It is the ultimate "forbidden" song. If you’ve ever stepped foot in a Guitar Center, you know the unspoken rule: do not play the opening lick to the Led Zeppelin masterpiece. It’s overplayed. It’s sacred. It’s essentially untouchable. Most musicians who try to record a stairway to heaven cover version end up sounding like they’re participating in a very expensive karaoke night. It’s just too big, too layered, and too tied to the specific DNA of Jimmy Page and Robert Plant.
But then 2012 happened.
The Kennedy Center Honors. The remaining members of Led Zeppelin—Plant, Page, and John Paul Jones—sat in the balcony, looking slightly apprehensive. They’ve heard it all before. They’ve heard the bad bar bands and the pretentious orchestral swells. Then Ann and Nancy Wilson of Heart stepped onto the stage. What followed wasn't just a cover; it was a cultural reckoning that forced the world to admit that, yeah, maybe this song could be reborn in the right hands.
Why most covers of this song fail miserably
Honestly, it’s a structural nightmare. You’ve got the pastoral, Renaissance-fair acoustic opening that has to feel intimate but not cheesy. Then the transition into the electric middle section, which requires a specific kind of "swagger" that most modern bands lack. Finally, there’s the gallop. If the drummer doesn't understand John Bonham’s "behind the beat" feel, the whole thing falls apart like a cheap suit.
Most artists try to "make it their own" by changing the genre. Bad idea. We’ve seen reggae versions, lounge versions, and even techno versions. They all feel like gimmicks. The reason the Heart stairway to heaven cover version worked so well is that they didn't try to reinvent the wheel—they just greased it with more soul than anyone thought possible.
The Wilson sisters understood something others didn't: the song is a crescendo. It's a mountain. You can't start at the top. You have to climb.
The Jason Bonham Factor
One specific detail that people often overlook regarding that 2012 performance is the man behind the drum kit. It wasn't just some session guy. It was Jason Bonham, the son of the late John Bonham. Seeing him up there, wearing a bowler hat in tribute to his father, changed the energy in the room. You can see it on Robert Plant’s face. He isn't just watching a band; he’s watching a legacy.
💡 You might also like: Why Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy Actors Still Define the Modern Spy Thriller
When the choir comes out—wrapped in those black robes—it usually would feel over the top. In this specific stairway to heaven cover version, it felt like an exorcism. It turned a rock song into a secular hymn.
The weird history of Stairway renditions
Long before Heart blew the roof off the Kennedy Center, others tried to tackle the beast. Some were... interesting. Others were disasters.
- Dolly Parton (2002): Dolly is a national treasure, but her bluegrass-tinged version on the Halos & Horns album is polarizing. She stripped away the heavy blues influence and replaced it with a spiritual, Appalachian vibe. It’s technically proficient, but for many Zeppelin purists, it felt a bit like putting a lace doily on a lightning bolt. Jimmy Page actually liked it, though. He praised the way she handled the arrangement, proving that the creators are often more open-minded than the fans.
- Frank Zappa (1988): Zappa being Zappa, he couldn't just play it straight. His live version features a horn section playing Jimmy Page’s iconic solo note-for-note. It’s surreal. It’s funny. It’s also incredibly difficult to play. Zappa used the song to poke fun at the "rock god" tropes while simultaneously showing off his band's insane technical skill.
- Stanley Jordan (1988): If you want to see a masterclass in guitar technique, Jordan’s jazz-fusion take is the one. He uses a "tapping" technique on the fretboard that makes it sound like two or three people are playing at once. It’s purely instrumental and removes the lyrical "bustle in your hedgerow" confusion entirely.
What Robert Plant actually thinks about his "wedding song"
Robert Plant has a complicated relationship with the track. He’s famously referred to it as "that bloody wedding song." By the late 70s, he felt the lyrics—written when he was in his early 20s—were a bit "twee" or overly mystical. He didn't want to be the guy singing about the May Queen for the rest of his life.
This is why his reaction to the Heart stairway to heaven cover version was so significant.
He didn't just clap politely. He had tears in his eyes. For the first time in decades, he wasn't the guy trapped inside the song; he was an observer of the impact it had made on the world. He saw the "Stairway" as a piece of art that belonged to the public, not just a setlist requirement he was tired of performing.
The technical hurdles of the solo
You can't talk about a cover without talking about the solo. It’s often voted the greatest guitar solo in history. Why? Because it’s a narrative. It starts slow, breathes, and then explodes.
📖 Related: The Entire History of You: What Most People Get Wrong About the Grain
Most people who record a stairway to heaven cover version make the mistake of trying to play it exactly like the studio recording on Led Zeppelin IV. But Jimmy Page never played it the same way twice. If you listen to the The Song Remains the Same live version, it’s a totally different animal—messier, faster, more aggressive.
The best covers realize that the solo is about emotion, not just hitting the right pentatonic boxes. Nancy Wilson’s acoustic intro in the Kennedy Center version was arguably more important than the electric solo because it set the stakes. She played it on a Harmony Sovereign acoustic, similar to what Page might have used in the early days. That attention to texture matters.
The "Stairway" Lawsuit and its effect on covers
For a few years, the song was shrouded in legal drama. The estate of Randy California (from the band Spirit) claimed the opening riff was stolen from their song "Taurus." This cast a bit of a shadow over the song's legacy.
During the trial, musicologists broke down the "chromatic descending line" that both songs share. Basically, it’s a musical building block that has been around since the 1600s. Led Zeppelin eventually won, but the "plagiarism" talk made artists hesitant to touch the song for a while. It felt "tainted" to some.
However, once the courts cleared it, there was a resurgence in interest. It reminded everyone that while the "A-minor descending bassline" isn't unique, what Zeppelin did with the rest of the eight minutes certainly is.
How to actually listen to a Stairway cover
If you’re diving into the rabbit hole of various versions, don't just look for who can scream the loudest or play the fastest. Look for the "build."
👉 See also: Shamea Morton and the Real Housewives of Atlanta: What Really Happened to Her Peach
- Check the 4-minute mark: This is where the drums should kick in. If it doesn't feel like a weight dropping, the cover is failing.
- Listen to the vocal dynamics: The song starts in a low register and ends in a high-octave belt. If the singer stays in one "gear" the whole time, the song gets boring fast.
- The Flutes: Or the recorders, rather. The original used recorders to give it that medieval feel. Great covers find a way to replicate that "old world" atmosphere without sounding like a middle school band rehearsal.
Actionable insights for the audiophile
If you really want to appreciate the complexity of a stairway to heaven cover version, do a "back-to-back" listening session. Start with the original 1971 studio track to recalibrate your ears. Then, jump straight to the 2012 Heart version at the Kennedy Center.
Notice the differences in the mix. The 2012 version is "bigger"—more strings, more voices—but it keeps the hollow, lonely feel of the beginning intact.
For those looking for something truly off the wall, find the version by Rodrigo y Gabriela. They do it on two acoustic guitars with a heavy flamenco influence. It proves that the "heaviness" of the song isn't in the distortion pedals, but in the composition itself.
Stop looking at the song as a cliché. It became a cliché because it was perfect. When someone manages to take that perfection and add a new layer of grief, joy, or tribute to it, it’s worth your time. The Wilson sisters didn't just cover a song; they gave Robert Plant his masterpiece back.
To explore the nuances of 70s rock production further, compare the isolated vocal tracks of the original against modern live captures; the lack of pitch correction in the original provides a "human" grit that most modern covers sadly polish away. Always prioritize versions recorded live—this song was never meant to be sterile.