Back in through the out door ... Led Zep, seen here in 1975, reunite in November. Photograph: Neal Preston/Corbis
I bought a new car recently. Well, not new, obviously, but new to me. But here's the thing: despite being built in 2004, it came with a tape deck. Remember them? After an initial struggle with the strange, linear nature of the format (I had to listen to entire albums in the order the artist intended), I enjoyed a debut drive of pure nostalgia. The shoebox full of cassettes that had lain undisturbed under my bed for most of my adult life suddenly had a purpose again. I rediscovered the soundtrack of my teens. My first love, my first drink, my first gig: all the memories came flooding back.
And you know what? It felt as though it had all happened last week. And then I realised that was because it had. The last three gigs I've been to were by The Fall, Prince and The House of Love. Listening to those songs again - whether on a scratchy tape or played live before me - I lost myself in the moment. For a while, I was my 17-year-old self again. Nothing had changed. The only difference was, in the latter case, the lights came back on and I found myself in a room surrounded by overweight, sweaty, bald men.
There's something about this sudden market for nostalgia that I find slightly distasteful. It's fine when you're locked away in your car, when it's a personal indulgence; but getting up close and personal with 20 years of reality is rarely a good idea.
I don't begrudge misunderstood geniuses getting one last chance to pay off their tax bills, but sometimes I'd rather be left with the memories. There's clearly a market for these tours - after all, 20 million Led Zep fans can't be wrong. But am I the only person who finds something distasteful about the Led Zeppelin reunion? It may be a one-off tribute show for a friend, and almost all my friends have registered for tickets. But I'm pleased not to be one of the 20 million. I'd rather listen to them on C90.
