It was just past midnight in New Orleans, and the walls of the Preservation Hall were already vibrating with anticipation. The Midnight Preserves series—Jazz Fest’s intimate, late-night celebration of musical spontaneity—was in full swing. But no one in the packed room could have predicted what would happen next. Without fanfare, Robert Plant strolled onto the tiny stage, greeted by stunned applause and a few gasps. The Led Zeppelin frontman, a living legend of rock, was about to reimagine one of the band’s most ferocious songs—“Black Dog”—in a way no one had ever heard before.
Backed by the world-renowned Preservation Hall Jazz Band, Plant didn’t just cover “Black Dog”; he dismantled it and rebuilt it from the ground up. Gone was the hard-driving guitar riff. In its place came a slow, swaggering groove, thick with upright bass, muted trumpets, and sultry clarinet. His vocals—gritty and weathered with time—floated over the brass like smoke curling through a dim back alley. He leaned into the phrasing, pulling each word through molasses, turning the song into a dark, bluesy lament.
The crowd was spellbound. “Swampy, moody, and downright delicious,” one fan whispered, as if afraid to break the spell. It felt like the very spirit of New Orleans had seeped into the bones of the song, transforming it into something altogether new—jazz noir with a Zeppelin soul.
Moments like these don’t come often. Midnight Preserves is known for surprises, but this was something else entirely—a crossroads where musical past and future collided, guided by artists fearless enough to blur every line. For Robert Plant, it wasn’t just a performance—it was an act of reinvention. And for everyone lucky enough to be there, it was a once-in-a-lifetime glimpse of magic being made right before their
eyes.
