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Hey-hey mama, said the way you move/Gonna make you sweat, gonna make you groove…’ By 1971 we had come to expect explosive opening gambits from Zeppelin albums; Good Times Bad Times, Whole Lotta Love and Immigrant Song had been no slouches. But as a statement of intent, Black Dog was something else: a song that seemed to change the temperature in the room, with Robert Plant’s unadorned shriek announcing that what we were holding in our hands – this strange, archaic-looking vinyl set, with its cover images of peeling wallpaper and an old man gathering twigs – was the only record we needed in our lives from now on. Then came Jimmy Page’s deathless, tempodefying riff… and it was off to the races.