Michael Des Barres: I’m Not the Only One Ready for the Second Coming of Led Zeppelin

Guest Blog: With a live concert film from 2007 to hit theaters Oct. 17, will the incantations of our three horsemen of the apocalypse ride again? 

I looked out at the smiling, fun-filled faces at the Coachella festival — the dry-cleaned, sun-kissed version of the Woodstock mud-covered congregation — and I noticed something very culturally critical in the rock ’n’ roll universe.

Out of the tens of thousands of fervid fans in their Kings of Leon/Vampire Weekend outfits, 8,923 of them were wearing Led Zeppelin T-shirts.

Sporting de rigeur facial hair and ironic shades, they had the world's most revered, magic band emblazoned on their chests.

Now, why would a 22-year-old AT&T technician who loves Skrillex or a teenage supermodel with three separate backstage passes who longs for John Mayer's gentle touch, be wearing the mythical naked, genitally challenged flying logo of four Viking, occultists on their sweet young bodies?

Is ecstasy a "stairway to heaven?" A "whole lotta love" in pill form?

Is allegiance to Jimmy Page, Robert Plant, John Bonham and John Paul Jones a must for every generation since their inception?

Yes.

An unequivocal, yes!

No visual representation of a contemporary band could be more oppositional than the mighty Zep.

Robert's bulging manhood in skin-tight jeans and bare chest, Jimmy's stars and ancient magic symbols — embroidered by my ex, Miss Pamela Des Barres, on his tiny legs.

Identity is what we are discussing here. Wearing your idol and your inner self, the self you want to inform everyone who you are in the quickest and most revealing way. A sartorial, psychological shorthand for an ADD generation.

Therefore, also a shortcut to getting laid. A Lou Reed T-shirt favored by another Lou Reed T-shirt boy or girl does indeed create horizontal activity a lot quicker.

Tribal and communal, we are wearing our hearts on our chest, not our sleeve.

As a matter of policy and an abhorrent loathing of advertising without being paid for it, I will not wear any logo or personality on me.

Except for Iggy and Elvis.

There are always exceptions. I confess I also have a tattered T-rex shirt Marc Bolan gave me himself.

The unstoppable juggernaut that is Led Zeppelin is soon to arrive at theaters across the nation in a magnificent live concert from 2007. "Celebration Day." On Oct. 17, to be exact, with a DVD release Nov. 19.

The three surviving members appeared at a press conference on Sept. 21 in London to announce this rock ’n’ roll biblical artifact's release. Teasing us, once more, with the possibility of a world tour!

Will the incantations of our three horsemen of the apocalypse ride again? Will the phoenix rise from the ashes of pro-tool rigs — the great beast unleashed upon a war torn hip hop world?

An elevator to heaven with Aleister Crowley's deadly visage in neon, flashing behind Bonzo's son Jason?

Will box-office receipts conquer Justin Bieber or Katy Perry's recent cinematic live concert explorations?

Imminently published is a definitive book written by the brilliant barney Hoskyns titled "Trampled underfoot," an oral history of Led Zeppelin. Igniting more fervor.

Will Robert's bluesy wails and Jimmy's riffs remind us of an age where a band released no singles, no videos, had no support bands, no interviews and no promoter?

Swirling in tales of excess that would leave Tommy Lee running for his life?

Black magic and debauchery unseen since ancient Rome? Music that compelled you to play air guitar and drive faster, drink quicker, embrace strangers, be part of something?

I certainly hope so. As I'm sure you do."

What are you doing tonight?"

“I’'m off to Staples Center to see Led Zeppelin!"

There's a conversation worth having.

In any event, and at every event, a lot more T-shirts will be sold.