Led Zeppelin
– In Through the Out Door
They didn’t crash and burn—they floated off, slow and uncertain, into a haze of synths and soaked regret. In Through the Out Door is the sound of Led Zeppelin looking around, blinking, and realizing the party ended hours ago. Bonham’s still hitting hard, sure, but there’s a strange kind of restraint here—as if everyone knows that something’s slipping away, but no one wants to say it out loud.
Best of…
Plant’s voice, always capable of thunder, spends much of the record sounding reflective, almost wounded. Page seems distant at times, his guitar not absent but dialed back, swirled into a keyboard-heavy mix driven by John Paul Jones—now finally stepping out from behind the amps. And it’s Jones who ends up shaping the album, steering the band into lounge-funk detours, warped samba breakdowns, and minor-key ballads that don’t so much rock as drift.
But even with all its wanderlust, the record isn’t soft. It’s weathered. These are the bruises after the brawl. It’s a Zeppelin album that dares to be confused, to get lost, to wobble. And somehow, in all that disorientation, it finds moments that hit harder than anything they did while swinging hammers and chasing Tolkien epics.
Choice Tracks
In the Evening
This opener doesn’t knock—it creeps. That echoing intro, Page’s bowed guitar sounding like an air-raid siren from deep space, sets the tone. When Bonham lands, it’s like a falling building. The track churns, slow and smoky.
Fool in the Rain
A curveball that works because it shouldn’t. A samba beat, whistle solo, and Jones running riot on keys. But the real twist is Plant—half-playful, half-lost—grappling with love like it’s a riddle in a foreign tongue.
All My Love
This is Plant raw. Written for his late son, it’s unusually bare for Zeppelin. Jones’s synth leads the charge, not Page’s guitar. And yet it’s one of their most emotionally direct moments—sincere, scarred, and unsparing.
Carouselambra
Almost ten minutes of synth-punk prog-funk that feels like three different songs stitched together by ambition and guts. Page finally stretches out halfway through, but the main current belongs to Jones. Wild, bloated, and fascinating.
In Through the Out Door is Zeppelin’s strange, aching swan song—part hangover, part experiment, part goodbye note. It sidesteps their usual bombast for atmosphere and emotion, and that quiet shift says more than another war cry ever could.