'65 or '66 (or, how I pissed off Robert Plant)

Okay, this dream was just so utterly odd that I want to be able to remember it later:

I heard on the radio that John Paul Jones (the member of Led Zeppelin, not the naval hero; duh) had died. Seeking a bit of camaraderie in my nostalgic sadness, I went to a local record store, where Robert Plant was entering just ahead of me. Another fan tried to express his condolences, but Plant shook his head to indicate that he simply couldn't deal with that at the moment. There was a bit of commotion in the shop over his presence, and the proprietor was indicating what a broad range of his music was on hand. Among them was a very obscure CD with Plant self-accompanying on a much maligned stringed instrument called a "3-note," smaller than a ukulele. To demonstrate his authentic musicianship with it, he took one out and began to play a song from the album, joined by a Scottish friend with whom he had previously performed who sang harmony.  I was standing close to them and began to add a bit of bass harmony underneath their parts, at which point I was pulled into their performance as they began to dance backward and forward, Plant strumming his 3-note as we sang. The song was comparing a friend's personality to that of a specific model of classic automobile - though I'm not sure the specific model was in my dream, it seems to me it was of British manufacture - right down to the specific model year that best represented the friend, "maybe '65 or '66," which was the last line of the chorus. I had a strong sense of definitely being the outsider of the trio and desperately wishing there was something I could do to pull myself in.  This selfish wish manifested itself in my foolish choice to quietly lean over during an instrumental interlude and whisper my own condolences to Plant on the death of his band mate.  Just as outside, he sternly shook his head, and continued with the song without breaking tempo. And now without me.