How would you guys like some front-row tickets to see Elvis at the Forum?”
Jerry Weintraub, a promoter for both Elvis and Led Zeppelin, had made us an offer we couldn’t refuse. We had seen Elvis perform in Las Vegas years earlier, and it was an extraordinary evening. We weren’t going to pass up another night with the King.
Unfortunately, none of us were really in any shape to thoroughly enjoy the concert. We had been partying throughout much of the previous night; in fact, Bonzo and I had been up the entire night drinking and snorting coke. So during the Elvis concert, Bonzo and I were struggling to stay awake. He even dozed off now and then. Fortunately, he didn’t snore.
Early in the concert, after Elvis had sung “Love Me Tender,” he paused for a moment and told the sellout crowd, “I want to let everyone know that my favorite band, Led Zeppelin, is here tonight. I’d like to have the spotlight put on them, and I hope you’ll join me in welcoming them.”
As the lights shone down on us, we turned and waved at the cheering audience. All of us, that is, except Bonzo, who slept soundly through the entire introduction. I poked my elbow into his ribs, and he woke up with a start, instinctively shielding his eyes from the bright lights. “You’ve never made a better first impression,” I told him as he fought to stay awake.
Elvis was staying at a suite in a hotel across the street from the Forum, and when the concert ended one of his roadies approached us. “Elvis wants you guys to join him at his hotel,” he said. We instantly agreed. When we had seen Elvis perform in Las Vegas, we had left that show out the rear exits with the other fans. Meeting him was going to be a real thrill.
Even though Zeppelin was drawing bigger crowds and selling more records than Elvis, all of us were nervous as we rode the elevator to the top floor of the hotel. Two strapping security guards escorted us down the hall to Elvis’s suite. “He’s the King,” Robert said softly to me. “I don’t know what we’re going to talk with him about. I hope you can think quickly on your feet.”
As we walked in, Elvis came forward to greet us. After shaking hands, all of us felt awkward. Elvis himself seemed unusually cool for the first few minutes. I wondered if we should have stayed home.
Then a smile gradually crept over his face. “Hey,” he asked, “are these stories I hear about Led Zeppelin true?”
“What stories?” John Paul said.
“Well, those stories about the things you guys do out on the road. They sound pretty wild!”
If we were quiet before, we were suddenly totally speechless. Finally, Robert nervously said, “Well, a lot of rumors have spread around. We all have families, you know. We’re just out there to play music. That’s mostly what we do.”
Elvis thought for a moment. “Then what do you do for fun?”
“We listen to your music a lot,” Robert said. Suddenly, he broke into “Treat me like a fool…,” which prompted an ear-to-ear grin from Elvis.
“Good choice of music!” Elvis beamed. “Maybe I’ll record that myself someday!”
As the evening progressed, Bonham probably got along better with Elvis than any of us. They talked together about hot rods and Peter Sellers movies (“I’ve seen those Clouseau gags a thousand times and never get tired of ’em!” Elvis exclaimed).
The conversation rarely weaved its way back to music. Jimmy told me later that he felt uncomfortable talking about Zeppelin’s own records with the King. “I didn’t know whether he’d be sensitive about it since we’re out-selling him,” Pagey said. “But the guy’s a legend!” So the night was filled mostly with small talk. At one point, Elvis said, “You know, I’ve never listened to much of your music. My stepbrother once played me ‘Stairway to Heaven,’ and it was pretty good. But I don’t get a chance to listen very much.”
Elvis became more relaxed as the night wore on. He offered us drinks. He invited us to visit him if we ever got to Memphis. Before we left, he said, “Let me sign some autographs that you can give to your wives or your kids. And I want you to sign some for me, too.”
As Bonzo was scribbling his name on a slip of paper, he whispered to me, “Can you believe it? Elvis wants my autograph!”
No, I couldn’t believe it, either.