze as joints were handed among strangers. A Jimmy Page bowed guitar solo with a laser pyramid glowing around him. The bloody smiles on the faces of a few, ticketless crazies who had turned themselves into human missiles to get past plate-glass doors, and who sprinted away ecstatically with security guards after them. (This was the same arena where, at a Who concert two years later, 11 concert-goers would be trampled to death.)

At the close of our chat, I mentioned the sole Zeppelin visitation that I witnessed, and the mania they spread. "Cincinnati, '77? I remember I had a cold that night ... " was Plant's response. Things do look different from the stage I'm sure. For me, it was an unforgettable three-hour experience.

MSN Music: The new collection -- "Nine Lives" -- covers your career from 1982 to today, and the usual question with box sets is, "Why now?", because there's a certain sense of finality to it -- that a period of time is now coming to an end ...

Robert Plant: No, not really. I mean yeah, I know, I take your point. But I was encouraged because of the metamorphosis, the kind of creative surge my music has been up to this point. That, and the record companies and everybody else involved said, "Hey look, this is great." Lately, I'm spending more and more time working with nonrock musicians and leaving the mainstream -- almost dissolving into another world musically. So I guess I do want to get these things into some kind of perspective now more than later.

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