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It’s not just the thunderous crack of his snare, or the nimble kick beats that put a smile on my face and makes me shake my head at his prowess. Bonzo had restraint. This was made all the more plain when he really cut loose, as on Moby Dick, say. But most of the time, he worked his kit like a fine machine, coaxing it, making it sing, underpinning Plant’s wild keening and Page’s maelstrom of guitar, matching Jones’s punch to get the guts of a song as solid as bedrock. And, shining over everything, a periodic cymbal crash like the burst of a geyser, misting down for long seconds as the song moved relentlessly ahead.

Misty Mountain Hop has my favorite drum fill of all time, just after the final chorus before the outro. Nothing fancy, just a roll and eighth note hits. But its simplicity is its power, and it makes me grin as, inevitably, I find myself nodding to the beat.