Dear Stewart, @copelandmusic

I listened to Fool in the Rain today.

On my way to work, I realized I had left my iPod on my desk, and all my radio stations were either playing commercials or crap (how do they time it that way?), so I plugged in my iPhone. I recently used iTunes Match so that I could access my entire iTunes library on the go, but of course it doesn't work well outside of a Wifi zone. And scooting down the 710 freeway in the city of Bell doesn't cut it. However, I had just reviewed my Led Zeppelin albums. I didn't even know I didn't have "In Through the Out Door" - I used to have an LP in my music collection (which I think we gave to my nephew), so it didn't get included in the Great CD Migration of 2009. Anyway, I had just downloaded it to my iPhone a couple of days ago, so there it was, waiting for me.

I remember being 15 or 16, and coming home to an empty house after school. I remember firing up my brother's record player (I had records, but no player), and closing all the windows and doors in the house. I remember gently placing the needle on the record, and turning the volume up as much as I could without risking - what? Destroying my eardrums? Having the neighbors call the cops? Anyway, there's something magical about Fool in the Rain, for me. The rest of the album is just okay - but Fool in the Rain used to make me dance. It still does.

My parents' house is one of those houses with a room in the middle that has two doors. My son loves it now: he can run in a big circle through the living room, the hallway, the bedroom, out to the kitchen, and back to the living room. It's not a big house, but it's circular, somehow. When I was 15 or 16 and grooving to Fool in the Rain (what is it about it? The whistles? It's definitely not that weird guitar solo), I also loved the big circle. I cruised the whole house, eyes closed, waiting for the big snare drum rolls and the eighth note pickups, and the gorgeous steel drums or whatever that is - John Bonham knew how to make me, a total dork on the dance floor, move. Not just my feet, man.

Today, listening to it at 6:30 a.m., stuck in traffic, the sky full of gray clouds, lit from above by an unseen rising sun, it made me cry. I don't know why, it just did. So what did I do when it was over? I played it again.

Love you,
Irene