Styx co-founder Dennis DeYoung feels like a kid but the mirror rebuffs any grand illusions. “I look like my Dad if Tony Bennett had been involved,” the regular guy-rocker joked.
It’s fair to say the South Sider-made-good, 69, has earned every silver hair and platinum album since the ’70s supergroup formed in Chicago. As chief songwriter-singer-keyboardist, DeYoung powered the Roseland band from the high school dance circuit into stadiums with prog-rock ballads such as “Lady,” “Babe” and “Come Sail Away.”
But the multi-platinum albums “The Grand Illusion” (1977), “Pieces of Eight” (1978), “Cornerstone” (1979) and “Paradise Theatre” (1981) came at a price. Internal tensions — compounded by the deaths of guitarist John “JC” Curulewski and drummer John Panozzo — culminated with Styx embarking on a tour sans an ailing DeYoung in 1999. The voice of Styx and the band officially split in 2000.
DeYoung forged ahead, headlining a Boomer-pleasing show featuring Styx hits set to a 50-piece orchestra at the Rosemont Theatre. The show went on tour, evolving into a live album in 2004. After dabbling in film and TV, DeYoung assembled a Styx sound-alike band six years ago and began belting his songs full-time again, with wife Suzanne singing backup. The droll rock survivor, rolling May 7 into the Star Plaza Theatre with “Dennis DeYoung: The Music Of Styx,” shares his tips on rock longevity:
So you wanna be a rock star? Listen up, kid.
1. Lose the accordion. I’m from the Second City. I grew up on the South Side. And I played the accordion. You don’t think I started out in the hole? This is not the way you want to start unless you’re looking for a job at the American Legion or the Sons of Foreign-Born Italians. That was a hall in Roseland where you could get weddings. The first thing they told me was, “Kid, lose the accordion you’ve spent eight years of your life learning to play.” Lawrence Welk has been off the TV for 30 years, so I guess they were right
2. Marry the right person. Stay married. Suzanne’s kept me grounded. I always make the joke, “How has she helped me? By keeping a gun trained on me.” Men have to be tamed. Men have to be housebroken. Or most of the ones I know. You gotta have some luck, that’s for sure. I happened to meet someone at a dance. Let’s face it, that’s serendipitous. But we were cut from the same cloth. That helped. We’ve been married 46 years and that takes a real dedication on both people’s part to want to make this thing work. Life is long and treacherous and filled with happenstance. People must be aware of the fact that nothing in life is like it is in the movie. You can’t get whatever you want. It’s fallacy. It’s a grand illusion.
3. Be prepared. So you don’t embarrass your family. You want to be the best you can be. Audiences don’t want to hear your troubles. I want to be as disciplined as possible (but) spontaneity is part of a live performance. Last Saturday night, we played “Show Me the Way.” I explain what the song title is about, start the song all by myself, and go to the keyboard. And I’m frozen. I can’t remember how it starts. I get an idea and start playing the first few notes. Then I say, “Hey, folks, I can’t remember this. I’m 69. Give me a second.” I close my eyes and can’t get it. … We did “Don’t Let It End” instead. That’s spontaneity. I don’t use monitors but I should have had the sheet music in front of me.
4. Play with friends. Absolutely. I wouldn’t change any of that. What makes a band unique is not necessarily quality or the musical quality of the people involved. It’s more about when those people come together. They make a unique sound. You can’t replace it. I’ve always said, many times, “Our flaws are our strengths.” When you can’t do things the prescribed way — the acceptable way — you find ways of doing things. Our way became our style. The Panozzo brothers (bassist Chuck and drummer John) were 12 and I was 14 when we became friends. Chuck and I were together until 1999, John until 1996. That’s a long time.
5. Money changes everything. “Pieces of Eight” was a concept album. I discussed with the guys how, in one year’s time, we had collectively made more money than many we knew would make in their lifetimes. And how that had not changed us but those around us. Family and friends, when changes like that occur, instinctively become concerned that you will change and in some way leave them behind. “Pieces of Eight” was our take on what happened to us.
6. That includes band dynamics. Here’s what happens in every band. In every band, some guys are more important than others. They’re all important, but some guys are more important. It’s a fact of life. And sometimes these people make more money … songwriters make more money. This can cause problems.
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7. It’s over when you hire a lawyer. The number one thing that breaks up bands is not creative differences. That’s a stupid excuse. Creative differences always exist. Successful bands bridge the differences together. Enter drugs and alcohol abuse into any situation and try to make it work. You don’t have to be in a band to know this. You can be in a family. Creative differences are magnified by the stupidity of drugs and alcohol. Period. End of sentence.
When you’re with a lawyer, it’s too late.
8. Make new friends. New friends are not like new cars. I’ve had my three closest friends in my life die. So you can make new friends, but it’s tough to replace the ones who were there from the beginning.
9. Be lucky. Dumb, stupid luck is not overrated. If you’ve had some, raise your hand for dumb, stupid luck. So many good things that have happened to me in life have not been my idea. … My brother-in-law offered me the chance to play Pontius Pilate in “Jesus Christ Superstar” (1993). I wasn’t looking for that job. But I went and did it for six months. That was, shall we say, risky. It was like diving into a pool without seeing if it was empty. I was scared the whole time, thinking, “What am I doing here?” Because I took that job, someone offered the me the opportunity to record “10 on Broadway” (1994). Then I decided to write a musical (“The Hunchback of Notre Dame”). Just because.
10. Be nice to the press. And everyone. Styx was harmed immeasurably by Derek Sutton, who managed the band from ’75 to ’82. His philosophy was “Never speak to the press.” He went out of his way to alienate the rock press. He and I used to have heated conversations about “Let’s assume there are people who are not inclined to enjoy your musical outings.” What does it hurt to talk to them and show them you’re a human being? The guys in the band were articulate, charming and funny guys and he alienated the press purposely, which substantially hurt us. The way I am is a testimony to the way I was raised. This is not an act. My parents raised me to have respect for human beings and — if they prove unworthy — to run like hell. Or punch them in the nose.
11. Follow the rules of the road. If you’re in a restaurant and put anything in your mouth that doesn’t taste right, spit it out and order something else. Get the hotel room as far from the ice machine, elevators, all that stuff. Wear E-A-R 39dB ear plugs. I wear them every night. Absolutely. They work.
12. Be smart. I tell my kids, “Trouble will find you. No sense in searching it out.” You can be standing on a corner and eating a Snickers bar and a bus can hit you. There’s no sense in running in the street in front of the bus.
Molly Woulfe is a freelance reporter for the Daily Southtown.
Dennis DeYoung: The Music of Styx
When: 8 p.m. Saturday, May 7
Where: Star Plaza Theatre, 8001 Delaware Place, Merrillville, IN
Info/Tickets/Etc: $39, $49, $59 at Ticketmaster outlets, phone charge 800-745-3000 or visit www.starplazatheatre.com