“Pledge Pin” throws the hired hands into trickier territory with Collins mastering jumpy Zeppelinish time signatures. “Pledge Pin” puts Plant back up on his screech for the skies pulpit, surrounded by flamenco-flavored rock. With the exception of a fat lipped sax solo from Raphael Ravenscroft, (the blower on Gerry Rafferty’s “Baker Street.”) and Collins’ ability to adapt, “Pledge Pin” is full of holes.

There’s no disguising that “Slow Dancer” is a first cousin of “Kashmir” as Cozy Powell (a more studied drummer than John Bonham) double-kicks the bass drum, Blunt approximates Jimmy Page’s hot-as-the-desert sun licks, and Woodroffe reinvents John Paul Jones’ measured synths. There’s a menacing Bedouin chant by Plant at the end of the song that would be great for any sequel to “The Mummy.” Plant is back in alley cat in heat mode, conjuring up visions of mysterious civilizations: “When the sun slips from the day and the coolness brings relief, there’s no torment ‘neath the stars in the stillness of the night, when the swirling has to cease behind the safety of the veil.” Rip off “Kashmir” or not, it’s a good song, despite Plant’s occasional vocal Jihads.

Collins needs to be given credit for promoting the strutting beat that carries “Worse Than Detroit” which is lot better than anything that ever come out of Michigan (except maybe The Tigers and Motown). It loses a little of its motor city grit midway when it turns into rambling blues and Blunt flounders before finding his blues muse, although it’s nice to hear Plant can still approximate the sound of the 5:15 out of Altoona on harp.

Blunt asserts himself more successfully on “Like I’ve Never Been Gone,” demonstrating welcome self-discipline during his solos. When Cozy Powell comes in drums, the ballad takes on a more desperate tone. There’s emotion afoot here, as Plant’s vocal is touching and tinged with remorse. “Like I’ve Never Been Gone” bears the lyrical stamp of the brilliant Led Zep weeper “The Rain Song” and has the phrasing of “Since I’ve Been Loving You” producing a new avenue of memorable heartache: “I wake to find you smiling with the dawn, just reminders of the time. I feel your breath, I look around, but you’re gone. I see the place where you were lying. I caught a taste of springtime on your lips; I see the sunlight in your eyes.”

“Mystery Title” mixes Blunt’s country slide with an abrasive arrangement similar to Led Zeppelin’s faulty “Celebration Day.” Collins is a bit intrusive here, beating Plant’s just reaching puberty vocal into the background. (He may be doing his friend a favor by trying to pound him out.) The big mystery here is where is this going? Blount chokes out some obnoxious riffs and Collins can’t seem to decide on a time signature. It’s no secret why “Mystery Title” is such a mess –“Celebration Day” was no picnic either.

Bonus Pictures
“Pictures at Eleven” is buttressed by a pair of bonus cuts. “Far Post” is a self-assured mover that was popular on FM radio at the time of the album’s release. Woodroffe gets to show he can do something other than lay across the synthesizer by handling a solo. Blunt is Pagey, Plant is very intelligible and Martinez is present and locked in. A live version of “Like I’ve Never Been Gone” is an even better version than the studio cut because Plant sounds even more involved, more at the center of the song’s intended emotional torment.

Shaken N’ Stirred (1985) - 1 out of 5 stars

Plant’s third solo album has aged about as well as Joan Rivers. Plant has described “Shaken N’ Stirred” as “An adventure of the music and technology of the time.” Well, adventures can be dangerous and deadly, just ask Amelia Earhart.

Plant could hardly blame his band for this debacle. The only change was Phil Collins and Cozy Powell’s expected absence. Ritchie Hayward of Little Feat (normally a righteous timekeeper) took over on drums and shaken, not stirred by all the studio effects and World Music that swamped his percussion.

The album begins with “Hip To Hoo,” a bizarre, childish song with back up singer Toni Halliday admonishing Plant with “Cheat! Cheat! Cheat!” She’s right --this song will cheat you out of four minutes of your life. Hayward’s got one of those buzz killing clear plastic drum sets that were popular during the Reagan years, and Woodroffe has succumbed to a Casio cheese piano. What’s most distressing is that “Hip To Hoo” was a group effort. And what the heck is a “Hip To Hoo?” Is that Esperanto for “Skip to My Lou?” When Plant sings, “You’re breakin’ my heart,” you’ll agree.

“Kallalou Kallalou” continues Plant’s attempt to establish his own linguistic code. Another spastic song about Plant getting his heart busted, “Kallalou Kallalou” is better than “Hip Ho Hoo” but the repetition of the “Please don’t you go breaking my heart again” is a tell take sign of a lack of lyrics to match the music, as is the unnecessary inclusion of Halliday.. And what’s happened to Blunt’s guitar playing? Did the guitar-god-in-making title bestowed upon him following the release of “Pictures At Eleven” make him too high strung? No, his guitar is synthesized, more like sanitized.

“Too Loud” continues Plant’s transformation into a computerized caricature of himself. At one point Halliday chants “Hut-hut-hut-hut” like a sadistic drill sergeant. Didn’t realize this was a recruitment ad. There’s a lot of gimmicky synths and Talking Heads spastic vocalizing, as well as a recitation by a French waiter, or at least somebody named Victor. When Plant says, “Talk to me, Victor,” Vic thankfully goes Marcel Marceau and shuts up. “Too Loud” makes it three stinkers in a row, Robbie, waz up?

“Trouble Your Money” has a machine gun Ska-like beat. It rambles a bit lyrically, but is the closest Plant’s come to defogging long enough to produce a coherent composition. “Every night it’s the same, ah!” No, Robbie, every note is the same.

“Pink and Black” starts off with Hayward’s “My Sharona” beat. Plant’s oohing and hiccupping here. Doesn’t matter what he’s saying although it should, he’s the focal point. Martinez and Hayward at least move things along, although the flatness of Hayward’s kit makes him sound as if he’s playing in hardening cement.

“Little By Little” is the first passable song on the album. When Plant sings “I can breathe again” the line makes sense – after five extremely lame experiments, “Little By Little” is a real performance, a song with purpose and meaning. Hayward has a real kit and although Woodroffe’s keyboard sounds like it belongs in a low-budget Kung Fu movie, it fits the song’s air of danger. And Plant’s voice is clean, no hiccups, garbled lyrics or hazy production.

“Doo Doo A Do Do” throws you back into the realm of garbage can drums and lyrics that go nowhere. “Shoop Shoop La La La La” sings Halliday. There’s too much going on here and it’s all wrong -- Blunt’s attempt to play straight ahead rock amidst the chaos, Halliday’s doo wop background vocal, Hayward’s Excedrin headache beat and Martinez’s didgeridoo bass equal a lot of doo a doo doo.

“Please don’t you do it to me no more,” Plant pleads at the beginning of “Early Lead,” and I couldn’t agree more. Even taking into account the instrumentation of the time, Plant’s coochy coochy vocal dampens one of the album’s few interesting backing tracks. At least I know now where Dell got the chords for the noise that pops up on the computer when a program craps out.

“Sites and Sevens” a group written effort, returns Plant to Arabia, 80s style. A bow to the East for Richie Hayward for returning to a real drum set and providing backing the band can sink its collective teeth in. Woodroffe provides a seascape of sound and while Plant goes Esperanto again, it doesn’t ruin the mood of the piece.

The bonus track is a remixed, extended version of “Little By Little,” the album’s only salvageable track, which automatically puts its credibility in jeopardy. Plant’s vocal is at times treated to a bad acid echo and somebody switched Hayward’s drums to the less effective Acme brand. Now when Plant says “I can breathe again” you feel sorry for the respirator.

“Shaken N’ Stirred” is an experiment that reeks of Plant stepping out of the lab too soon with his creation. Instead of a beautiful swan, Plant has delivered a bloated spruce goose that can’t get off the ground. No matter how you shake it, stir it or grind it up, “Shaken N’ Stirred” is little by little.

Now and Zen (1988) 3.5 out of 5 stars

When Plant released “Now and Zen” his most successful album, he went from being “the former lead singer of Led Zeppelin” to being a respected solo artist. He did it in a crafty way – by inviting Jimmy Page to sit in, thus acknowledging his past. Just as crucial to the album’s success was the addition of keyboard player Phil Johnstone, who would become Plant’s new collaborator. Johnstone’s keyboards would replace the departed Robbie Blunt’s guitar as the focal point in Plant’s band. Joining Plant were guitarist Doug Boyle, bassist Phil Scragg, Johnstone, drummer Chris Blackwell (no, not the guy who owned Island Records) and back up singers Kirsty MacColl, Marie Pierre, and a returning Toni Halliday.

“Now and Zen” starts off strong with one of Plant’s best songs, the intimidating, exotic “Heaven Knows” which features two of his best lines: “You were pumping iron as I was pumping irony” and “See the whites of their eyes and shoot, with all the romance of the Tonton Macoutes,” which sent a lot of people to the library to find out what the Macoutes were. Guitarist Jimmy Page returns, but there’s no attempt to recreate the cringing, hard chords Pagey doled out in Zep, which was eight years down the road. Page is restrained and tuneful, mindful that this is Plant’s gig, not his.

“Dance On My Own” has a bopping, almost playful rhythm track, courtesy of Mr. Blackwell (no, not that Blackwell). Nothing too monumental here, but guitarist Doug Boyle is given some latitude to display his considerable economic Santana-like phrasing. Blunt may be history, but Boyle, when given a chance, doesn’t melt under the pressure.

“Tall Cool One” with its “Train-Kept-A-Rollin’” beat and Zeppelin-esque guitar (well, that is Pagey providing that affect) is catchy and classic. “You stroll you jump you hop and you tease, cause I’m the tall cool one an I’m ready to please.” Bits and pieces of “Whole Lotta Love,” “Black Dog” and “Custard Pie” emanate from Page’s still capable fingers, but it’s drummer Blackwell and keyboardist Johnston who drive the train. A bizarre but entirely satisfying trip down memory lane with a lot of modern twists and turns, “Tall Cool One” instantly takes root as one of Plant’s essentials.

Blackwell displays percussive muscle on “The Way I Feel,” keeping the track on track as Plant goes off on a mystical narrative. Scragg bows his bass like crazy-fingered jazzman Jaco Pastorious, and guitarist Boyle adds to his resume with a serviceable solo.

“Helen of Troy” takes Plant back to his mythical musings. One would expect a song about the world’s most beautiful woman would be a dreamy ballad, but “Helen of Troy” is a slide guitar driven rocker that makes Helen sound like a rock and roll tramp. Plant is quirky-voiced; the music works, but lyrically he’s back in Esperanto-land, twittering away clumsily.

“Billy’s Revenge” has a nostalgic Stray Cats feel and Boyle does a dead-on Brian Setzer solo. (Somebody in the band was listening to the Cat’s sinister “Rumble in Brighton.”) “Revenge” is also Blackwell’s platform as he controls the tempo, providing Plant’s off-center vocal with a reliable launching pad.

Plant wisely follows one of the albums more bizarre cuts with the delicate “Ship of Fools,” a wizened, moody ballad. The ship rolls along on the tail end of a tranquil but troubled breeze. The lyrics hint at the journey of a man at a crossroads: “You claim that no man is an island, while I land up in jeopardy, more distant from you by degrees. I walk this shore in isolation, and at my feet eternity lays sweeter plans for me.”

“Why” is Robert Plant meets The Buggles, one of those artsy 80s songs that makes you cringe whenever you hear it. “We don’t know…we don’t know…we don’t know… why.” We don’t know why this was included, Robbie. It belongs on the hopeless “Shaken N’ Stirred” album where all its anachronistic gadgetry can be better appreciated.

“White, Clean and Neat” is another out-of-place and time anomaly. There’s a bit of the “When You’re A Jet” sequence from “West Side Story” inhabiting the arrangement that’s as comfortable as Fonzie at a Grateful Dead concert. You can see practically Plant trying to snap his fingers while flashing a rusty butter knife. Jerry Wayne’s Radio-Free Europe voice-over breaks the boredom, but there’s no shaking that this 50s meets 80s amalgam doesn’t work, no matter how much you try to disguise it with tape loops or finger-popping hoods.

“Walking Towards Paradise” picks up the floundering CD with its bubbly consistency. Boyle chords thickly, Scragg’s bass has the same commanding rumble of Chris Squire, and the gimmickry of a phased back up vocal helps rather than hurts the proceedings.

Bonus Cuts – All Live, Before, Now and Zen
“Billy’s Revenge” is rendered faithfully with its Stray Cats influence brazenly evident. Boyle rips an adrenalin rush solo and Schragg’s threatening bass recaptures the rumbling intro to the “Courageous Cat” TV show. Plant needs to lay off the echo machine though. It makes him sound too much like an escapee from the land of the ice and snow where the cold winds blow. “Ship of Fools” picks up a spacey reverbed guitar intro from Doyle. Johnstone takes a bigger role on this version, providing a more dramatic sound. The band plays a bit with the original arrangement, giving the instrumental passages more space, but it’s to the point where you know these guys were looking around the stage cueing each other like flagmen on an aircraft carrier in an attempt to end it. A classic example of if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it. Only “Tall Cool One” works as a live piece because the band bears down to nail it. Plant adds in a piece from “The Ocean” as yet another reminder of his halcyon days with Zep and sings out a section of “Custard Pie” to boot.

Fate Of Nations (1993) 4 out of 5 stars

By 1993, Plant had blown through a United Nations worth of musicians, many of whom made themselves available for his sixth solo effort. New recruits included guitarist Kevin Scott MacMichael, who played with AM favorites The Cutting Crew (“I Died in Your Arms” and “Everything But My Pride”), guitarist Oliver Jones, and bassist Charlie Jones. Thumpers Pete Thompson, Chris Hughes and Michael Lee shared the drum seat.

Pete Thompson is clearly one of Plant’s more powerful drummers, less inhibited and synthesized than Ritchie Hayward, and less apt to be scrutinized because of his resume than Phil Collins. “Calling to You” champions Plant’s environmental angst with a heavy metal Middle Eastern backdrop. Bassist Charlie Jones settles in behind the head-knocking beat while Nigel Kennedy provides the latest “Kashmir” revisitation with manic swipes on violin. Guitarist Kevin Scott MacMichael is leaden (no pun intended) like Scheherazade with an AK-47, his playing beautiful, but deadly.

“Down to the Sea” is also ingrained with the atypical musical influences Plant has absorbed through the years, blending tablas with Ullean pipes that conjure up images of caravans in Ireland. “Life is a big tambourine the more you shake it the better it seems. This is my wisdom - these are just words from the sea.” The imagery may be obtuse, but the music is inventive and less pensive than Plant’s philosophical look at the world.

Ex-Fairport Convention guitarist Richard Thompson lends distinctive, traditional style to “Come Unto My Life,” a tasteful English folk/rocker. Frances Dunnery and K.S. MacMichael produce some modern Pagey chords and trade notes effectively with Thompson. Nice asides include Maire Brennan of Clannad providing the voice of a siren and Nigel Eaton grinding a hurdy gurdy.

“I Believe” is as commercial, yet as personal a song as Plant has ever written. No surprise – it’s another ode written in remembrance of his late son, Karac. “Tears, tears at the water’s edge, hey little sister there’s laughter instead. Tears for the teacher, from the eyes from the soul, this restless spirit takes a long way back home. Like the wind you are free, just a whisper, I hear you, so talk to me.” Plant ignores the urge to wail, while MacMichael, Steve French and Julian Taylor have discovered three part harmony. MacMichael plays clean, shimmering U2-ish guitar then provides a grinding solo. “I Believe” this is very un-Plant-like material and excellent, and worth the price of the CD alone.

“I Believe” is followed by the equally excellent, relaxed, “29 Palms”: “Twenty-nine palms, I feel the heat of your desert heart that leads me back down the road that leads back to you.” It’s sentimental warm without the tension that can make some of Plant’s material unnecessarily hard to sit through. MacMichael must’ve taken some lessons from Richard Thompson because his soloing bears Thompson’s traditional/Celtic trademark (and there’s nothing wrong with that).

“Memory Song (Hello Hello)” sports processed vocals, a bee’s nest of guitars from MacMichael and Oliver Jones and a steady, creeping bass from Charlie Jones. Drummer Michael Lee probably grew up listening to Led Zeppelin because he’s mastered John Bonham’s double bass Judo kick. Plant falls a little too much in love with filling spaces with screams and hoots, but the rhythm section shines, making this a pleasant memory.

Plant tackles the “If I Were A Carpenter,” The Tim Hardin chestnut made famous by Bobby Darin. (Plant played the song a lot with his first band, The Band of Joy, which included John Bonham.) You would think Plant’s high register was ill-suited for this, but Plant wisely drops his voice a few notches, which helps him sustain the song’s doleful mood, and Lyton Mariff’s generous string arrangement covers any other vocal warts.

The heavy metal delta blues of “Promised Land” jolts you back into the reality that Plant still mistakenly fancies himself a rocker. Plant takes a rare turn at playing in his own band, sneaking in some harp borrowed from “When the Levee Breaks” and also joining Frances Dunnery and K.S. MacMichael on guitars The twin-Chris war drums of Chris Hughes and Chris Blackwell provide a dynamic back drop, but there’s too many musicians trying to reach the promised land, and Plant’s vocal is forced. Sometimes you really are too old to rock and roll, Robbie.

“The Greatest Gift” further shows that Plant’s body may want to rock, but his vocal chords are more at home with slower material. The slower pace allows him to get more involved vocally (or at least sound like he is). MacMichael puts down a tidy solo alongside the bluesy, sliding strings. “This is the greatest gift that I can bring to you,” Plant intones, and the honesty in his voice doesn’t lie.

Phil Johnstone helps Plant on the chanting background vocal for “Great Spirit” (“Great spirit come”) that may indeed conjure up some ancient wizard. But don’t worry -- this is a benevolent spirit, a sun god who apparently inspires and enlightens Plant.

The double drum attack of Michael Lee and Chris Hughes slams home Plant’s apocalyptic vision of the earth destroying itself over oil in “Network News.” The guitars of Boyle and MacMichael break out in “Heartbreaker” fashion. Couple clobbering rock with angry Arabian riffs and you’ve got a lively coda to one of Plant’s best solo efforts.

The Fate of the Bonus Tracks
Multi-instrumentalist Martin Allcock is Mr. Everything in “Colours Of A Shade,” manning guitar, bass, mandolin, and violin. “Colours” is a gentler “Battle For Evermore”-- olde traditional English folk that Plant still has an affinity for. “Great Spirit” (Acoustic Mix) is another low-key guitar vehicle for Rainer Ptacek. Apparently Ptacek sees the Great Spirit as coming from the South, because he interprets the tune as delta blues. It’s a complete reversal of form and an effectively eerie spin on the original. “Rollercoaster” should have been included on the album in place of “Promised Land.” It’s out of character funk with purpose from Plant, whose hypnotic pontificating benefits from production trickery that smoke screens his voice. “8:05” is a 60s tune from the catalogue of Moby Grape, one of the first group’s swallowed up by their own hype. (In a blatant display of greed, the group’s record company released all the songs on their first album as singles, making the purchase of the L.P. a moot point.) “8.05” is one of group’s surviving legacies. Plant and MacMichael have reshaped the tune as sappy country western folk. It doesn’t work, no matter what time of the day it is. You get another taste of what the album would have sounded like with Rainer Ptacek at the helm with “Dark Moon.” It would have been a real dark mood indeed, an emotional eclipse. Ptacek spins more delta blues, but this time it drones on without shape or format. Get thee to the dark side of Pluto, Rainer.

There are a few slip ups (the counterproductive “Dark Moon,” the unnecessary “8:05” and the badlands of “Promised Land”), but this is a good balance of Plant the poet and Plant the performer. The fate of this CD should be that it winds up in your collection alongside your favorite recordings.

Mighty Rearranger (2005) - 2.5 stars out of 5

The Band that backs up Plant on his most recent CD is called the Strange Sensation. Strange – yes. Sensational? Well, no. The not-so-mighty rearrangers included John Baggott on keyboards and Moog bass, Clive Deamer (drums), Billy Fuller (bass), and Justin Adams and Skin Tyson (guitars, bass).

Plant seems out to prove that his music’s still got bite. It bites alright. When “Mighty Arranger” succeeds, it’s on the back of less vocally challenging material, such as “Another Tribe” and “Dancing in Heaven.”

“Another Tribe” effectively takes the beat from Eddie Cochran’s “Summertime Blues,” grafting it alongside Baggott’s colorful strings. And Plant raises the vocal stakes without sounding like a pale imitation of a tribute band. See Robbie, you can sing a song without sounding like you’re being neutered.

“Shine It All Around” mixes a deliberate kitchen sink beat (as in “When the Levee Breaks”) with psychedelic fades. Plant occasionally sings like he’s in the midst of a revelation. He just needs to tell the rest of us what he’s revelatin’ about.

“Freedom Fries” plays with sonic deception. You’ll check your CD player as instruments start, stop, and then disappear altogether, but it’s designed that way. Drummer Deamer borrows the wrist-snapping cadence from Led Zep’s “Poor Tom,” which is a poor choice. “Freedom Fries” is disorganized, and as the title suggest, crass.

“Tin Pan Valley” a sci-fi keyboard based nutter, works in its quieter moments, but not when it gets frenzied. It explodes with apocalyptic power then eases back into Plant proselytizing like a paranoid tree hugger at a logger’s convention.

One of Plant’s more reflective songs, “All The King’s Horses” is another lullaby written for his late son. (Pressure him into writing about his son and Plant always seems to come up big. Led Zeppelin’s “All of My Love” was also written for Karac.) A little Duane Eddy vibe in the electric guitar solo adds to the song’s ability to tug at the tear ducts: “Glad to be falling for the beauty within.”

Not so much enchanting as interesting, “The Enchanter” has a sloth-like beat and Indian music on acid feel. “Takamba”’s tempo is fast, slow, up, down and it’s all over the map musically. Maybe this should have been called “Timbuktu” because it’s as hard to find as the fabled city.

With a bass line borrowed from The Beatles’ “Taxman,” the spiritual “Dancing In Heaven” has cozy multi-tracked vocal by Plant. Influences from Zep’s “Over the Hills and Far Away” and the gull-like guitar in “All of My Love” perk up the arrangement. The spacey groove proves that when sings within his abilities and not to his legend, Plant can be quite effective.

Anytime you have a song where somebody other than Muddy Waters is kicking in your stall, proceed with caution. “Somebody Knocking” has Plant mixing his love of delta blues with raga, putting it in Led Zep’s “Friends’ and “Bron-y-Aur” territory. Relax, Muddy, the stall is in good hands this time around.

There’s Gene Vincent rebellion and danger in the threatening guitar in “Let the Four Winds Blow.” Justin Adam’s guitar trails Plant’s vocal nicely, and the bass brings to mind Golden Earring’s “Radar Love,” providing a foot-tapping foundation.

The John Lee Hookerish title track features a cameo on harp by Plant, exemplary work on the high end of the keyboards by John Baggott and bluesy, rim shot percussion by Deamer. The music is mighty, but Plant’s lyrics are superfluous.

“Brother Ray” had better not be about Ray Charles because it sounds more like a fifth grade piano recital. There are no words just Plant whoa-ing along to what sounds like someone bouncing on a trampoline. Hit the road, “Brother Ray.”

Bonus Arrangements
“Red, White and Blue” is a new version of “Casey Jones” that moves along like a freight train on a back rail -, quickly, but not entirely smoothly. Lines like “In the land of the free with his banjo on his knee” don’t help. “Al the Money In the World” (Girls remix) offers a wobbly Pagey guitar that at times sounds like a perverted re-evaluation of The Yardbirds’ “Over, Under, Sideways Down.” It’s a pedestrian, forgettable tune.

“Shine It All Around” (Girls remix) simmers with synths that build into splashing cymbals, nervous percussion and Plant singing like a Cylon, his vocal a metallic distortion. This has the ear marks of something Eno or Kraftwork would do. One of the few lines is the title, so Plant is counting on it being hypnotic. The “Yeah….yeah…yeah” repetition is as appealing as the dentist using a Black and Decker on your teeth. Plant’s vocal is the most annoying and useless element of the song, which could have been a revelation as an instrumental. “Tin Pan Alley” (Girls remix) Who are these girls and why are they remixing everything? “Alley” also gets the Brian Eno outer space treatment, which doesn’t work in comparison to the finished version. This is for beat poets, whispered, cool man, then like all hyper tensed. Can’t imagine who’d listen to this industrial version more than once. This alley is condemned. “The Enchanter” (Unkle Reconstruction) gets a Hawaiian percussion treatment, sounds like half a dozen men hitting logs.

The Rest of the Plant Nation
Nearly all of Plant’s back catalogue has been remastered, including his critically-acclaimed second album, “Principle of Moments,” (with the superbly mellow “In the Mood” and a live version of “Lively Up Yourself”), the Zep sound alike “Manic Nirvana” and the blues-based “Dreamland.”

Led Zep rock and roll may leave you merrily trampled underfoot, but Heaven knows you’ll be dancing in heaven if you listen to Robbie’s CDs now and zen.

Posted April 11, 2007 Permalink