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Led Zeppelin disbanded in 1980, the year before I was born. They had a couple of botched reunion shows during that decade, but the thought of a full tour with members of the original lineup seemed like a long shot. 

Now, here, June 12th, 1998, the biggest tour of the summer is in Minneapolis. Jimmy Page and Robert Plant have worked out their differences and have a new album out, their first together since the early ’80s. Tonight, their “Walking into Everywhere” tour is walking into the Twin Cities. Hunter, Cody, and I have managed to score tickets from a local scalper and will be sitting in the 12th row on the floor of Target Center. 

If you are a fan of classic rock from the 1960s & 1970s, the 1990s might be the true golden era or the Second Coming. Most of those bands from the 60s or 70s broke up sometime in the early 1980s, but then, through a change of heart and seeing the massive dollar signs in front of them, they decided to reunite and tour in the 1990s. Those fans who were teenagers and twenty-somethings in the 70s were now forty-somethings with careers and disposable income, and they couldn’t wait to see their favorite band. And if you hadn’t been around during their original run (this includes me, born in 1981), you still knew of all these bands; you grew up with them. This music seeped into your core from your parent’s record collection and, more importantly, through the advent of a new staple radio format, Classic Rock.

By the time of tonight’s Page & Plant concert, I’m halfway through my 16th year of living, a week removed from finishing my sophomore year of high school, and have managed to see rock concerts by Boston, the Steve Miller Band, The Rolling Stones, the Black Crowes, and Bob Dylan. Only one of those bands is played on modern format radio, and all of those bands are played on classical rock radio. 

All of these concerts have been amazing, but for my brother, the one tonight is extra special. Led Zeppelin is Hunter’s all-time favorite band. Last September, we saw my favorite band of all time, the Black Crowes, and the excitement I had for that concert was beyond description, so I understand the excitement Hunter is feeling about the Page and Plant concert. Or maybe I don’t get his excitement. See, the Black Crowes have only been around for about a decade and have actively toured since they broke on the scene. No one thought that anything resembling Led Zeppelin would ever tour again and play all the songs that made them famous, so, in that respect, I don’t have the appreciation that Hunter does for seeing Page and Plant.

In addition to the classic rock radio that I regularly listen to, VH1, a music channel on TV, shows a classic music movie late every Friday night. Hunter and I watch it most weeks. Sometimes, it’s a movie that features a famous musician like the Rocky Horror Picture Show or is known for the soundtrack like Purple Rain, and sometimes it’s a classic concert film like “Let’s Spend the Night Together.” It’s the concert films that I really enjoy, they give me an insight into the bands’ on-stage persona and a feel of what the culture was like. Of course, we are big fans of “The Song Remains The Same,” the Led Zeppelin concert film recorded at Madison Square Garden in the mid-70s. In watching it, I get the idea that a Led Zeppelin concert was special and that concerts in the 70s were a little bit wilder and more unpredictable than today. Beach Balls, M-80s going off, fights, they have an air of wildness.

This afternoon, Cody and I are just riding around and talking when we decide to incorporate a piece of those concert films into the Page & Plant show tonight. We’re not looking to get arrested, so the M-80s and starting a fight are off the table. We settle on bringing a couple of beach balls and batting them around in the crowd. There is some risk with this; every concert we have been to has security at the gate that gives a light pat down, and you can’t bring anything with you into the arena. We decide that if we tuck them into the waistband of our jeans, we would probably be safe, and if security does catch it, they will just take it away. We decide it’s a risk worth running. It’s early June, and the local Target has plenty in stock. We buy a couple and then drive out to my house to meet up with Hunter. 

That feeling is coming over me again. The same one that comes on before any concert I’ve been to. An anxious, anticipatory energy that grips my shoulders. It starts a few hours before the concert. It’s a fun feeling that’s a mixture of suspense, glee, and anticipation. By the time we walk into Target Center that night I feel like I’m nearly floating. We had secured our tickets through our usual ticket broker and they didn’t disappoint. As we got to our seats just 12 rows back from the stage, I noticed two empty chairs next to Hunter. 

The house lights go down, and the crowd barely acknowledges the band, which is now playing their hitless music on stage. It’s the opening act, and while I respect that they are there trying to make a name for themselves, it’s always the biggest drag of the concert experience. All I want as a fan of, in this case, Page & Plant, is to hear their music. The forty-five minutes or so that this no-name is on the stage is agony. 

Then it happens. The opening act plays their final tune, thanks the crowd, and walks off. Almost immediately, the house lights come up, music starts piping through the PA system, and the din of the conversations in the crowd begins to grow. Over the next thirty minutes or so, I can feel the energy of the crowd building. The conversations get a little louder, people let out a random yell every now and then, and the seats in the arena start to fill up. 

I’m taking it all in. My beach ball, which is securely placed in the waistband of my jeans, made it through the gate without being noticed. Cody, Hunter, and I are just shooting the breeze when I happen to glance at the empty seats next to us. As I lift my gaze, I see a figure walking through the row to those seats. It turns out to be a former pro wrestler and the man who, if he can “shock the world,” will be the governor of Minnesota come November, Jesse “The Body” Ventura. We think that this is a pretty good sign to be next to him. Before we can even acknowledge his presence, though, the house lights go down, and some eastern, sitar-type music starts coming through the PA. 

This is the moment—the greatest moment of the concert experience for me. In a pitch-black arena, thousands of people yelling all at once, the sound of energetic anticipation leaving the body. It’s the instant when you are no longer awaiting the moment but are now in it; the image you dreamt up is now reality. The music cuts from the PA system just as a few shadowy figures make their way onto the darkened stage. The crowd is at its zenith at this moment. 

BOOM! The stage lights come on just as Jimmy Page lights into the opening riff of “The Wanton Song.” The anticipation has given way to elation, and we’re off and running. The following two-plus hours fly past as the audience gets to see something they were sure would never happen again! The surviving members of Led Zeppelin had been clear that they would never get back together, so getting two of the three living members, plus the original drummer’s son, to sit on the kit was a dream. Jimmy Page and Robert Plant had indeed recorded an album together, which is why they are touring at all. They play two or three songs off the new record, but outside of that, it’s nothing but classic Led Zeppelin songs. 

As Robert Plant is saying they are going to try a track from the new album, Cody leans over to me and shouts, “Beach ball”! I was so mesmerized listening to the music and watching Robert Plant spin like a whirling dervish with the mic stand that I had forgotten about blowing up my beach ball.  I stealthily get it unfolded under my t-shirt, lean my head forward, and blow it up. I don’t know if the security guard will confiscate it or not, but I’m not going to flaunt my contraband in the open and find out.  Once it’s sufficiently inflated, I close the valve. I look over to Cody, who has his ball ready to go. He pulls it out mid-song and launches it into the air. We watch for a couple minutes as the audience bats it around, and security doesn’t seem too concerned. As the song comes to a close, I smack my beach ball and watch it sail. It sails right onto the front of the stage! Hunter punches me in the arm and says, “There’s no way you hit it on the stage”! 

Before we can say anything else, Robert Plant turns and sees it. A smile crosses his face, and he reaches down and picks it up. He turns to the crowd and waves the beachball, MY BEACH BALL, and coyly asks in the mic, “Is there a beach around here”?!! They then launch into a big hit, “Going to California.” He holds onto the beach ball for about half the song and then launches it back into the audience. All the while, Cody’s beach ball is floating around the arena. At the end of the next song Jimmy Page is shredding the guitar as Cody’s beach ball hits the stage and rolls towards him. He gives a big smile towards Robert Plant and then proceeds to boot the ball back to the audience mid-solo! 

Hunter, Cody, and I can’t believe it! We all have huge grins on our faces, and we know we have a story to tell from this show. Having watched all those old concert films from the 70s and loving all the shenanigans taking place in the crowd, this was a special moment that we thought had passed us by. By the time I first started going to concerts, security had clamped down on bringing anything into the arena with you. The fact that we were able to sneak in a couple of beach balls and then for them to both make it onto the stage and the band to comment on it felt like a massive win to us, as though it made it more authentic. In my mind, that is how it was for the band as well. When Robert Plant saw the beach ball and got that Cheshire cat grin on his face, I like to think it reminded him of concerts from Led Zeppelin’s height. 

The concert rolls along “Ramble On,” “Heartbreaker,” “Babe I’m Gonna Leave You,” and “Whole Lotta Love” are some of the songs that they play. After “Whole Lotta Love,” Robert Plants gives a quick thank you to the audience. He and Jimmy Page take a quick bow and walk off stage as it goes dark. We in the audience are clapping, shouting, and whistling. The nonsense of the seemingly obligatory ten to fifteen-minute encore break is the biggest annoyance of live concerts. Luckily, tonight, Page and Plant don’t waste too much time backstage as they come back out after about five minutes. They play a couple more tunes, say thank you to the crowd again, and then launch into “Rock and Roll.” The whole concert has been fantastic, and clearly, the sentiment is held by the crowd because even after the band has walked off the stage, the house lights have come up, and non-descript music is being played through the PA, everyone is still hooting and hollering! 

We turn to leave, and there stands Jesse “the Body” Ventura. Without thinking about it, Hunter says to him, “What did you think of the show?” and hits him in the stomach!! To me, it seems clear that Hunter can’t contain this playful punch at this moment of excitement.  However, I immediately recoil in shock. I am sure that the gentleman that he has just hit in the stomach is about to return the favor and punch Hunter in the nose. This isn’t going to be a good or fair fight. One punch will end it. Hunter, who on his best day is 5’6″ and tips the scales at maybe 160lbs, isn’t going to have much of a chance against a man who is universally recognized by his nickname, “THE BODY,” that’s not a nickname you get for being out of shape. Jesse “The Body” Ventura, a former professional wrestler, is well over six feet tall and, by my eye, has to be about 275lbs. 

I look at Hunter. He appears frozen in place, realizing what he did. I look up at Jesse, who turns his head and gazes down at Hunter. Jesse raises his hand and clenches it in a fist. 

“Here it comes,” I think to myself. 

To my surprise, and more so to Hunter’s surprise, Jesse pumps his fist in the air and responds by saying to him, “Little Man, if Bonham were alive, they would’ve played for another two hours!” and breaks into a big smile. He was as giddy to have been at the concert as we were, and he could tell my brother meant no offense and clearly wasn’t a threat. Relief washed over Hunter, Cody, and me, and we all shook the future governor’s hand and told him we would vote for him. 

We made our way out of the arena and back to our car in the parking ramp. We opted to take the elevator to get to our floor, and we packed ourselves in when the doors opened. As the car starts to go up, Cody announces to the other people in the elevator, “Hey, that was my beach ball”! To which he receives a “yea, sure, buddy” and an “Aww, bullshit.” The doors open, and we walk to Hunter’s car, laughing, smiling, and recalling our favorite highlights from the concert. I’m sixteen years old, and I know I’m making memories that will last.