As noted above,
Led Zeppelin's seminal
1971 text 'Stairway to Heaven' is one of the cornerstones of the backmasking movement, if a movement could be said to have cornerstones. As a one-time audio
touch typist - an extremely competent one, if anybody in America, Australia or Iceland is hiring - I hereby present a transcription of this song, played backwards. This transcription is a personal project, and other listeners might discern alternative phrases; it would be interesting to see an art gallery sponsor an exhibition of works derived from this most iconic of 1970s rock songs.
I present the text in paragraphs. As an extension of this project I have recorded myself delivering the following, a recording which I have subsequently reversed, thus creating a backwards recording of myself delivering a forwards recitation of lyrics transcribed backwards. The end result is essentially meaningless vocal noise, the utterances of a drunkard, with occasional bursts of clarity.
As noted above, the phrase 'here's to my sweet Satan' is surprisingly coherent, although the song is far more disrespectful of Krishna.
"nevaeH ot yawriatS"
derived from an original work by James Page and Bobby Plant
(possibly even trad. arr)
-
"Ah, flatbrush. Your wire heads hug me here, I beseech you not. I think I'll raise. Oh lord, give a riddle word. I love you now Krishna. I bear rent but still you beat me. Words drip my sneezy riddler, urge to snow but alley a snow shoe. But oh I believe the endless forename, the worst night! I've been once to one Krishna - over my body, my worst enemy.
Oh-ho. I've a mirror to see, because Alley awaits me. One wishing nets to love me whether he who is nets can be Hillary. Wish way to be the launcher of the Albert. One want to shell me, whoah-whoa, in agony moss today, oi. Lord, here's to my sweet Satan. The one in the middle had forty-eight weeks left with which to lower into Satan. You give, you're weak, you're insects, you.
Head was in a bush, washday. I need a soap, I's ready, see? Oooh, whoa-whoa-whoa. Found me white hat, oil they often met, oil-ed suits who are the... I'll be the queen of may. 'Cause spirits of evil bloke, they often met, I wish the lord, lord if we goosefeather hooks, the hooks did met. No-one's give me the ro-ooooom, and on-one's can do.
Oooh, the red suits zoo was this they often met. See harsh manoeuvres, folks fasten your knees. Buy an ox-stove? Not me. He moved me out, strictly reams well met, sail manoeuvres, how the fuck would I know? I cannae leave persuading. And no-one's came too. Pizza box, stove have a Lord's atmosphere to herb mosses and over the apple trees, candy. Him-him, man's stove's mass muscle on reject, how is she with snow bee-stop? Oh, we mock me as she's laden.
In wireheads stuck we are, I beseech nut. Oooh. Eagle snow. Make naked snow wasn't, do I look my eyes aren't sickening? Why, m'shed's snake issue. Hey, gear wet-sung in your all bees each net, what is this urge been, Bin Laden?
Push me, the elves are it."