Duh-nuh duh-nuh nuh.

The riff means so much. It's like a secret knock, it grants admittance to a club of adolescent irresponsibility, young energy, young rage. There's not a guy out there who cares about rock who won't instantly know the opening notes to "Whole Lotta' Love" that kicks off Led Zeppelin II. But he won't know it in the way you name that tune in three notes. This is something far more urgent than that, a homing signal, wartime intelligence code, talking drum. Indeed, the beat, John "Bonzo" Bonham's inimitable beat, the internal metronome for Age 14, the marching order, the "ramming speed," the bang-your-head, bang-your-fist, tug-at-yourself non-verbal mantra is the definitive ritualistic rain-dance for initiation into puberty.

At least it was for me.

The first time I heard Zep II I think I was little frightened. I'd bought Zep I and Zep II on the same day, in the tiny non-foods section of Pathmark in Freehold. They were priced each at $3.99, in the days when CDs were only rich people, and would probably never catch on. I played Zep I first; a brilliant album, but not the album. It took me a few weeks to get around to the sequel. What struck me first was the disorganization, the dissonance–but I knew it wasn't slap-dash unprofessionalism. The changes in tempo in "The Lemon Song" was something I'd never heard before. And there were also two new instruments I'd not been previously introduced to: the bass and drums. Zep II was the first time I heard four instruments grandstanding at once. Before hearing Zep II, I wasn't even quite sure I knew what a bass guitar was. Music had been loud before, but smart hard rock begins and, frankly, never surpassed Zep II.

The Brown Bomber, as all the lame DJs referred to it, is still a sore spot for some. The lyrics were ripped from Willie Dixon and Robert Johnson, some licks were taken from Sonny Boy Williamson, and no credit was given. They've all settled out of court, but charges of racism still mar the record. I don't see it quote as maliciously. This was a new music being created. The sheer weight of it (heavy metal, after all), new concepts in microphones and recording, a near-ridiculous emphasis on the bottom end. And there was Jimmy Page, pretty much creating a new language for guitar.

Zeppelin II celebrates its 30th year anniversary this week. And it still kicks much ass!

There had been guitar breaks before, but not until Zeppelin (and Hendrix at around the same time) would there be an understanding of what could be done with the space allowed by this new "psychedelic rock." There were pretty much two schools. George Harrison would do his best to spit out a few notes in a tip o' the hat guitar break. Then you had the San Francisco maniacs like Mike Bloomfield and Alvin Lee and the dude from Big Brother just wanking up and down the scales as fast as they could. And not even playing cleanly! Thank God for the drugs, or else they all would have been out of work. With Zep II, right at the onset, you have guitar solos being given the respect of jazz improvisation. The whirring, zipping, bent notes, the dynamic "ching" just as the fingers hit the strings. And it was all so menacing! Those rough, macho phrases. Think of the authoritative statements being made in "Livng Loving Maid," "Heartbreaker," and "Moby Dick." But it was playful, too: remember the looping refrain in the second section of "Bring It On Home." Ultimately, it is remarkable for its feel. The dizzying, unaccompanied solo toward the end of "Heartbreaker" shows an artist at the absolute top of his game, willing to dance so close to the edge of acceptability. The solo, perhaps the best in Page's recorded career, nearly dissolves into complete disorder on more than one occasion. But it is this risk-taking that makes the music so rewarding. Other great guitarists could have filled the break cleaner: try and imagine Brian May or Eric Clapton or Gary Lucas or Mark Knopfler or Dave Schramm or Richard Thompson or Stevie Ray Vaughan jumping in there. It just wouldn't work. The urgency, the unpredictability, the disregard for textbook perfection in the hope for reaching some greater truth, that is what comes through in Page's solo. Of course, the solo wouldn't mean jack shit if the riff wasn't hard and the drums weren't kicking ass, too!

But let us not forget the sex. Zep II has a lot to do with sex. Maybe not having actual sex, but certainly thinking about it. Zep II comes into most boys' life when downtime is mapped out with a strict regimen of whacking off. To whack off to "Whole Lotta' Love" as a confused young boy is a disturbing experience. Firstly, one doesn't whack off to an album the way one whacks off to European Art flicks on Showtime, rather the album just happens to be on when you're doing it. Because an album last 45 minutes and, well, somewhere in that stretch . . . you get the idea. Anyway, "Whole Lotta' Love." There's a whole lotta' sex noise in there, right? There's this grinding guitar, theremin purr, and all this moaning. And it's high-pitched, sensuous moaning. Is it weird to kinda be intrigued by it? Maybe . . . and then you realize, that's Robert Plant that's doing all the moaning! Oh no! I must be gay! (Well, he does have long hair . . .)

"The Lemon Song": to a 14 year old, "squeeze my lemon til the juice runs down my leg" represents an awesome wit. Adoration of this line, for good or bad, doesn't fade with age.

"What Is And What Should Never Be" is a cool, jazzy tune, with a bass line as interesting as the guitar's. "Thank You" is the pussy-song, but it's actually pretty nice, and rocks out at least a little bit here and there.

Zep II was the last album the band put out before they dove headfirst into obtuse lyricism. Who'd think, from hearing these tunes, they'd become the band of mysterious symbols, rune-stone signifiers, or backwards messages. This was just full throttle, balls-to-the-wall blues with a kick. Robert Plant didn't sing, he wailed. There wasn't anything tough and laid back about his singing; his aesthetic was rooted firmly in the world of chops. It's the most electrifying hard rock album ever recorded, perectly capturing, for almost every guy I know, the hormonal urgency of adolesence, and I'm proud to present it as a Guy Record from the Vault.