Physical Graffiti Chicago brings their high energy tribute to Tony D’s in Elmwood Park. Come enjoy a full night of Led Zeppelin! Playing all your favorites and deep cuts that will blow you away. Physical Graffiti has been playing to large capacity crowds. Come join the fun, celebrate your love of the best rock and roll band in history. http://physicalgraffitichicago.com/tour/ No admission, Free Show. Grab your reservation here: https://www.facebook.com/events/1020815195972624
Press Review:THE FORUM, INGLEWOOD, CA
They’re at it again. I feel weightless after the music’s over, escaping from the crowd, riding through the quiet; time and I are strangers, atlas shrugging in the city, remembering how much I enjoy the feeling. And these are only things.
I like Led Zeppelin. Not as much as the Beach Boys. Or the Byrds. Or the Dead. Or Procol Or Van Morrison. Or the Velvets. Or Lennon. But I like them enough. They can torture me, but I still like the Zep. Heaviness and all. Superblues. String-pulling. Repetition. Shlock-showmanship. British pop-posturing. Instant- theatre. All. Led Zeppelin. 1. 2. 3. 4.
I like the fierce power of “Whole Lot of Love” Jimmy Page is wringing out one of those memorable guitar runs. Then the firecrackers go off in the crowd. Everybody dances, the red balloons piercing the blue spotlight, love turning everyone on. The distances between sound and SOUND. All those notes. The acoustic stuff, too.
I like the Elvis-surpassing “That’s All Right, Mama.” Fleshy Robert Plant does those archetypical acrobatics with his voice and body, looking like Rod-Joe-Mick, the rock satyrs. The trinity of roll.
And I like Jimmy Page. The man has greatness in him, being guitarist-as-sex-symbol-as SuperSTAR, swallowing his fame, blasting the day-glo yellow-and-orange Forum for nearly 200 minutes.
I like it that Zep doesn’t need any supporting acts, justifies the complete sell-out, catches the crowd with the first tune and holds them tight. Zep. Never too tired to brighten the lives of those who feel a little purposeless.
They call it Rock AND Roll, a fragment of the truth. [-M.R.R., August 1971, Cashbox]