What Steven Tyler Taught Me About Life’s Second Half

Phone 2013 2014 753I’m leaving my forties late next month and haven’t held that fact with a great deal of excitement—until last night’s Aerosmith concert, when Steven Tyler showed me what’s truly golden about the coming years.

I went to the concert at the Prudential Center in Newark, NJ primarily to see the warm-up band. I’ve seen Aerosmith a few times in my life and was kind of writing them off, for this event, as a great but worn band; the true attraction was Slash and Myles Kennedy, whose collaboration has thrilled me for the last two years. Slash is a master on the guitar; Kennedy a master with his voice. I also saw these two bands as a match made in heaven, so was eager for the concert, but, again, there mostly for the warm-up.

“Slash and the Conspirators” didn’t disappoint musically, but psychologically they did, playing mostly Guns ‘N Roses songs rather than their own. I couldn’t understand why they would do that when their songs are so good. But still, I swooned over Myles’ vocals and shook my head in awe as Slash made his guitar whine and scream—a wildly talented pair. When they were done, the concert was done for me, for the most part. I sat during intermission, waiting for Aerosmith who I knew would be good, but who had much more age on them than the guys we’d just seen and I wasn’t expecting much. Neither was my partner.

Phone 2013 2014 748But something crept into my subconscious awareness the moment Steven Tyler took the stage, strolling—or, of course, really strutting–down the runway-of-sorts they use at their concerts, festooned in red pants and scarf, a black top hat and black sequined top coat. The first notes of his iconic voice filled the arena and there everything I had thought before about the warm-up band and Aerosmith themselves was shattered like glass in an instant. There was no mistake: we were in the presence of godly mastery, the kind Slash and Myles—and anyone under sixty-six years of age–have many miles to go before achieving.

It’s nearly impossible to capture in words what makes up a star’s Star Power, and it’s surely no different with Steven Tyler, but here’s what I witnessed: This man owned that arena from the first step. No one can own a territory unless they believe they can. I’ve read Steven’s autobiography, Does the Noise In My Head Bother You?, and know that he certainly believes in himself and has from the start–but there’s no question: after forty-four years on stages, he knows he owns them. And because he knows it, we know it, too. Without my conscious attention on any of this, all thoughts of Slash and Myles (and this is really hard for me to say, given my love of them) slowly faded away. All I could see was Steven Tyler. He was larger than that venue.

And it is “age” that made that possible. It is “age” that accounts for the power of certainty that exudes from his cells; he knows who Phone 2013 2014 761he is and deeply appreciates that. You see it in the tilt of his head, sway of his hips, lilt in his step. In everything. He’s been in his body sixty-six years; he’s been cooking that long—no more salt needed.

And it is age that accounts for his making the right and perfect moves at every turn on stage, some of them for effect, some of them—well, all for effect, but some are planned, others organic. He knows how to throw the microphone stand and catch it to punctuate a note—he’s done it a thousand times. He knows how to contort his face theatrically and paint his body to affect a persona and how to mug for the big-screen cameraman to bring it further vibrantly to life. He knows how to bend backwards nimbly in expression of awe at living, and music and perhaps himself. He knows that a wind machine blowing his hair creates a mystical, ethereal feel; that being out front from his band, by a hundred feet or more, weaves deeper his legendary status. He knows that bringing Slash on stage will enthrall his audience, but that Slash must stay in the background and Joe Perry must come up front with him. He knows that the massive screen helps him seem larger-than-life—but more importantly, brings him into the laps of everyone, even those in the nose-bleeds. Everything he does he does for deliberate maximum impact on his fans, and he knows how to do it. He’s done it a thousand times.

Phone 2013 2014 765Those are all staging brilliances and innate understanding of psychology, but then there is the core of Steven Tyler: musical genius. Steven Tyler. Knows. How. To. Sing. Yes, he always has—but his twenty-seven-year-old-self cannot hold a candle to him now, at sixty-six. At the end of the night, during the encore, he sat at his white piano and started to sing an acoustic version of one of their songs but stopped and started over, apparently unhappy with how he sounded (though we couldn’t notice.) Then, after a quick jaunt into “Chopsticks,” these words floated out of him, nearly a capella: “Every time that I look in the mirror…” I wondered, can he reach the note? The one at the end that we all know so well? Can his aging vocal chords handle it? Well, he nailed it. In fact, he slayed it. Throughout the night, he slayed every single song he sung. He scatted brilliantly and effortlessly. He sang every note just as he did in 1977, 1987, 2007–but with something so much richer in his tone: age.

But if it were just sixty-six years that he was bringing to that platform, it could still not have been awe-inspiring, certainly not one of, if not the, best concert I’ve attended. (Did I mention that yet? It was.) What made it that was his extreme energy. In the public speaking training I used to teach, I would have participants hold the edges of a parachute and I’d throw a beach ball on top. I’d tell them to keep it snapping at a consistent rate, which was challenging. I told them this is how the energy in their rooms had to be, no matter how long the event—always going, always popping. Then, I’d have them slacken their grip and watch as the ball’s energy petered out. Steven didn’t just keep the ball snapping; he launched it into the rafters on every single song—he and the band, I should say. A twenty-something whipper-snapper may be able to bring boundless energy to an arena, but only a long-time veteran knows exactly where to send the ball; exactly where it will land; exactly how to alter its velocity: when to slow it down, when to take it to a fevered pitch.

Steven, I suspect, is the mastermind behind this: determining which songs they play and when to create the *precisely right* energy from second to second (which he does when he writes a single song). And this is how you know a master Phone 2013 2014 774artist is at the helm: he understands that they must open with a familiar, beloved tune and keep them coming before a new one is played. Last night, I’m not sure Aerosmith played even one new song. That, too, Steven surely did deliberately, knowing full well that to get us into the palm of his hand, to have us buy anything he or they do in the future, he must envelop us in unforgettable energy, which mostly the classic songs can do. Which only the classic entertainers can do.

I didn’t expect much from Aerosmith last night—for no particular reason—but they surprised the bajeebees out of me. What got surprised most of all was the part of me that’s had the brakes on approaching “50.” Steven Tyler, single-handedly, showed me what the next phase of life is about: it’s about growing and improving yourself and your craft forever, of course, as he does—but it’s truly about finally being able to play the full octaves of your mastery, to share your full catalogue and know you’ve got this. It is the time to own the stage–because you have done it a thousand times. These are the golden years not because the sun is setting on your life and casting a lovely hue—but because you are now an alchemist who can turn your metal–years of sweat, mistakes, and well over 10,000 hours–into gold.

Thanks, Steven! My top-hat’s off to you! You are a legend because you deserve to be. I hope the same will be said of me “when I’m sixty-four”–plus two! As you say, “Half my life’s in books’ written pages; Live and learn from fools and from sages; You know it’s true…All the things you do, come back to you.”

Phone 2013 2014 783

Chris Daughtry Review: How to Give a Brain-Sticky Concert

I love Chris Daughtry. I love that he triumphed magnificently
after being voted off of American Idol at number 5. That his debut
album was the fastest selling debut rock album in Soundscan his-
tory. That it has been certified 4 times platinum by RIAA and has
sold more than 5 million copies.

And I love his music—or should I say his first album. Every
single song rocks and, well, I’ve listened to them on my iPod so
many times, I honestly don’t know what was a hit single on the
radio and what wasn’t; they’re all hit songs to me.

It was with that great appreciation and admiration that I excitedly
took my seat at the Prudential Center Sunday night to see Daughtry
live. I write about my experience now because it so nicely parallels
the experience any of us has when we are in an audience, and gives
clues to what we need to do when we’re in front of an audience.

Granted, Daughtry is no Paul Rogers–my true rock idol and
THE rock legend, who knows precisely how to energize an audi-
ence and keep them energized, even when he’s singing new music.
But Daughtry should have known that he has to open with a song
that spikes endorphins in his audience, a crowd-pleaser that takes
the energy in the stadium from 0-60 in seconds. Paul started a
concert I saw two years ago with “Feel Like Making Love.” What
state of mind and spirit do you think that put his fans into,
hearing that song right out of the gate? Daughtry played a new
song—which, come on, let’s get real,the audience doesn’t want to
hear. Not yet. Those amazing chemicals released from our brains
that make us feel “high” and dizzy with excitement…weren’t
released And that is a  bad mistake. It sets the stage for what’s to come—and not come.
And it’s a mistake presenters make all the time.

I noticed, in spite of myself, that at the half-hour mark, I wasn’t
jumping up and down. In fact, I was sitting. In fact, most every-
one was sitting. Unless you’re watching Luciano Pavoratti, or
bluegrass or any other “listening music”—there is no worse sign
at a rock concert than an audience sitting down
. It means
there’s not enough energy coursing through them to get to their
feet. Nothing impelling them to rise and move or clap or shout or
sing. It’s rare to see anyone singing passionately at a rock concert
while sitting down. No, we rise to our feet because the energy in
us is too big and powerful for the constrained sitting position. If
we’re reclining, our brains are, too. And that spells death for a
rock star (and presenter).

Why was everyone sitting? Because Daughtry was playing one
new song after another. And they’re mainly ballads—and not great
ones, at that. This is akin to giving a presentation in a flat monotone,
with nothing but Power Point, and referencing very little that is of
interest to us. Last week in the blog posts, I wrote about the brain’s
need for relevancy–what’s in it for me, and for emotion! Neither
was happening thirty-minutes into the concert. And then Chris
said something so true, and I’m wondering if he realized their mis-
take as it was unfolding (if you’re professional at all in front of a
group, you are masterful at measuring energy.) He said, “Let’s
get you guys back into familiarity.”

My brain jumped back to my blog post from last Friday, where
I talked about the brain’s need for familiarity. And low and
behold, as they started to play the very first notes of a song from
their first album, bodies began to rise instantly, instinctively. Soon,
the whole room was standing again because the familiarity of a
song they loved shot a cascade of feel-good chemicals from their
brain into their body and brought them to their feet because
sitting down was too small a feeling for what was burgeoning
within them
. The band managed to keep us standing for a few
more songs, but then dropped the ball again. Lost their control
of the room’s energy. Like presenters do constantly.

This is something iconic Paul never does. Of course, he’s been
doing this forty years longer than Daughtry. But he knows
that alternating between old favorites and new ones keeps the
energy at a constant high. He also knows that the audience needs
to experience the biggest high of the night as they are walking
out. He knows he needs to build the energy to a crescendo in his
encores, until the last song he sings tips everyone over the edge.
The last song must be an all-time favorite—not one most of the
room doesn’t know.

Energy is what causes an audience to want more, tell
others about their experience, and come back for more.

If it dips for a few minutes, that’s understandable and it can be
saved. But if it dips more than once, you begin to lose your audi-
ence. Daughtry let it dip too often, and near the end, we all slid
off the cliff. Countless seats had been abandoned by the beginning
of his encore. Just as so many presentations, classrooms and
churches experience a mass exodus near the end.

Brain-Food for Thought: Do you manage the energy in your
presentations, so that your audience is feeling familiar with
your content but also energized by the content they’ve never
heard? Are you causing them to feel so they figuratively (and
literally!) “rise to their feet”? Or do they stay (figuratively and
literally) sedately in their seats because nothing you are saying
grabs at them, heart and soul, causing the chemicals of emotion
to burst through them?

If you want to hear more on this topic, be sure to sign up for my
upcoming 90-minute free teleclass on the new paradigm of public
speaking that “talks to the brains” of audiences. The next one is
April 7th. Click here to learn more.

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