At 79, John Paul Jones Confesses the Truth About His Time in Led Zeppelin | HO!!!!

For decades, Led Zeppelin fans have cherished an image of four friends—Robert Plant, Jimmy Page, John Bonham, and John Paul Jones—creating magic together, united by passion and brotherhood.

But now, at 79, John Paul Jones is finally setting the record straight. In a revelation that upends rock history, Jones admits the band was never a tight-knit family. Instead, their legendary music was forged in the fires of professionalism, discipline, and sometimes, cold distance.

A Childhood Shaped by Music—and Loneliness

John Paul Jones was born John Richard Baldwin on January 3, 1946, in the quiet London suburb of Sidcup. The war had left scars on the neighborhood—bomb craters dotted the streets, and families struggled to rebuild. But inside the Baldwin home, music reigned.

His father, Joe Baldwin, was a pianist and principal arranger for Bert Ambrose’s orchestra, performing for royalty and the elite in London’s finest hotels. His mother, too, was a trained pianist, her fingers dancing across the Steinway in their living room, broadcasting performances on BBC radio.

From the beginning, Jones was surrounded by greatness. But the glamour came with a price. At age seven, he was sent to Christ’s College, a strict Anglican boarding school, while his parents toured. During Christmas breaks, while other boys went home, John stayed behind in cold dormitories, his only comfort the music rooms.

There, he poured his loneliness into practice—sometimes ten hours a day—mastering Bach and Chopin before most kids could read music. By 14, he was choir master and organist at St. Bartholomew’s Church, leading forty voices and earning enough to support himself.

Yet behind the “boy wonder” title was a teenager wrestling with abandonment. Music became both his escape and his armor.

The Lightning Bolt: Discovering the Bass

A turning point came at 16, when Jones heard Phil Upchurch’s bass solo on “You Can’t Sit Down.” The bass wasn’t just rhythm—it was the heart of the song. Inspired, Jones spent his church earnings on a Dallas Tuxedo bass guitar from London’s Denmark Street. He practiced relentlessly, blending classical discipline with newfound freedom. Within months, he was playing professional session gigs, and at 17, he landed a major break with Jet Harris and Tony Meehan, recording the chart-topping single “Diamonds.”

Jones’s fingerprints were soon everywhere—Dusty Springfield’s “Son of a Preacher Man,” the Rolling Stones’ “She’s a Rainbow,” tracks for Rod Stewart, Cat Stevens, and Tom Jones. He arranged strings, played bass, and shaped the sound of British pop, all while remaining anonymous. By 1968, he had played nearly 900 sessions in three years, sometimes three in a single day. It was exhausting, but it built the versatility that would later define Led Zeppelin.

The Call That Changed Everything

In August 1968, Jones’s wife, Maureen, spotted an article about Jimmy Page forming a new band after the Yardbirds’ breakup. She urged Jones to call Page. At first, Jones hesitated—he’d earned the equivalent of $140,000 in today’s money as a session player. But Maureen dialed the number herself and handed him the phone. Page offered Jones not just a spot, but equal partnership. It was the moment Led Zeppelin truly began.

But the truth was far from the myth. Jones later admitted in a 1975 Rolling Stone interview that, despite working with Page for years, they were never close. “We never went for drinks, never visited each other’s homes, never even shared lunch. Our bond was built only on music.” Jones compared it to hiring strangers for a job—their connection was professional, not personal.

Building Zeppelin: All Business, No Brotherhood

When the Yardbirds dissolved, Page still had touring contracts to fulfill. He recruited Jones, a young singer named Robert Plant, and powerhouse drummer John Bonham, sending them on the road as the “New Yardbirds.” Fans thought they were seeing the old band, but they were witnessing the birth of Led Zeppelin.

Behind the scenes, Page and manager Peter Grant set up Superhype Tapes to control the band’s earnings and publishing. Jones later revealed Zeppelin wasn’t a group of friends who stumbled into success—it was carefully constructed by Page. While fans adored the image of four young men united by chemistry, Jones said, “It wasn’t manufactured exactly, but it was put together by Jimmy. He picked musicians who could deliver at the highest level.”

Page held 80% of Superhype, while Jones and Plant had no ownership. Even as Zeppelin became the biggest band in the world, their relationships remained distant. “We weren’t friends,” Jones said bluntly. “We worked together like colleagues in a company. Each focused on the job.”

The Studio: Telepathic Connections, Separate Lives

Jones’s classical training and session experience became the backbone of Zeppelin’s sound. He changed the way rock bass was written, making it a lead instrument. His work on “Ramble On,” “The Lemon Song,” and “Kashmir” was revolutionary. He arranged strings, played keyboards, mandolin, and even horns. Live, he sometimes played bass and keyboards simultaneously, making four men sound like an orchestra.

Yet, Jones avoided the wild rockstar lifestyle. After shows, he’d walk city streets alone, preferring family life with Maureen and their daughters. He considered leaving the band to become a church choir master but was persuaded to stay.

Discipline kept Zeppelin together. Their debut album was recorded in just 36 hours, largely thanks to Jones’s preparation. Manager Peter Grant said he never wanted to hear “can’t” from anyone working with the band—Jones embodied that attitude.

Cracks Beneath the Surface

By the late 1970s, Led Zeppelin was no longer united. Plant and Jones showed up on time, focused and professional. Page sank into heroin, Bonham battled alcohol. The band felt like two separate groups sharing the same space. Recording “Presence” in 1976, Plant was recovering from a car accident, desperate to be home. Page worked 20-hour stretches, refusing to sleep. The album was stripped down, a cry for survival.

Their final studio album showed how much things had shifted. With Page and Bonham often absent, Plant and Jones took control. Jones’s synthesizer dominated, and for the first time, Page barely contributed to some tracks. Bonham didn’t receive a single writing credit. The group barely worked together in the same room—Jones described it as “ships passing in the night.”

Then, on September 25, 1980, Bonham died after a night of heavy drinking. Jones found his body the next morning. He was calm and practical, immediately informing the others and dealing with the situation. For Jones, it confirmed the band’s end. Their public statement was brief, stressing Zeppelin couldn’t exist without Bonham. The decision was unanimous, more boardroom than emotional plea.

The Aftermath: Wounds That Never Healed

Fans mourned Zeppelin’s loss, but inside the band, there was relief. The chaos, addictions, and infighting were finally over. In 1994, Plant and Page reunited for MTV’s “Unledded,” leaving Jones out completely. They performed “No Quarter,” a song built around Jones’s keyboard work, without inviting him. When Zeppelin was inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, Jones quipped, “Thank you, my friends, for finally remembering my phone number.” The audience laughed, but the meaning was sharp—a public call-out for being excluded.

Even during the 2007 “Celebration Day” concert, old wounds lingered. For fans, Zeppelin remained a symbol of rock’s golden age. For Jones, the truth was far less romantic.

A Life Beyond Zeppelin

After nearly two decades of silence, Jones stepped forward with solo work. His 1999 album “Zooma” stunned critics—Jones played most instruments himself, creating walls of sound that foreshadowed his later work with Them Crooked Vultures. In 2001, he released “The Thunderthief,” singing for the first time and stretching his talents across genres.

In 2009, Jones joined Foo Fighters’ Dave Grohl and Queens of the Stone Age’s Josh Homme to form Them Crooked Vultures. Their debut landed at number 12 on the Billboard 200, and they won a Grammy for “New Fang.” At 63, Jones proved age hadn’t dulled his creativity.

He surprised the world again by composing an opera, “The Ghost Sonata,” inspired by August Strindberg’s play. The project called for a full symphony orchestra and multiple vocal roles, showing Jones’s ability to leap into classical composition.

Jones’s collaborations read like a who’s who of music—Brian Eno, Paul McCartney, Peter Gabriel, Ben E. King, the Foo Fighters, and more. In 2021, he performed “When the Levee Breaks” for the United Nations’ Peace Through Music event, moving seamlessly from rock to world music.

The Final Truth

But the most surprising moment came not from music, but from words. In a 2007 interview, Jones finally admitted what fans never suspected: “We weren’t friends,” he said of Led Zeppelin. Their relationship was strictly professional, and that distance may have been what kept them together. By sidestepping personal entanglements, they survived the turbulence that tore other bands apart.

Now at 79, Jones continues to compose, collaborate, and surprise. His latest classical song cycle, set to premiere at London’s Wigmore Hall in 2026, proves his creative fire still burns. Dame Sarah Connolly, the celebrated mezzo-soprano, calls Jones a gifted composer and recalls her love for Led Zeppelin in her youth.

John Paul Jones’s story is one of discipline, resilience, and reinvention. The truth about Led Zeppelin isn’t about friendship—it’s about four strangers who built something immortal, not by love, but by sheer force of will. And as Jones steps into his ninth decade, he’s finally letting us see the real story, one that changes how we see rock history forever.