I once saw Steve Marriott clobber a security guard in the head with his mic stand because the hapless bloke was trying to stop a fan in the audience from smoking dope. The applause was deafening.

Without condoning assault (or dope smoking), good rock is aggressive, and rock stars have a knack for turning destruction into art. Hendrix lights his guitar on fire at Monterey and rapes his amplifier. The Who’s violent gear-smashing set-closings are the stuff of legend. Alice Cooper beats up Santa and Nixon, guillotines himself, and—as if that weren’t enough—has a maniacal dentist work on his teeth! AC-DC have a giant wrecking ball demolish half their set before they even walk onstage. Courtney Love and Amy Winehouse are wrecking balls. And then there’s Zeppelin.

Scorned by critics as primitive, loud, unoriginal and determined to overwhelm the listener through sheer power and volume, early reviews of Led Zeppelin accused them of using brute force to bludgeon their way into the consciousness of the record-buying public. They were excoriated as bombastic, overbearing, lacking in subtlety, and utterly incapable of self-discipline. And yet, for all the complaints in the media that Zep concerts were excessive, self-indulgent and violent,¹¹⁶ the band’s most notorious acts of destruction happened off-stage. All of the complaints directed at their music seem more appropriately directed to the band after-hours—charges of being crude, loud, excessive, self-indulgent, unrefined and intimidating. In a world where any punk with a can of spray-paint is an artist, Zep’s hotel-redecorating brand of physical graffiti knows few rivals.

When I was young and impressionable, I took the stories about the band riding motorcycles down hotel corridors, playing cricket in the hallways, slicing rooms to shreds with samurai swords, having food fights in posh restaurants, hanging sharks in their hotel closets, tossing TVs into pools, and all the other well-documented mayhem with amusement and even a perverse sort of pride. Led Zeppelin were my heroes, and it was practically a badge of loyalty—a sign of true fandom—not only to forgive but defend anything the band did. Not that there were any voices in my circle of friends expressing outrage. It all sounded like a party to us.

Well, if Zep vandalize the rooms they stay in, what does it matter so long as they pay for the damages? The hotel isn’t really out of expenses, the band has a roaring great time, sundry carpeting, plastering, and electrical professionals gain lucrative business, and the other guests of the lodge come away with some pretty amazing stories. “Once I was staying at the Continental in LA while Led Zeppelin were in town. Boy, let me tell you . . . !”

What does it matter, indeed?

How you answer that question may partly depend on your ethics, on your theory about what makes something right or wrong. And the previous paragraph suggests thinking about the band’s rowdiness in utilitarian terms. This is one of the more important ethical theories, and a real fine way to start.

Don’t It Make You Wanna Go and Feel Alright?

There are different versions of Utilitarianism, but I’m going to talk about the most basic, Madison-Square-Garden variety, known as Classical Utilitarianism. Basically, utilitarianism says that an action is moral if it maximizes happiness. That’s pretty simple, but the theory is a little more complicated than it seems. For one, what do we mean by happiness?

We mean pleasure. Classical utilitarians say we should do the thing that produces the greatest overall balance of pleasure over pain. To this extent, utilitarianism is hedonistic, though the pleasure to be maximized is the pleasure of all affected, not just the doer’s own pleasure. In this sense, Utilitarianism is “objective,” despite its emphasis on feelings. According to utilitarians, causing pain is okay, but only if it’s necessary to produce the greatest amount of pleasure overall; any pain caused must be necessary to get rewards that we couldn’t get without the pain. (Did you know Jimmy Page travelled with handcuffs and whips in his luggage?) Of course, according to utilitarianism, if you could get the same or greater pleasure by causing less pain or none at all, that’s what you should do.

Here’s an example: if you’re in the front row at a Zep show, the music might be painfully loud (at least until the quick onset of deafness). But it’s necessary for the music to be perhaps painfully loud in the front of the hall to project adequate volume to the back of the arena. All the people further back are totally groovin’, the music is nice and loud but not too loud, they can hear great, they’re happy. You’re happy too. Don’t forget, YOU’RE IN THE FRONT ROW AT A LED ZEPPELIN CONCERT! STOP YER BITCHIN’! To avoid causing you sonic discomfort the music would have to be barely audible in the rest of the hall. That’s too high a price to pay to avoid causing you some momentary wincing. (You’ll adjust quickly enough. I have experience.) You may have a little pain in your ears, but its necessary for the greater good, and so Led Zeppelin are not immoral for inflicting it on you. In fact, for the good of the audience as a whole, they’re doing the right thing. If you don’t like it, move further back. Trust me, there’ll be plenty of greedy people eager to slip into your spot.

Now that we have utilitarianism, what are we to make of the aforementioned boyish antics (and myriad others that could be named)?

First of all, I’m not going to give you all the answers. That’s not philosophy; philosophy is thinking for yourself. My role is to help you get a sense of how utilitarianism—and other theories—can help you to do so more thoughtfully. Second, so I don’t have to repeat myself endlessly (which is boring, and doesn’t maximize pleasure) assume that whenever physical damage is done—to hotel rooms and the like, not your eardrums—the band or its entourage pays for it. (I don’t know whether this is in fact entirely true but it seems generally to have been the case.) Cleaning bills, carpet replacement, new TVs and draperies, shark deodorizing, all covered.

The question is, does food-fighting, samurai-slashing, sharkcloseting, purse-pooing, TV-tossing, hotel-motorcycle-riding behavior maximize the overall level of happiness in the world?¹¹⁷

Probably not. But whether or not it does partly depends on how much fun the band had, and how annoyed the other affected parties were. If Bonzo’s glee at pooing in Jimmy Page’s girlfriend’s purse outweighed her (and her beau’s) horror and indignation, as well as the olfactory discomfort of others in the vicinity, and if no other prank would have produced the same surplus of pleasure, he did the right thing! In fact, he may have had a moral obligation to do it! As you can already tell, though, when we try to apply utilitarian moral logic, there are going to be many unknowns. Consider one of the times the band had a food fight in a restaurant filled with other diners. This behavior was probably uproariously funny to the band. It might also have forced the restaurant to cancel a large group reservation—say, your wedding rehearsal dinner—scheduled for the following evening because they have to clean up the gravy stains on everything. That is to say, the band’s childish behavior may have been extremely aggravating to a large group of very emotionally invested people out to celebrate one of life’s truly significant milestones. The night of the food fight, couples may have been celebrating anniversaries, or their first night out alone after a new baby. A businessman may have been unable to complete a transaction with a critical client vital to his firm because of the mayhem. The clothing of other diners may have been stained irreparably, and the garments impossible or very difficult to replace. Patrons may swear never to return to the establishment, resulting in significant loss of business to the owners. In short, the melee might have caused the other diners and staff more heartbreak and anger than it brought the band pleasure.

Moreover, the riotous joy of the band and its entourage probably could have been achieved in other, less distressing ways. They could have paid everyone in the establishment a thousand dollars each to go to another restaurant, for example. Of course, this would defeat the whole purpose if the point was to watch the reactions of the old gits and see the horrified expressions of folks having an innocent night on the town. But even if just drinking and telling stories instead of chucking Jello wouldn’t have been quite as entertaining, it still would’ve been a good time, and everyone else could’ve enjoyed their evenings too. I suspect a utilitarian would have to disapprove.

Damage to hotels caused by samurai swords, the pitching of expensive electronics into pools, and indoor motorcycle wheelies raise similar issues. We’ve all checked into hotels after a long day’s drive or with an important meeting scheduled early the next morning and been enraged by loud and inconsiderate neighbors who just want to party and make a ruckus. That would be nothing compared to staying in a hotel occupied by Led Zep.

The band may pay for new TVs, furniture, cleaning, and so on, but what about your lack of sleep? They don’t compensate for that. Besides, it takes time to do all this shopping and repair work. An already overburdened person now has to take on the extra responsibility of organizing contractors and the like. People with reservations may have to endure a room without a TV, or a pool closed until broken glass can definitely be determined not to be on the bottom. If the hotel is booked solid the evening after Zep checks out, a dozen rooms or even an entire floor may be uninhabitable, not yet ready to re-rent, and innocent people with reservations may turn up only to find themselves displaced and with nowhere to stay.

On the other hand, as noted already, sundry professionals—electricians, carpet layers, plumbers—receive lucrative work, which presumably pleases them. Appliance sellers benefit from increased sales in televisions and other expensive electronics. Disturbed guests and the hotel staff have stories to tell, and possibly groupies in elevators to gawk at. Importantly, people like Richard Cole and Stephen Davis have stories to tell too—stories which help them to make a ton of money by writing books which sell well because of their lurid descriptions of life on the road with Zeppelin. And, we who read these lurid books and dig them also experience pleasure. So the hassle to the hotel employees and other guests might be compensated for by the vicarious thrill the rest of us have when we read—and fantasize—about the whole Led Zeppelin tour experience.

Utilitarian considerations also suggest that getting so drunk you urinate all over yourself and your plane seat is inexcusable. The damage may be paid for, but innocent people throughout the cabin have to breathe and smell the consequences. Malevolent thoughts generated by the incident would vastly outnumber any charitable ones. One doubts anyone—including Bonham, the urinator—was made happy by this incident. Although he ended up swapping seats with Mick Hinton, his personal roadie, he had to travel the rest of the flight in coach, not first class. Hinton, of course, now occupying Bonham’s newly vacant but rather damp seat in first class, had other concerns. When Bonham took a dump in Jimmy Page’s girlfriend’s purse, on the other hand, he sickened her, infuriated Page, and managed only to amuse himself.¹¹⁸ The collective unhappiness of the offended probably outweighed any giggles he got from the short-sighted stunt. So too, hanging sharks in the closet of the Edgewater Inn in Seattle probably didn’t cause a great deal of happiness to anyone, and the repulsed maid who discovered them was most probably shocked, frightened, horrified, and incensed all at once. She could be damaged for life. Not to have hung them up would have produced the greatest utility. (And don’t forget the pain caused to the unhappy sharks themselves!)

The utilitarian assessment of that most famous of Zeppelin exploits, the “Red Snapper” incident, is rather different. For a utilitarian, sexual issues are likely to be more controversial. Zeppelin road manager Richard Cole, whose accounts are generally relied upon, insists that no one was harmed when a seventeen-year-old Portland, Oregon redhead was tied to a four-poster bed and both vaginally and anally masturbated with freshly caught fish (or fish parts), either Snappers or Mud Sharks. He claims the young woman was an eager participant and enjoyed orgasms. I’m aware of no record indicating she suffered remorse. If that’s true, utilitarians would have no reason to object; the incident would seem to have produced more pleasure than pain, if it produced any pain at all. Shocked and outraged moral conservatives may have been pained upon hearing of the incident, but for every offended minister, there were probably a gaggle of teenaged lads high-fiving somewhere. Of course, some think the whole business smells fishy, and argue that such lewd and lascivious conduct demeans or objectifies women. By inciting fifteen-year old boys to high five, it leads to the unhappy social consequence that women are subordinated to male sexual fantasies. But this assertion is as difficult to prove as it is to disprove. All we can do is answer hypothetically that if women are demeaned and devalued by such conduct, and to an extent which outweighs the pleasure of the parties affected, then it’s wrong on utilitarian grounds.

Jimmy Page’s reported relationship with fourteen-year-old Lori Maddox similarly seems to have been mutually advantageous. She claims to have loved him; there’s no evidence that Page mistreated her; the relationship was, so far as happiness or pleasure are concerned, unobjectionable. The manner of their “breakup” may have caused her young heart to ache, and it may have ached less if they hadn’t been involved sexually, but that may only indicate that Page had a utilitarian duty to dissolve the relationship with greater sensitivity. But if pleasure is the standard for determining whether something is right or wrong, that tender Lori was underage is not, in itself, a moral matter. The fact is, some fourteen-year-olds enjoy sex. As a society we have legitimate reasons for protecting them from older predators. But for a classical utilitarian, the only moral justification for interfering would be a determination that the greatest good for the greatest number and an increase in happiness overall would be achieved thereby.

Because utilitarianism assesses the moral rightness or wrongness of an action in terms of its consequences, and because the consequences of actions—especially their long-term or remote effects—are often difficult to determine in advance, some moral philosophers advocate a different approach.¹¹⁹ So, let’s see what else is out there.

I Kant Quit You Babe

Immanuel Kant (1724–1804) thinks the morality of actions can be determined independently of knowing their results because what’s important in evaluating someone’s actions is an understanding of their motives. This fits with our common-sense belief that people who do the right thing for the wrong reason aren’t necessarily praiseworthy. For Kant, the most commendable motive, morally speaking, is acting for the sake of duty. Here we see the core difference between Kant and the utilitarians. For Kant, we should do our duty even if it’s unpleasant, makes us uncomfortable, and makes other people unhappy or angry. Honesty, for example, may be difficult sometimes, and people might be happier hearing and believing a lie, but according to Kant we should tell the truth anyway. It’s the right thing to do; it’s our duty.

Kantian ethics gives us guidelines for determining whether or not something is contrary to duty. The most important is the “categorical imperative”, or universal command, of morality. At the most basic level, this means we should do unto others as we would have others do unto us. If I treat people otherwise than I want them to treat me, I’m applying a double standard; I’m acting as if it’s okay for me to do it, but not okay for other people. Kant thinks the demands of morality are inconsistent with this kind of double standard. Morality is “universal.” More specifically, Kant thinks that when we do anything intentionally it’s as if we’re following rules or instructions. If Robert Plant lies to his suspicious wife, to the point of giving her a fake tour itinerary with no shows in LA,¹²⁰ it’s as if he’s following a rule or maxim which says “I should lie.” Whoever stole Page’s Les Paul (his “Black Beauty”) while he was touring and en route to Canada in 1970 was acting on a rule or maxim which says, “I should steal this guitar.” Kant claims that we have a moral duty only to act on maxims which can be willed to be a universal law (hence, “categorical imperative”).

Here’s how it works. If Plant lies to his wife, he obviously wants her to believe him. Otherwise, what’s the point? But if he always lies to his wife (or if men in general always lie to their wives), his wife will stop believing him. This reveals that lying leads to a “contradiction of the will.” Plant wants his lie to be believed, but if his “maxim” is universalized, his wife won’t believe him. Put differently, if everyone always lied the conditions of trust which make deceit possible would cease to exist. Therefore, the maxim that we should lie is, if universalized, self-defeating. Hence, for Kant, lying is contrary to duty and immoral. We can’t practice it without implicitly embracing a double standard. Or suppose I want to steal Jimmy’s guitar, and so (simplifying a little) I consider the maxim, “I should steal this Les Paul.” My motive is to acquire a guitar I didn’t have before. But notice this: if the maxim “I should steal this Les Paul” is universalized, that means everyone would act on the same maxim. But if everyone else did what I’m thinking about doing, the guitar will quickly be stolen from me!¹²¹ The point is, if my maxim is universalized, it leads to a contradiction of the will. On the one hand, I want this guitar. On the other hand, universalizing my maxim will result in my not having this guitar. This contradiction reveals that stealing can’t be universalized, and so is contrary to duty. Even if stealing the guitar would make me happier than it would make Page unhappy, and so be permissible on utilitarian grounds, Kant would say it’s wrong nevertheless.

Without considering all of the many shenanigans mentioned above, it’s pretty clear Zep wouldn’t want others to treat them the way they treated others! Suppose something like their maxim “I should trash my hotel room” were universalized. How could Zep tour? There’d be no place for them to stay on the road. Indeed, the hotel industry would probably collapse. If everyone always demolished their rental accommodations, the rooms Zep reserved for themselves would be trashed by their previous occupants, and Zep wouldn’t be able to hire them. But then, how could they trash them? On the one hand, they want to destroy their rooms. But if everyone did that, there would be no rooms for them to rent and destroy. The maxim is self-defeating. Looked at from a different angle and simplifying a bit, if Zep vandalize their suites, they probably are looking to have a good time. But if everyone does this, when on tour Zep would have to stay in rooms that are uninhabitable, and that doesn’t make for a very good time!

Or consider the mud shark–red snapper escapade. I suggested earlier that utilitarians might oppose Zep-style hotel demolitions, but would find it harder to object to the snapper episode. Kant provides a different perspective. A good deal of the amusement probably derived from the fact that the band was involved in something outrageous and crazy. It gave them a chance to revel in being rock stars by doing the kind of thing only rock stars do (while raising the bar even for this elite group of miscreants). But if the implied maxim were universalized, the incident wouldn’t be outrageous at all, but perfectly ordinary, as commonplace as could be. The goal was, I presume, to entertain themselves, but if everyone did this all the time it wouldn’t be interesting in the slightest, but boring as cornflakes. Universalizing the maxim takes all the fun out of it.

Kant’s moral philosophy also insists that we should treat others as an end, and never as a means only. This is an alternate version of the categorical imperative. Kant thought that because people are free and rational, they can determine their duties and freely do what duty enjoins. Since all humans can perform acts of moral beauty, they possess inherent dignity and worth. When we treat others as mere means to our own gratification or as tools, we objectify and degrade them. We cease to treat them as ends in themselves, and instead use them as we would unconscious or inanimate beings. Regardless of whether the notorious woman from Portland was a willing participant, the band was using her. Even if everyone had a good time, snappering her failed to show her the respect her status as an autonomous moral agent deserved. Or so a disciple of Kant might argue.

Moving on, consider the noisy ruckus the band often made where they stayed—playing cricket or riding motorcycles in the halls, chucking TVs out the window, pulling down the chandeliers, and generally engaging in physical graffiti. Although the band undoubtedly kept late hours, they have to sleep sometime. How’s that going to happen, if everyone is always carrying on the way they do? Come sunrise when they’re finally ready to retire, VROOM! VROOOOMMMM!!!!!!!!! Down the hallway comes Mr. Smith on a Harley. Or a cricket ball is batted repeatedly into the door to their room by Mrs. Green.¹²² The members of Led Zeppelin stay up wrecking havoc until the wee hours because they’re too pumped from their gig to go to sleep. But if everyone else is as noisy as they are, they’ll be too exhausted to party and gig.

You Didn’t “Mean” Me No Good

Aristotle (384–322 B.C.E.) argues that virtue is “the mean between the extremes.” What he means by this is best explained through examples. Consider a moral notion like “courage”. Aristotle argues that courageous behavior is a “mean” or middle-ground between the extremes of rash, reckless, impetuous conduct on the one hand and timidity or cowardice on the other. If you’re too fearless, not respecting things that really should induce caution, you’re foolish, and irresponsible fools aren’t virtuous. Such overly bold people suffer from an “excess” of courage. Contrariwise, if you fear things that you shouldn’t, you’re a coward. You have a deficiency of courage. The proper attitude is a “mean” between the rashness of the overly-bold individual and the spinelessness of the over-anxious one. Or consider generosity. The excessively generous are profligate; those deficient in giving are stingy. The right amount of charity falls between that of the miser and the spendthrift.

Aristotle is careful to point out that some things are wrong in themselves and admit of no “compromise.” Only a moral moron would reason, “Hmmmm. I wonder what the right amount of adultery is? It must fall somewhere between the extremes of not committing adultery at all, and being continuously unfaithful. I guess I should split the difference and cheat only occasionally. It’s the right thing to do.” Aristotle also argues that the appropriate amount of courage or generosity or honesty depends on the particular person and circumstances. A professional wrester (like Peter Grant back in the day) might need to eat a certain amount of meat to remain competitive; it doesn’t follow that philosophical wimps like me should eat that much. Likewise, the appropriate amount for a rich person to donate to charity and the appropriate amount for a poor person to contribute will differ. And sometimes, Aristotle argues, depending on the situation, the suitable reaction might even be extreme. Sometimes it’s right and proper to feel extremely angry, and a more measured response wouldn’t be appropriate. Developing a sense of what the proper response or emotional intensity should be is largely a product of upbringing and character.

Ultimately, then, for Aristotle, virtue is inculcated through the cultivation of good habits, which are in turn arrived at through emulating citizens who act with integrity, nobility, self-control and restraint. If you take as your role models people who are loudmouthed, violent, intemperate, selfish, or irascible, you’re likely to be maladjusted and your values misaligned. In that case, you’re unlikely to grow up with sound moral judgment and sensitivity.

Oops! This doesn’t bode well for my rock’n’roll heroes, or for those like me who were, in our youth, strongly influenced by them. Just as the drunkard is likely to think those who drink moderately are boors who don’t know how to party and cowards are apt to think brave people are foolhardy and reckless, so too those infatuated with Zeppelin may regard the lives of ordinary mortals as boring, pedestrian and devoid of adventure. Aristotle, though, would argue that only those of sound judgment have the discrimination, experience, and temperament to perceive these matters rightly. I could be wrong, but I think it’s fairly clear that much of Zep’s off-stage behavior was extreme. I don’t blame them for this. They were young, after all, and confronted a cornucopia of temptations few of us are well-practiced at resisting. Still, it’s hard to imagine Aristotle arguing that Zep’s on-tour debachery was the mean between extremes. If Zep were moderate, who’s extreme? Caligula?

Close the Door, Put Out the Lights

Now that I’m an adult the consequences of drunken hooliganism are more difficult to dismiss as high-spirited antics and harmless boyish pranks. When I was a teenager yearning to break free of authority, what was real to me was that the band were having a blast, and weren’t letting conventional proprieties get in the way. For that they were to be envied. Other things are real to me now, and instead of identifying with the band exclusively, I can identify with the very real victims of their inconsideration. Even if their suites at the Edgewater were deodorized and the shark pong expunged, what about the traumatized chambermaid who happens upon the gruesome scene and freaks out at the sight of aquatic cadavers pierced through the gills with coat hangers? Uncool, dudes.

None of this has any direct bearing on the group’s musical genius. It’s a mark of aesthetic maturity to be able to keep distinct our moral evaluation of the band and our appreciation of their art. Someone who thinks “Houses of the Holy” is a crappy song because Plant mentions Satan in a couple of lines hasn’t yet learned how art should be appropriated. They make the same kind of mistake as an atheist who dislikes Raphael because his paintings celebrate the Holy Family, or homophobes who can’t stand to listen to Queen or Bowie. I love Led Zeppelin and their music—from a safe distance! I wouldn’t want my family to share a commercial flight with them, and if they ever tour again, before I head to the show I’m gonna lock up my daughters.