Steven Tyler: The Biography

by Laura Jackson

  It is probably no more than could have been expected, but as this reunion tour rolled out, starting in New Hampshire, the picture proved patchy. On occasions, it all knitted well and the old magic was in evidence. At the other end of the spectrum, after some shows Steven quit the stage thoroughly dejected, knowing that things had gone all wrong. He was running on the same nervous adrenalin as his bandmates, and it did not help that with his track record many music critics were watching and waiting for Tyler to black out and take an ignominious header into the audience. Eyes were sharpened on the others, too, to see if the ravages of substance and alcohol abuse were going to take their toll on them. There was a willingness in some quarters to write Aerosmith off as a spent force, a tired relic of the sleazy seventies that was no longer relevant to the music-buying, concert-going public.

  Steven was under a lot of pressure and as he was still heavily addicted to heroin and cocaine he inevitably did come crashing down. Quite early into the tour, he collapsed during a gig in Springfield, Illinois. The show had to be cancelled, giving Aerosmith the kind of publicity they did not want. Steven managed to get his act together and the tour continued. Tension was unavoidable and arguments broke out in the band, but each man was determined to take a less emotive attitude to disagreements this time around. None of the five had lost their fire but they were more fearful of extinguishing the flame than once they had been. Under these trying circumstances they held it together to gig throughout the summer.

  Away from the stage, it was always at the front of Steven’s mind to nail a new record deal; the key player in that happening in 1984 was A & R man John Kalodner. By the mid-1980s, Kalodner enjoyed a strong reputation in rock circles. Hailing from east coast America and weaned as a teenager on the best of British sixties’ bands, John had immersed himself in popular music from a young age. He first worked with US bands at street level, managing local nightclubs, and for a time he drifted into music journalism. Switching to promotion, he found work with reputable record labels, graduating in time to the realms of artists and repertoire, where he quickly began to make his name. Transferring to west coast America, in 1980 he had pitched up as A & R man at Geffen Records in Los Angeles.

  Kalodner had an eye for recognising untapped resources. He went to a couple of Aerosmith gigs during the Back in the Saddle tour and each night came away intrigued. All too aware of their very publicly played out troubles and their lurid reputations for debilitating addictions, he also respected them as having been one of America’s greatest rock bands. Steven Tyler was just thirty-six years old - they were all still young, talented musicians. Provided that they could kick their individual habits, Kalodner believed that the band could potentially be huge again. From a record label’s point of view, at that moment in time, there was great risk attached to investing in Aerosmith, but when Kalodner put his faith in an artist, it usually panned out.

  Steven was thrilled when John Kalodner approached them. A good rapport quickly formed and before the end of 1984, Aerosmith was signed to Geffen Records for a reported $7 million advance. Around the same time Tim Collins, who had managed the Joe Perry Project, became Aerosmith’s manager. The band’s reunion tour had come to an end and Steven had to face up to the fact that he still had battles on his hands, and not just with dope. His drinking was of huge concern. He entered a phase when he would check himself into a clinic to dry out but would not stay for long, and was no sooner on the outside than he slipped back all too easily into his bad ways. He confessed: ‘I knew I had to do something and I wanted to confront my addictions. So, for a period of a month I went every night to a course in Boston of a psychological nature. There, I was effectively humiliated by being asked publicly to recall the times I made an asshole of myself in front of friends and couldn’t stand up long enough to carry through a show.’ This embarrassing ordeal had no great lasting effect on the grip his addictions had on him, however.

  After Aerosmith performed a New Year’s Eve gig at Boston’s Orpheum Theatre, they settled down to work on songs for their first album with Geffen Records. Although some nights on tour had been a strain and everything still felt dangerously brittle, once Steven and Joe got together to write songs for this comeback album it was obvious to them both that they did still have that chemistry. The creative spark between them ignited and they were prolific, producing a song per day. In something like four weeks, Steven felt that they were ready to go into the studio.

  In a complete departure from their past, their eighth studio album was to be recorded at Fantasy Studios in Berkeley, California, under the aegis of producer Ted Templeman. When Aerosmith turned up, Steven had the tough task of whittling the song collection down to the nine best numbers. He was anxious that everything should be ready for working with Ted, and it showed.

  Ted Templeman was an experienced and much sought after record producer who had publicly expressed an interest in working with the reformed Aerosmith, just when the band had been tossing about names of possible producers to approach. Ted was especially attuned to the raw energy that forms the core of Aerosmith’s sound, the rough diamond edginess that, in his opinion, had often been wrongly smoothed down on vinyl. This kind of talk was music to Steven’s ears for it chimed with his own feelings. Ostensibly then, Ted Templeman and Aerosmith made a good match, although the band was a bundle of nerves when showing up at Fantasy Studios.

  Recognising this, Templeman let the guys believe for the first couple of days that they were simply running through the selected numbers for his benefit. Secretly, he had the tapes running throughout. ‘It was his way of getting a live ambience into the sound,’ recalled Steven, ‘to get us jiving without pressure. We relaxed and let rip.’ One of the nine songs was a reworked version of Joe Perry’s solo number, ‘Let the Music Do the Talking’. Challenged on whether this was appropriate when the band was looking to make a fresh start, Perry pointed out that he had written the song some time before splitting from the band in 1979, and so essentially it had been penned with Aerosmith in mind. Even when he recorded it for his first solo album, it had niggled at him how it would sound with Steven Tyler’s vocals. When they toured the previous summer, they had road-tested it as an Aerosmith song and liked it. The lyrics had been slightly altered and the arrangement modified so it felt like a natural for inclusion in the album.

  As time went on, however, the band reverted alarmingly to type. They had been given a second chance - a new record deal with a new label. They were working on fresh songs with a new producer and in an unfamiliar studio, and they had people behind them who were, against the odds, prepared to believe in their investment. Yet, at the end of each day, when the guys went back to their respective hotel rooms, the drink and drugs would kick in again.

  On a happier note, on 21 September 1985, after Joe and Elyssa Perry’s divorce was finalised, Joe and Billie Montgomery married in Maui, Hawaii. Rather than have a lavish ceremony that no one could afford, it was a private, low-key affair and very romantic in beautiful surroundings.

  In November, Done With Mirrors was released. The ambiguous title tickled Tyler but despite a strong promotional push from Geffen Records, the album petered out at number thirty-six on the US chart, well short of all expectation. The album did not include a lyric sheet, which Steven approved of; his resistance to, as he has put it, ramming the words of songs down people’s throats was very real. Just as Rolling Stones’ music had formed the soundtrack of his own youth, so he hoped that fans would relate Aerosmith songs to whatever was going on in their lives.

  To boost Done With Mirrors, Aerosmith set out on a US tour that would take them into 1986. The music industry was changing fast and rock shows had by now largely become a dramatic visual stage spectacle. Aerosmith wanted to move with the times, but Steven still felt it vital that they basically delivered a hard rock gig. Steven started this tour very much in rebirth mode. He declared: ‘I feel like it’s ten years ago, again. I feel like the band never was and here we are starting out at the beginning.�
� Privately, though, he had mixed emotions, wondering if he would find the necessary verve to sustain a tour. ‘If I’m gonna be good, it can’t be bogus,’ he once said. ‘It’s gotta be me gettin’ off on stage. When you’re on the road for a year, you can go: “Fuck, another show!” But after two minutes of being on stage it’s like ... all right!’

  Tyler threw himself around the stage, delivering his overtly sexual act - suggestively straddling his scarf-festooned microphone stand, lasciviously panting in ecstasy while shoving his sweat-beaded face, bared chest and abdomen in the faces of the fans filling the front rows. A new generation of music lovers was out there, and it interested Tyler that a lot of the teenagers coming to these shows were familiar with the band’s seventies’ song catalogue. Critics continued to query if Aerosmith could still hope to be relevant, but Tyler was adamant that there was something unique about his band that made it durable. That new bands coming through were citing Aerosmith as their inspiration also helped to keep their name in vogue.

  By the tour’s end, however, there was certainly no elation in the band. Steven was in reflective mood as he reviewed their situation with a degree of detachment. Some of their shows had been mediocre and their supposed comeback album, Done With Mirrors, had barely cracked the US Top 40 - no grounds for joy. Regarding the album, when asked if they had been unduly influenced by the need to live up to other people’s expectations, Steven replied: ‘When we climbed out of the hole, got back together and did that album, we had tried to do that for a while and it was really uncomfortable.’ But Brad Whitford was prepared to be more blunt. He stated: ‘We were stupid enough to believe that we could spit on to a piece of vinyl and it would sell.’ Joe Perry opined: ‘When we did Done With Mirrors everybody was goin’: “Aerosmith’s back. This is gonna be great. Their new record is gonna be fantastic!” and it wasn’t fantastic but that was probably about the best thing that could have happened to us, artistically.’

  There had been talk of Aerosmith taking their Done With Mirrors tour to Europe and the Far East, but no one was in any physical condition remotely to contemplate undertaking an arduous round-the-world trek. Brad Whitford and Joey Kramer were both struggling with serious drink problems. Tom Hamilton was attached to cocaine and, like Joe Perry, Steven was strung out on a variety of his favourite stimulants. Steven had tested his body and brain for far too long. Pushed almost beyond the limit now, surely something would soon snap.

  CHAPTER 9

  Where Angels Fear To Tread

  THE TURNING point for Tyler and Aerosmith was not too far down the road, but before that, in spring 1986, an unlooked-for opportunity came their way. Producer Rick Rubin had contacted the band’s manager, Tim Collins, to ask if Steven and Joe would perform with Run D.M.C. on a rap rendition of ‘Walk This Way’. Run D.M.C. comprised Joseph ‘Run’ Simmons, Darryl ‘D’ McDaniels and Jason Mizell, also known as DJ ‘Jam Master Jay’, all of whom grew up in Hollis, Queens, New York. Formed in 1982 and considered to be pioneers of rap, their two hip hop albums had failed to breach the Top 50. Working on a third offering, they thought that it might be interesting to mesh rap with a rock number. ‘Hip hop wasn’t a new thing,’ said Rick Rubin. ‘It’d been around for about ten years - it started in the clubs in the Bronx.’ Run D.M.C. was more than amenable to the producer’s idea of getting together with the pair from Aerosmith to rework ‘Walk This Way’. Said Joseph Simmons: ‘We used to rap over the original record before we got into makin’ records ourselves.’

  Steven found this proposal baffling at first - it certainly took a bit of thought - but he and Joe went for it and all concerned met up in early March at a recording studio in Manhattan. Joe confessed that he had no idea who was who in the rap trio, just as he knew that they could not tell him and Steven apart. The atmosphere was perfectly friendly and curiosity about each other was palpable, but when they set to work, the cracks flew wide open.

  Because of their substance abuse, Steven and Joe had difficulty in staying awake. Tyler later said of this shambolic first attempt: ‘We just couldn’t fuckin’ do it! I was at the bottom of my barrel. I was on methadone and snorting Xanax. Rick Rubin looked at us and thought: “What the fuck is this? They can’t even dribble straight!”’ They persevered, though, and it was finished in five hours. To support the number they filmed a video featuring Steven, Joe and the rap trio at a theatre in New Jersey before an invited audience ready to scream and jostle excitedly below the footlights.

  Aerosmith is now synonymous with creating memorable and provocative music videos, but it was a whole genre they had feared missing out on with the state of the band in the early to mid-1980s. Talking of the development of the likes of MTV, Tom Hamilton recalled: ‘I remember watching that first video channel and thinking we’re not going to be a part of that and it was a horrible feeling.’ In the video for this new version of ‘Walk This Way’ equal time was given to both Run D.M.C. and Aerosmith’s two, but Perry’s cool rock guitarist image and Tyler’s brash in-your-face delivery stole the limelight. In his trademark ragamuffin stagewear, Steven pranced energetically, rode his mike stand and finally literally flipped head over heels. For a man in his condition, he was remarkably athletic and he conveyed an attractive arrogance when watching the black trio figuratively attempt to break down the wall between them. Symbolism in the video had a certain significance, for it was hoped that this crossover number would improve the fortunes of both very different bands.

  Run D.M.C. released Raising Hell in May with the reworked ‘Walk This Way’ as its first spin-off single. It reached number four on Billboard, with the video receiving saturation air time on MTV, and has gone down as the first hip hop track to break into Billboard’s Top 10 singles chart. Said Joe Perry: ‘As far as I’m concerned, this was just a little side thing that Steven and I decided to do for some fun.’ Years later, the rap-rock version of ‘Walk This Way’ would rank twenty-seventh in Rolling Stone magazine’s Top 100 Songs That Changed The World. It gave Run D.M.C. the injection it needed, and played a part in jump-starting Aerosmith’s comeback, but by September 1986 it was clear that a crossroads had been reached. Although Done With Mirrors was considered a commercial flop, Geffen Records still wanted a second Aerosmith album, but no one was under any illusions. It was do or die time, and to have any chance of capitalising on the boost the new version of ‘Walk This Way’ gave them, the band had to get clean - starting with sorting out their lyricist, vocalist and frontman.

  The timing was right. Steven knew that he was a slave to his addictions. He took cocaine and other drugs but he had recognised throughout that summer that heroin had the deadliest hold on him - he was very alive to the danger that heroin could be killing him, bit by bit. It already ravaged his health and robbed him of his creativity. The mental fog caused by drugs had even removed his ability to rhyme when writing lyrics. That was why he had taken steps to try to wean himself off heroin by turning to methadone. This powerful synthetic painkiller, used to treat heroin addiction, helped to an extent but Tyler knew that he was struggling. He was living with his girlfriend, Teresa Barrick, in an apartment in Cambridge, Massachusetts, when life-changing events kicked off.

  One night Steven received a message that Tim Collins had convened an urgent meeting at his office for the following day, at the ungodly hour of 6.00 a.m. To make this meeting Steven had to miss receiving his daily dose of methadone, so when he arrived at the office on time he was emotionally and physically shaky. On stepping through the door he realised that he had been summoned under false pretences and that it was, in effect, an intervention.

  Six men were present, each primed and ready to confront Steven - Joe Perry, Tom Hamilton, Joey Kramer, Brad Whitford, Tim Collins and one stranger who turned out to be a psychiatrist, Dr Lou Cox. Their collective aim was to pressurise Steven into undertaking a strict rehabilitation programme. To that end, caught cold, Steven was made to listen for hours while the band told him in unsparing detail just how dreadful his behaviour had been because of
drugs and alcohol, and how badly it had been affecting each of them. Tyler’s knee-jerk reaction was that this was rich. Talk about the pot calling the kettle black! Every member of Aerosmith was struggling with addiction problems; not surprisingly Steven took exception to this bruising attack. When he was permitted to respond, at first he ferociously argued back and hurled a few well-aimed metaphorical brickbats at his bandmates. It was highly emotional, and deep down Steven would forever hold on to a tiny kernel of resentment about the way this whole painful business had been handled. In the end, by late morning, his control collapsed. He broke down in tears and agreed to accept professional help to conquer his addictions. Already drained and strung out, Steven learned to his alarm that the deal meant him going into rehab immediately. A room at a clinic was booked for him; a bag was even packed for his admission. It must have been extremely frightening for him to relinquish control of his freedom so suddenly - albeit for the best of ends.

  At the clinic Steven checked into that day, there was a strong element of religion underpinning the whole treatment regime. He was expected to make God and prayer a key part of his life. At this facility, he was grilled to a head-spinning degree about his feelings on what seemed to be every aspect of his life from childhood to date; all, it seemed, with a view to attaching assorted labels to him. Some tags he acknowledged as valid, others bemused him, but there was one corner that he was not prepared to be painted into - the need for sex addiction therapy.

  The rehabilitation process and coping with all the withdrawal symptoms was really tough. Physically, his pain threshold had sunk so low that he later likened his excruciating suffering to that endured by a third-degree-burn patient. He has a naturally fast metabolism but the medication he was given rendered him catatonic. Losing all interest in his personal appearance, he became for a while a sadly bedraggled wreck. With his long hair hanging lankly about his face, a shawl around his coat-hanger-thin shoulders and shuffling around in loose moccasins, he was painfully aware that as he aimlessly slunk around corridors people were staring at him, whispering, recognising the once outrageous rock star in their desperate midst. It hammered home to Steven just what a leveller drug addiction is. There were people from all walks of life seeking help in this facility - from pilots to postmen. Said Steven: ‘There was even a priest who used to shoot up when he heard confession!’