in
Music
—
"That's Us, F*ckhead": The Day Steven Tyler Forgot He Was in Aerosmith
In 1984, Aerosmith's Steven Tyler heard a song on the radio and eagerly suggested the band cover it. Guitarist Joe Perry had to remind him, "That's us, f*ckhead." Tyler, in a haze of rock and roll excess, had completely forgotten their own 1975 ballad, "You See Me Crying."
It's a story so perfectly rock and roll it sounds like folklore, but it’s true. It's 1984, and Aerosmith, the titans of 70s American rock, are a fractured shell of their former selves. Steven Tyler and Joe Perry, the band's iconic 'Toxic Twins,' are driving around their old stomping grounds in Boston. A song comes on the radio—a sweeping, orchestral power ballad. Tyler is captivated. He turns to Perry, energized, and says something to the effect of, “We should totally cover this song.”
Perry’s response was as sharp and cutting as one of his guitar riffs:
That's us, f*ckhead.
The song was "You See Me Crying," the final track from their own monumental 1975 album, *Toys in the Attic*. Steven Tyler had forgotten he wrote it.
A Forgotten Gem from a Golden Era
To understand how such a lapse could happen, you have to go back to 1975. Aerosmith was on top of the world. *Toys in the Attic* was a blockbuster, churning out iconic hits like "Walk This Way" and "Sweet Emotion." Tucked away at the very end of that legendary album was "You See Me Crying." Written by Tyler and his creative partner Don Solomon, it was an ambitious piece, far from their usual blues-rock swagger. Featuring a full string orchestra arranged by guitarist Brad Whitford, the song was a complex production that the band struggled to finish, nearly leaving it off the record entirely. It was a deep cut, rarely, if ever, performed live, making it easier to slip through the cracks of a memory already clouded by other factors.
A Decade of Haze
The nine years between the song's release and that fateful car ride were not kind to Aerosmith. The late 70s and early 80s were a period of immense turmoil, fueled by legendary substance abuse that earned Tyler and Perry their infamous nickname. The band's internal chemistry dissolved; Joe Perry left in 1979, followed by Brad Whitford in 1981. Aerosmith soldiered on, but the magic was gone. The period was a blur of lineup changes, creative struggles, and personal demons. By 1984, the classic lineup was just beginning to reconvene for a reunion tour, but the fog of the preceding years had clearly not yet lifted. Tyler's inability to recognize his own work wasn't just a funny anecdote; it was a symptom of just how far they had fallen.
The Wake-Up Call
Perry's blunt reminder was more than just a jab. It was a splash of cold water, a moment of absurd clarity in the midst of chaos. The story perfectly encapsulates the rock and roll excess of the era and serves as a low-water mark for the band right before their incredible resurgence. That moment in the car was a part of the long, difficult process of rediscovery. The band would go on to get clean, launching the most successful second act in rock history with albums like *Permanent Vacation* and *Pump*. They had to remember who they were, and sometimes, that process starts with a forgotten song on the radio and a brutally honest bandmate.