It can be frus­trat­ing for Led Zep­pelin fans to hear the band reduced to pla­gia­rism law­suits or the quin­tes­sence of sex­u­al­ly-aggres­sive rock-star enti­tle­ment (though much of that is deserved). For one thing, Zeppelin’s occult song­writ­ing ten­den­cies, cour­tesy of both Page and Plant, play just as promi­nent a role as their blues-rock come-ons (as sev­er­al gen­er­a­tions of fan­ta­sy met­al bands can attest). For anoth­er, their stu­dio pro­duc­tions and live shows are renowned for pio­neer­ing mash-ups of mod­ern rock, folk, and clas­si­cal instru­men­ta­tion, cour­tesy of both Page and Jones. And final­ly, the band’s record­ing tech­niques were—for the time—demonstrations of tech­ni­cal wiz­ardry.

Thus it should come as no sur­prise that tech­ni­cal wiz­ard Jim­my Page would play the Theremin, though he does play on it the kind of scream­ing, feed­back-laden bends he unleashed from his Les Paul. Intro­duced to the world by Sovi­et inven­tor Leon Theremin in 1919, the ear­ly elec­tron­ic instru­ment emits high-pitched singing when a play­er’s hands come with­in range of its invis­i­ble elec­tri­cal fields. “It hasn’t got six strings,” Page says in his demon­stra­tion at the top of the post, from 2009 film It Might Get Loud, “but it’s a lot of fun.”

Page used a Son­ic Wave Theremin in his Zep­pelin days in a very gui­tar-like way—running it through a Mae­stro Echoplex and Orange amps and cab­i­nets. (Watch him revive the tech­nique in a 1995 French TV broad­cast above.) For sev­er­al months in 1971, writes fan­site Achilles Last Stand, Page “used a dou­ble-stacked Theremin” for twice the son­ic assault.

Though he seems to have gone back to just the one Theremin in the solo above, the effect is no less elec­tri­fy­ing, if you’ll excuse the pun, as he sends echoes of ray-gun noise cas­cad­ing around the the­ater. Well over five min­utes into the hyp­not­ic affair, Page takes to his Les Paul, cre­at­ing more ragged pat­terns with vio­lin bow and Echoplex. Even if you aren’t in a dazed and con­fused state, you’ll feel like you are if you give your­self over to this piece of per­for­mance art. Hero­ics? Yes, and indeed the bowed gui­tar act has its phal­lic over­tones. But it begins and ends with long stretch­es of the kind of dron­ing exper­i­men­tal noise one would expect to find onstage at an ear­ly Kraftwerk show.

Those in the know will know that Page put the theremin to use on one of the band’s most tech­ni­cal­ly exper­i­men­tal record­ings (though it also hap­pens to be an appro­pri­at­ed blues stom­per), “Whole Lot­ta Love” from 1969’s Led Zep­pelin II. “I always envi­sioned the mid­dle to be quite avant-garde,” Page recent­ly told Gui­tar World, “The Theremin gen­er­ates most of the high­er pitch­es and my Les Paul makes the low­er sounds.” Watch him rip out a theremin-and-gui­tar solo above in the live per­for­mance above from 1973. Tak­en with the psy­che­del­ic video effects, the per­for­mance reach­es mys­ti­cal planes of rhyth­mic abstrac­tion.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Jim­my Page Describes the Cre­ation of Led Zeppelin’s “Whole Lot­ta Love”

Hear Led Zeppelin’s Mind-Blow­ing First Record­ed Con­cert Ever (1968)

Sovi­et Inven­tor Léon Theremin Shows Off the Theremin, the Ear­ly Elec­tron­ic Instru­ment That Could Be Played With­out Being Touched (1954)

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness.

“Remem­ber the 60s?” says Frank Zap­pa in the inter­view above, “that era that a lot of peo­ple have these glo­ri­ous mem­o­ries of?… they real­ly weren’t that great, those years.” Ever the grumpy uncle. But Zap­pa does get nos­tal­gic for one thing, and it’s an unex­pect­ed one: the music busi­ness. “One thing that did hap­pen in the 60s,” he says, “was some music of an unusu­al and exper­i­men­tal nature did get record­ed, did get released.” The exec­u­tives of the day were “cig­ar-chomp­ing old guys who looked at the prod­uct and said, ‘I don’t know. Who knows what it is? Record it, stick it out. If it sells, alright!’”

“We were bet­ter off with those guys,” says Zap­pa, “than we are with the hip, young exec­u­tives,” mak­ing deci­sions about what peo­ple should hear. The hip­pies are more con­ser­v­a­tive than the con­ser­v­a­tive “old guys” ever were. This Zap­pa of 1987 rec­om­mends get­ting back to the “who knows?” approach, “that entre­pre­neur­ial spir­it” of the grand old indus­try barons of the 60s.

One can almost imag­ine Zappa—in the 60s—pining for the days of Edi­son, who refused to give up on the wax cylin­der but would also record vir­tu­al­ly any­thing. If both the time of Edi­son and the time of Zap­pa were bonan­zas for mak­ers of nov­el­ty records, so much the bet­ter. Zap­pa was nov­el.

Still it seems like a fun­ny sen­ti­ment com­ing from a guy who built most of his career in oppo­si­tion to the record indus­try. But it was in the peri­od of alleged decay that Zap­pa broke with Warn­er Bros. and found­ed his own label in 1977, mak­ing a deal with Phono­gram to dis­trib­ute his releas­es in the U.S. When Phono­gram refused to release his 1981 sin­gle “I Don’t Wan­na Get Draft­ed,” Zap­pa cre­at­ed anoth­er label, Bark­ing Pump­kin Records, mak­ing sure he got to make and sell the music he want­ed to.

In many ways peo­ple like Zappa—or lat­er Kate Bush or Prince—anticipated our cur­rent music indus­try, in which we have artists start­ing labels left and right, con­trol­ling their own pro­duc­tion and out­put. But those artists are most­ly a tiny hand­ful of huge­ly suc­cess­ful stars with mogul-sized ambi­tions. Does this help or harm the music econ­o­my as a whole? Inde­pen­dent musi­cians very rarely get the small­est win­dow on how things work at the lev­el of Bey­once, Jay‑Z, or Tay­lor Swift (who “is the indus­try,” Bloomberg once breath­less­ly pro­claimed). But as Zap­pa notes, “the per­son in the exec­u­tive chair may not be the final arbiter of taste for the entire pop­u­la­tion.” Even if those exec­u­tives are them­selves artists, we may great­ly ben­e­fit from a wider range of “unusu­al and exper­i­men­tal” sounds in pop­u­lar cul­ture. Zap­pa sug­gests the way to do that is to get the “cig­ar-chomp­ing old guys” (and they were all guys) back in charge.

The rest of Zappa’s inter­view con­cerns the bogey­man of 80s and 90s music, the PMRC, and his very strong feel­ings about cen­sor­ship, social con­trol, and sex. It’s clas­sic Zap­pa and won’t raise any eye­brows now, but it is inter­est­ing to hear his take on the decline of the music busi­ness since the 60s. We use dif­fer­ent cri­te­ria to mea­sure the apex of the industry—often depend­ing on whether the labels or the artists made more mon­ey. Whichev­er peri­od we lion­ize, for what­ev­er rea­son, with­in a hun­dred-year win­dow a tiny hand­ful of musi­cians and record exec­u­tives made enor­mous, dynasty-mak­ing for­tunes. It just so hap­pens that these days it’s an even tinier hand­ful of musi­cians and exec­u­tives at the top, mak­ing even huger for­tunes. And there’s a lot more syn­er­gy between them.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Bizarre Time When Frank Zappa’s Entire­ly Instru­men­tal Album Received an “Explic­it Lyrics” Stick­er

Hear the Musi­cal Evo­lu­tion of Frank Zap­pa in 401 Songs

Bri­an Eno Explains the Loss of Human­i­ty in Mod­ern Music

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

Talk about pro­lif­ic. French film­mak­er Michel Gondry has just released his 85th music video–this one for The White Stripes’ new song “City Lights.” 

Last year, Ted Mills took a look at Gondry’s music videos for Björk, Radio­head and The Chem­i­cal Broth­ers, show­ing us why Gondry, who first began exper­i­ment­ing with the for­mat in 1988, was “one of the last great music video directors”–someone who cre­at­ed “mini-epics just before the music indus­try col­lapsed, and bud­gets dis­ap­peared.” 

Most know Gondry for his 2004 fea­ture film, Eter­nal Sun­shine of the Spot­less Mind. Or per­haps you saw his ani­mat­ed 2013 doc­u­men­tary on Noam Chom­sky, Is the Man Who Is Tall Hap­py? If you did, you’ll rec­og­nize the aes­thet­ic used in the new White Stripes video above. As Rolling Stone describes it, the video is just “a sin­gle shot of the exte­ri­or of a show­er, with [a] bather visu­al­ly draw­ing out the song’s lyrics in the steam and con­den­sa­tion on the show­er door. With each line, the steam slow­ly eras­es the pre­vi­ous draw­ing, and a new image is sketched on the door.” You can try it at home.

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Relat­ed Con­tent:

Noam Chom­sky Talks About How Kids Acquire Lan­guage & Ideas in an Ani­mat­ed Video by Michel Gondry

Watch Michel Gondry Ani­mate Philoso­pher, Lin­guist & Activist Noam Chom­sky

Michel Gondry’s Finest Music Videos for Björk, Radio­head & More: The Last of the Music Video Gods