Coda is, as the name suggests, not a full-fledged Led Zeppelin album. Released — possibly as a means of fulfilling contractual agreements — in 1982, it was the first bit of unheard Zeppelin material since the death of Bonham. It’s composed of leftovers, random odds and ends spanning their career (though three of the eight tracks date from the In Through The Out Door sessions). As has been noted over the years, Zeppelin wasn’t a band that had some massive store of B-sides and outtakes stored up; what you hear on the records is most of what they did. (Just take a look at the superfluous nature of these recent reissues — each one comes with a second disc primarily comprised of ultimate super-fan curiosities like alternate mixes or isolated tracks rather than long lost songs.) In general, this tends to solidify that overwhelming sense of just how strong and united the Zeppelin catalog is. It was so tight not because they were diligent editors who had a bunch of songs they deemed unsuitable for a record; rather, they were simply capable of crafting these albums one after the other, and that energy never seemed to be directed towards any distractions.

As a result, the content of Coda itself is a mixed bag. Being a fan of Led Zeppelin’s folkier side, I’m partial to the Led Zeppelin III outtake “Poor Tom.” I’ve also always had a soft spot for “Ozone Baby,” a solid piece of late-‘70s pop; I’m actually not sure why that and “Darlene” wouldn’t have been included on In Through The Out Door in the first place. Otherwise, you’ve got: “We’re Gonna Groove,” a solid if not mind-blowing remnant from the time between I and II; what is in reality a cleaned up live version of “I Can’t Quit You Baby”; and another drum solo track from Bonham, “Bonzo’s Montreaux.” (I don’t know about you, but even with a ton of admiration and respect for Bonham, I’m not sitting around listening to drum solos too much when I revisit my old favorite bands.) You’ve also got “Wearing And Tearing,” which comes off like a half-hearted acknowledgement of punk but, essentially, feels stale in the way that Presence did as a whole in 1977. When Coda was re-released on CD in 1993 as part of The Complete Studio Recordings, “Hey Hey What Can I Do” and a few other tracks were tacked on. That song’s a contender for one of the greatest outtakes in rock music, ever, and puts everything else here to shame, even if it’s good stuff on its own. Coda does have its role in the story and arc of Zeppelin’s career, but it’s hard — from its name to its stature relative to the cohesion of their actual records — to regard it as much more than an afterthought, easily the least essential entry in their catalog.