This is the band when they were young, hungry and unpredictable, before the music was carved in stone. Robert Plant sings with the bluesy screech and howl of his mentors, effectively adapted for the era of Marshall stacks and huge drum kits. Jimi Page plays like Otis Rush and Scotty Moore had a baby. John Bonham takes the thunder of Ginger Baker and reduces it to an essence. And John Paul Jones holds it all together. This was before anyone was sure what to call it; acid rock, hard rock, heavy rock. The one constant was the word rock. Not rock and roll, but, rock, as in; a big, mountainous range of amplification, with riffs so awesome they could melt steel. This wasn't your parents blues, this was long-haired androgyny fused with the Hell's Angels by the way of Howlin' Wolf. Oh, those were the days!