“When the Levee Breaks” by Led Zeppelin

(Words/Music: Memphis Minnie and Kansas Joe McCoy, updated by Robert Plant, Jimmy Page, John Paul Jones, and John Bonham, Album: Led Zeppelin IV, Atlantic Records 1971)

“When the Levee Breaks” has been one of my favorite Led Zeppelin songs since I first bought the iconic fourth album (on vinyl) about 30 years ago. At first, as someone looking to expand his knowledge of heavy metal and check out this band that supposedly influenced all the bands I was currently listening to, I was somewhat confused by the album. Sure, it started off with some promising blues rock songs (“Black Dog” and “Rock ‘n’ Roll”) but quickly turned into Zeppelin Unplugged before bouncing back with this plodding and droning song that seemed heavy without actually being heavy. Like I said, I was confused. Then there was the issue that Jimmy Page was supposed to be this great guitar player and there’s no guitar solo: just some wailing harmonica. Still, the drums were cool sounding and this guy could sing, so I figured I would give them a chance and see what else they could do. They never thanked me.

As I listened to more Led Zeppelin over the years and began to regard them with some of the reverence of which they are due and figured out what their whole deal was, I had many opportunities to listen to this song again. By then, I learned that it was their adaptation of an old blues song (they did this a lot) originally written by Memphis Minnie and Kansas Joe McCoy. I also came to realize that part of the genius of this song is in how it builds. Jimmy Page commented once that every twelve bars introduces something new, much in the way that a Bach fugue would. Still, the highlight of the song is the drums. The drive, they pound, but they never seem to overwhelm. Even when John Bonham goes on a drum fill for a full measure, it seems perfectly placed and continues to push the song forward rather than pull it off in a different direction, the way some guitar leads do. The drums are constantly present and a force around which everything else builds and reacts, much in the way that an actual flood would be. Referring back to Page’s point from earlier to complete the analogy, it’s as if the drums (the flood waters) picked up new elements of the band (debris) every twelve measures or so and carried them along, building up force and power. By the end of the song, the river hardly seems like it did in the beginning, and eventually dissolves into the ocean. While I’m not sure that’s quite what any of the song’s writers and/or players were ever going for and I know that’s not what I thought about when I first heard the song, now I can’t listen to it without almost picturing the flood waters as the song progresses. 

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