The idea of Stairway was to have uh a a a piece of music, a composition whereby it would just keep unfolding into more more layers and more moods. And actually, the whole intensity of the or subtlety in the intensity the the the of the overlay of the composition would actually He was the mastermind behind Led Zeppelin and one of rock’s greatest innovators.
But Jimmy Page carried a secret no one saw coming. At 81, he finally reveals the six legendary guitarists he truly despised. And the twist cuts deep. These weren’t casual rivals. They mocked him, sidelined him, and some even betrayed him while the world believed they were brothers in rock. The names he exposes will shock you. And the stories behind them are even darker.
Number one, Eric Clapton, the rival Jimmy Page never stopped resenting. Clapton didn’t need to say a word the first time Jimmy Page realized he couldn’t stand him anymore. It happened the night someone at the Marquee Club joked that Page was catching up to Clapton. Clapton heard it, looked over, and gave Page a smirk that said everything.
That tiny moment kicked off a rivalry that never cooled down. By 1964, Clapton was already the chosen one. Fans scribbled Clapton is God on walls, and Page had to watch it on his way to studio sessions. Page respected him musically, but Clapton’s attitude instantly made things sour. And when Clapton quit the Yardbirds in March 1965, everything exploded.
He stormed out, furious about their pop direction, then found out the band immediately asked Page to take his place. Page didn’t accept, but Clapton hated that the offer even happened. He started calling Page a studio vulture in clubs around Richmond and Soho. Their fight turned toxic in 1967 at Olympic Studios.
Page had been working quietly with drummer Jim Gordon on a new concept. Then Clapton swooped in and grabbed Gordon for his own project without a warning. Page felt ambushed. That same night he told an engineer, “Eric needs a new band every year because he drains the last one dry.” Musicians repeated that quote for months.
Clapton hit back in 1968 during a BBC spot where he casually dropped the line, “Some players use effects when their fingers don’t have much to say.” Everyone knew he was pointing at Page’s love for layered production. And when Zeppelin blew America apart in 1969, Clapton dismissed their sound as too loud to mean anything.
Page snapped privately, telling friends at Apple Studios that Clapton had turned into a blues museum guide. The bitterness climaxed in 1975 backstage at Madison Square Garden. Clapton saw Page walk in, muttered, “Not tonight.” and turned away. Page didn’t say a word. He just left. All these years later, they still avoid each other.
No handshake, not even a respectful nod. Whatever started in those clubs in the ’60s never healed. And at this point, it never will. Number two, Jimi Hendrix. The genius Jimmy Page never wanted to face. Hendrix didn’t even need a conversation with Jimmy Page to trigger the hostility. Just showing up in London was enough.
The very night Hendrix walked onto the stage at the Scotch of St. James in late September 1966, Page started hearing things he never wanted to hear. People weren’t whispering about his latest session work anymore. They were whispering about this American. It got worse fast. By the time Hendrix played the Bag O’Nails a week later, Page’s friends were repeating the same line.
He makes everyone else sound careful. Page never said it out loud, but jealousy hit him like a punch. One musician remembered Page grumbling at the Cromwellian, “He shows up for a night and everyone forgets the last 10 years.” And then came March 31st, 1967, the Astoria Theatre incident, the night Hendrix set his guitar on fire.
The crowd roared. Page watched from the side and muttered, “Right. That’s where we’re going now? Bonfires?” People laughed, but Page didn’t. London’s club scene loved fanning the flames. At places like the Speakeasy, fans and musicians kept comparing them, asking who was the real innovator. Hendrix tried to be respectful.
He asked Page about recording techniques more than once. Page’s replies were short, cold, and designed to end the conversation immediately. According to Charles Shaar Murray, Page later described Hendrix’s style to friends as “Chaos disguised as brilliance.” Hendrix heard the quote through fans and responded with a shrug.
“He’s allowed to think that.” The real breaking point came in early 1969, when a journalist asked Page about Hendrix being labeled the greatest guitarist alive. Page didn’t hide anything. “Some people like fireworks. I prefer music.” Everyone in the room knew exactly what he meant. When Hendrix died in September 1970, musicians assumed Page would join the tributes. He didn’t attend.
Didn’t say much at all. And many close to Page claimed the same thing. He couldn’t honor the man who replaced him in the eyes of an entire generation. Number three, Keith Richards, The Clash. Jimmy Page never let go. The moment Keith Richards dismissed Led Zeppelin as a bit of a joke, Jimmy Page locked him into a category very few people ever escaped from.
It came from pure irritation and a clash of philosophies so sharp it felt personal from day one. Their tension started building in the late 1960s, right when both bands, The Stones and Zeppelin, were dominating London but for completely different reasons. Richards lived by the church of simplicity, raw chords, ragged rhythms, no tricks.
Page thrived on layers, studio magic, and turning rock into something cinematic. People kept comparing the two and that alone annoyed both of them. One night in 1969 at the Speakeasy Club, a journalist pushed the wrong button by asking Richards what he thought of Page’s guitar work on Dazed and Confused.
Richards smirked and said, “Great player. Shame he hides behind production.” That comment reached Page within hours. London’s music scene was a network of loose lips and Page heard the quote before he even left the studio that night. His answer was icy. “Keith thinks five chords make him Chuck Berry.” Once those lines were drawn, neither man backed off.
In 1973, during a private NME listening session, Richards called Led Zeppelin’s sound overbearing. He didn’t know Page’s friend was sitting right behind him. The message got back instantly and Page’s reaction was brutal. He told people at Olympic Studios, he confuses minimalism with laziness. Their closest face-to-face moment happened backstage at Madison Square Garden in 1975.
Several witnesses said Page walked into the room just as Richards was complaining about bands who steal blues riffs and drown them in echo. Page froze. Richards didn’t look up. Nobody said a word. It was one of those silences so sharp it felt like a blade. The feud didn’t soften with age. In the ’80s and ’90s, Richards kept throwing jabs in interviews, calling Zeppelin hollow and directionless.
Page never retaliated publicly, but he shut Richards out completely, refusing to attend events where the Stones might appear. Today, when many old rivalries faded, this one stayed alive. Richards still couldn’t resist small digs and Page kept a polite distance so obvious it became its own statement. Number four, Eddie Van Halen, the prodigy who triggered Jimmy Page’s fury.
The day Eddie Van Halen’s debut album dropped in 1978, Jimmy Page’s world shifted and not in a way he enjoyed. Page didn’t hate Eddie personally at first. What he hated was what Eddie represented, a new generation that suddenly made Page look outdated overnight. Every young guitarist in Los Angeles, London, Tokyo, they all wanted to tap, shred, and sprint across the fretboard like Eddie, not weave mystical layers like Page.
Within weeks, studio gossip began pouring into Page’s ears. Engineers at Sunset Sound kept raving about Eruption. Guitar magazines put Eddie on covers with headlines like the future of guitar. Page felt blindsided. He once told a friend at the Marquee Club, “This isn’t evolution, it’s circus tricks.” That was Page’s actual fear talking.
Things escalated in 1979 during a backstage conversation at the Knebworth Festival. Someone casually mentioned Eddie’s tapping technique calling it revolutionary. Page shut it down instantly. A witness claimed Page muttered, “Revolutionary or desperate?” That line circulated throughout the touring circuit.
By 1980, the tension hit a boiling point. Page was in a Los Angeles studio working on overdubs when an assistant played Eruption over the monitors just trying to set the mood. Page snapped, closed his guitar case, and said he’d return the next day. The assistant swore he heard Page say, “I’ve had enough of bedroom gymnastics.” And even decades later when Eddie passed in 2020, Page offered condolences but avoided deeper reflection.
The silence said everything. Eddie wasn’t just a rival, he was the turning point Page wished had never happened. Number five. Ritchie Blackmore, the mirror. Jimmy Page hated seeing Ritchie Blackmore rubbed Jimmy Page the wrong way from the very first moment people started comparing them. And the comparisons came fast.
By 1970, Deep Purple’s In Rock and Led Zeppelin’s II were battling for same headlines, same stages. Page didn’t mind competition, but he couldn’t stand Blackmore’s attitude. Blackmore played like every note was a weapon and he talked like he invented the damn arsenal. There’s a story from 1971 that musicians still whisper about.
Page was at De Lane Lee Studios when someone played Purple’s Speed King and joked that Blackmore had outgunned every guitarist in England. Page didn’t crack a smile. He simply said, “If he wants a sword fight, he should join the circus.” It wasn’t a joke. It was Page acknowledging Blackmore’s theatrical style, the very thing Page despised.
Blackmore wasn’t any softer. In a German radio interview around 1974, he laughed while talking about Page’s studio heavy production. “Take away the echo and you’ve got a different guitarist entirely.” That comment spread fast and it hit Page where it hurt. Their cold war peaked in 1974 at Musicland Studios in Munich.
Blackmore walked in unexpectedly to visit a producer. Page was there mixing. Witnesses say Page stood up, grabbed his coat and left without greeting anyone. On his way out, he muttered, “I’m not sticking around for costume rehearsals.” Everyone in the room knew exactly what he meant. The truth is, Page and Blackmore were too similar for comfort.
Private, obsessive perfectionists, allergic to compliments. They saw themselves in each other and neither liked the reflection. Even decades later, they avoided each other at festivals, award shows and industry gatherings. No handshake, no photo, no polite nod across the room. Now that Jimmy Page has finally revealed the six guitarists he hated the most, which feud shocked you the most and why? Tell us in the comments.
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