An evening with Steven Tyler

One of the first decisions I made when I discovered I was pregnant was to sell my tickets to Aerosmith at Fenway Park.  Suddenly I just couldn't justify spending over $400 on concert tickets, even if it was Steven Tyler, and even if I had been waiting nearly twelve years to see him perform.

Have I ever told you that story?  It was December 31, 1998, and my friend had box seats to Aerosmith's New Year's Eve show at the Fleet Center.  Sadly, we never made it past the opening act.  (My pal had too much to drink and got really sick, and we all headed back to my apartment on Hemenway before the band ever took the stage.)  My friend felt so terrible about this, he never spoke of it again.  For my part, I was left with a deep longing to see an Aerosmith show.  Someday...

Even as I sold off those tickets, I secretly hoped that cheaper seats would somehow be made available.  You can imagine my delight on Friday when Hubby told me he'd found seats for $55.  We were going!  We were actually going!  I'm not sure if you're an Aerosmith fan, Dear Reader, but I brought along my Blackberry to document the occasion, so you could be there, too.  Walk this way...

It's a beautiful night for a concert.  I'm wearing a black and white striped flowy shrug that my mother dislikes, but that I think sort of pays homage to the great Steven Tyler. 

There's a motley crew gathered here tonight at Fenway.  Lots of big haired, tough looking broads and heavily tatted middle-agers rocking out to J. Geils.  We've gotten here about halfway into their set, and it's only around 7:15, but it seems everyone is pretty wasted already.  Incidentally, I never realized I knew so many of their songs.  (Love Stinks!)  As I'm listening to the music, I wonder what the baby is thinking.  My blood runs COLD!  My memory has just been sold.  My angel is a centerfold...

It suddenly dawns on me that the one thing I hadn't remotely considered beforehand was the issue of the pot smoke.  Hmmm.  I wonder if myself and the bambino are going to get a contact high.  (Only 17 weeks pregnant and already I'm in the running for mother of the year!)  I send my sister a text:

Everyone's smoking weed.  Can the baby and I get a contact high?  Is that...bad?

Sissy: Well, it's not great.    

Hubby tells me not to inhale.  It's not like I'm taking bong rips or anything; and we're in the open air, after all.  It should be fine, right?

There are few things more irritating in life than being sober when everyone around you is drunk.  I look longingly at my husband's beer.  Hubby has already put in a request that I not become annoyed this evening, at the drunken shenanigans.  After all, I'm pregnant and not drunk, which can be kind of...irritating (case in point: sitting next to Bad Laugher dude at the Conan O'Brien show).  I tell Hubby to have no fear, for I've practiced my Qi Gong today and I'm really quite Zen.  I'm a pebble in a pond. 

Almost immediately after these words leave my lips, the heavy-set man in front of us sparks up a stogie.  He's here with his wife, a small blond lady wearing a Curt Schilling T-shirt, and his adult daughter and her husband.  The cigar smoke is pungent, and blowing directly into my face.  The pretty older woman to the right of us looks horrified and her husband is waving the smoke away with his hands.  "I'm pregnant!" I mouth to her, and she makes a sympathetic face.  (It's true I feel compelled to share this information with just about everyone these days.) 

I'm just about to tap this bonehead on the back when three security guards come barreling down the aisle and tell him he's going to get kicked out if he doesn't put the cigar away.  Crisis averted!  For now.  He pulls out a flask as consolation. 

Finally, the lights go out and a hush goes over the park.  I hold my breath, partly from sheer excitement and partly because someone has just sparked up another doobie.  Dennis Leary is narrating a history of the Bad Boys from Boston.  And then...all of a sudden...THEY'RE HERE.

Steven Tyler is swirling and twirling around the stage in a fabulous white floor-length jacket.  He wears a top hat and shades, with a blue scarf around his neck.  I'm in heat, I'm in love!  But I just couldn't tell her so...Train kept a-rollin', all night long...  His voice sounds frigging awesome.

Joe Perry's hair looks like one of the Golden Girls and he's wearing a sparkly black top.  (Just like me!)  "That's Joe Perry," I tell my bambino, patting my belly.   

Workin' like a dog for the boss man (Whoa-oh) Workin' for the company (WHOA-oh, Yeah) 

Hubby (the Berklee sound design major), says the EQ/mix isn't very good on the vocals, but I'm still pretty mesmerized.  In the air, in the air, honey one more time, now it ain't fair!

Mr. Tyler has been tossing his mic stand around like a feather and is now full on humping the stage.  Seriously, you'd never guess the man is eligible for the AARP. 

You think you're in love, like it's a real, sure thing- but every time you fall you get your ass in a sling...

I've been singing this song all day, ever since I woke up and realized we'd be going to the concert.  I'm a major in love, but in all minor KEYS...'cause falling in love, is so hard on your knees...

It's surreal to finally see them perform live.  There's something wrong with the world today, I don't know what it is.  Something's wrong with our eyes...

Steven flicks his shades into the crowd in perfect time to the music.  He's still ridiculously youthful for his 62 years; he's remained quite the showman, and it's delightful to watch him command the crowd.

If Chicken Little tells you that the sky is falling, even if it wasn't, would ya still come crawling back again?  I bet you would, my friend!  Again and again and again and again...

He's doing heavy, suggestive breathing into the microphone.  Truth be told, it's making me a little nervous.  But you've got to love this guy.  The man is a grandpa, for crying out loud!

The family in front of us take a joint from the beret-wearing weenie in front of them.  I try not to inhale.  The stage is quiet and S. Tyler is singing a capella.  There goes my old girlfriend, there's another diamond ring...and, uh, all those late night promises, I guess they don't mean a thing...

If there is a more satisfying tune to belt out at the top of one's lungs, I certainly haven't heard it.  You spent me up like money, and then ya hung me out to dry...

I wonder if he'll be able to hit all the high notes.  (Oh, please be able to hit the high notes!)  He does it!  He's kind of screeching, mind you, which can't be good for his vocal chords, but still, how exciting!  I sing along.  I can't resist.  Who could?  Tell me what it takes to let you go...HEEE, eeeeee!

"You alright out they-ah?"  Steven shouts to the crowd.  I always loved their accents, the way they sound like most everyone in my family.  "My daddy's he-ah tonight!"

(He is?  Man, how old is he?)

Pink, it was love at first sight.  Pink, when I turn out the light.  Pink, it's like red, but not quite...and I think everything is going to be all right, no matter what we do tonight...

The Pink video is playing on the screen, that one where Joe Perry is the freaky centaur.  I notice Steven's haircut looks strikingly like my own circa 1996.  (I was the first person in my high school to get "The Rachael."  Once it grew out, my father pointed out that I looked a lot like Steven Tyler.  Thanks, Dad!)  

Hubby notices there are no live horns, just synth ones, which he finds a little disappointing.  (It's a show in their home town, couldn't they have brought in some horns?)  As for me, I'm far too distracted by the woman in the Curt Schilling T-shirt to really be bothered.  She's cutting quite a rug. 

I think I can feel the baby moving when he starts into Cryin.'  Haha!  This baby knows a good ballad, just like its mama!    

Someone, either Steven or the band, is messing up a bit.  It's not a delay from the speakers like I initially thought.  I share a glance with Hubby.  So maybe twelve years ago they would've been tighter.  Twelve years ago I also would've been very, very intoxicated.  (And not breathing shallowly.)  But the show is still pretty amazing. 

We're partners in crime, you got that certain something; what you give to me, takes my breath away...  God I love this song.  Curiously, he appears to be delivering it to Joe Perry. 

Steven is wearing these tighty white pants and shaking his little bum all over the place.  His energy is incredible.  I watch as Joey Kramer takes a drum solo.  Steven joins in for a second, and then Joey tosses away his drumsticks before diving into a solo played with his bare fists.  I wish Hubby weren't in the bathroom, because it's really pretty impressive.  The crowd goes wild, and Kramer shouts, "What?" with his hand up to his ear.  "What?" he asks again.  He wants more cheering; either that or he's hard of hearing.

Rag doll, livin' in a movie...Hot tramp, daddy's little cutie...you're so fine, they'll never see you leaving by the back door, ma'am.

A word about my deep and abiding love for this band, in case you're wondering what in the Hell would possess a feminist like myself to enjoy them so much.  It's sort of a mystery, even to myself.  One day I went to Mamakin with a friend for a book signing of Walk This Way.  When it was finally my turn to shake Steven Tyler's hand, all I could do was smile into the pretty man's face.

"Hi!" he said, with that infectious grin of his.  "Hi," I whispered back, awestruck, unable to say anything more.  Someone had given him a pink scarf and he'd draped it around his neck.  The man in front of me was crying.  I was in a trance.  A rock trance.  Pretty man.

Shortly thereafter I was watching the video to Hole in my Soul (which they wouldn't play at Fenway, sadly), when it suddenly dawned on me that I adored this band.  I had always adored this band.  Despite the raunchy, misogynistic lyrics, and the videos with the token sexy ladies in bikinis, I actually really enjoyed them.  They were a guilty pleasure of sorts.  Go figure. 

The Curt Schilling T-shirt woman is now full on jamming.  Yes, I'm movin'...I'm really movin'!  She has absolutely no rhythm and is in the wrong tempo entirely.  Truly, she's a sight to behold.   

Joe Perry is playing the slide guitar.  He invites his two sons up onstage to play a blues number, and I take this opportunity to run to the ladies room.  If I had a quarter for every tipsy skank I'd like to punch, we could send the baby to Harvard.  

Don't wanna close my eyes, I don't wanna fall asleep, cause I'd miss you babe, and I don't wanna miss a thing...

I remember watching Diane Warren, the woman who penned these lyrics, on Oprah, where she confessed that she'd never actually stayed awake just to hear someone breathing.  Who knew?

I give Hubby a little cuddle.  I love him for making this night happen.  He knows how long I've been waiting to hear Aerosmith play live. 

Concerts are a sensory experience.  And the thing about them is, unless you're lucky enough to be the only person in the audience, the experience has to be shared with every Tom, Dick and Harriet around you.  So if the man in the next row is wearing too much aftershave, or suffers from extreme b.o., or if a wiener in a beret wants to spark up doobies all night, or if the lady in front of you wants to slam dance in a passionate manner, well...there really isn't much to be done. 

Steven begins singing the intro to the Beatles Come Together and the beret-wearing wiener's mother (or is it his grandmother?) is really letting loose.  She's wearing an arm brace and is shaking everything she's got.  She moves to the aisle and raises her arms over her head, like the people did that time Hubby and I had to attend church down South.  Her gyrating is really giving Hubby the giggles.  I imagine she's taken a few drags off of her son's doobie, hence the mad dancing.

Tyler is playing the neatest looking maraca.  He's also been playing the harmonica all night and at one point even pulls out a golden looking shell of some sort.  Lots of props.  I dig it.

Sweet...emo...tion!"

You stand in the front just a'shakin' your ass!  Steven's tiny little ass is so funny in those white pants.  He's definitely kind of filthy, the way he runs his fingers over his tongue.  But the audience is eating it up like so much candy.  Me too, for that matter.

The middle-agers to my right are holding up their iphones, in lieu of lighters.  I place my hand to my belly and can feel the vibration of the bass.  I wonder what the baby is thinking.  I hope it's not, "What the f*ck is going on out there, Ma?"

When some sweat hog mama with a face like a gent...said my get up and go musta got up and went...

Hubby tells me the instrument Joe Perry is playing is called a theremin.  I'd say Perry definitely still has his chops.  And I love it when he talks to the crowd, in that familiar accent of his. 

They launch into a rendition of Baby, please don't go! and I start to get antsy.  Why the covers?  There is still so much they haven't played!  Already it's 10:15, and I'm pretty sure they have to close by 10:30.  I also could've done without the interlude where Perry competed against his avatar in Guitar Hero.  I stand there anxiously tapping my toes, channeling Pee Wee Herman at the Alamo, when he wants Jan Hooks to take them to the damn basement, already!

They're playing one of their own songs again, but it's the second one of the night that I don't recognize.  Joe Perry whips his belt from his black leather pants and begins vigorously whipping his guitar in time to the music. 

It's over.  But it can't be over!  Some people are starting to leave.  And then, all of a sudden...

"Hey, Boston, up HEAH!  NO!  Up heah!"

Tyler is atop the Green Monster, dressed in a Red Sox jersey, sitting at a white piano.  The Citgo sign is glittering in the background as he quietly launches into Dream On. 

Every time that I look in the mirror...all these lines on my face getting clearer...the past is gone...it went by like, dusk to dawn...  Eventually the band kicks in from the stage and it's an amazing rendition.  Steven hits all the high notes.  But will they be able to play another tune?  How in Hell is he going to get down from the Green Monster in time to reach the stage?  The man is 62, after all!

Remarkably, it doesn't take him very long at all to reach the stage.  Walk this way!  Talk this way...  Four rows in front of us, a blond woman is passed out in her seat. 

Just gimme a kiss!  A'like this!

After that, the show kind of tapers off.  The bad boys from Boston are talking to the crowd, and eventually pose for a picture on the catwalk.  "This is gonna make the pape-ahs tomorrow!" Tyler shouts to the crowd, before pulling off his shirt to reveal his skinny little torso and sauntering offstage. 

"That's how they're gonna end it?" Hubby asks.  I shrug, a little surprised myself.

Hubby and I walk through the crowd and feel lucky we no longer live next to Fenway.  It's utter insanity.  We stop into The Hong Kong Cafe to grab some quick takeout and then catch a cab back to Southie.  Hours later, I crawl into bed, with visions of Steven Tyler dancing in my head.  What a night. 

Comments

[Angie]

I love Aerosmith, too! Saw them years (and years and years) ago, mid 80s, in my hometown, Pittsburgh. And congratulations . . . It's a boy!

Angie

[the odd broad]

Angie, oh my goodness, I bet they were fantastic! His voice still sounds great, but you can definitely tell he's getting up there.

And thank you!!! I'm so excited. I've been smiling all day. :)

[Ms.Crystal]

What a great story! Steven is definitley a bit of a sex kitten even at his grandfatherly age. I saw them in Las Vegas in July - 16 years after my very first Aero concert and I couldn't compare. I would guess the '93 concert was better, simply because the energy and sexual levels were higher back then. I'm also seeing them again in 2 weeks when they come here to Canada. Glad you had such a great experience, and don't be ashamed to put some headphones on your belly so the bambino can "Get a Grip" too :)

[the odd broad]

Have fun at the concert, Ms. Crystal! Those guys really do put on a great show.

:)