Cello-Driven Thunder: Steven Tyler & 2CELLOS Ignite Rome’s Colosseum
Steven Tyler’s voice has soared over football stadiums and festival fields for half a century, but on 8 September 2017 it echoed through a venue built for gladiators—the Roman Colosseum—at a charity gala for Celebrity Fight Night. Instead of amps and power chords, he was flanked by Luka Šulić and Stjepan Hauser of 2CELLOS, their mahogany instruments standing in for Joe Perry’s guitars while dusk settled over the ancient arches.
Few venues on Earth can match the Colosseum’s natural reverb; every breath seems to bounce off two millennia of history. Tyler seized on that atmosphere from the first piano-like sweep of the cellos, turning “Dream On” into something almost liturgical. Where Aerosmith’s 1973 studio cut nestled under gentle strings and chiming guitar lines, this reinterpretation felt raw and exposed, powered by bowed tremolo instead of Marshall stacks.
The charity context mattered, too. Celebrity Fight Night had come to Rome to raise funds for the Andrea Bocelli Foundation and the Muhammad Ali Parkinson Center. Tyler, never shy about lending star power to good causes—his own Janie’s Fund supports abused girls—was in vintage form, tossing silk scarves into the VIP seats with the same flair he once showed at Donington or Download.
Šulić and Hauser thrive on unlikely mash-ups (their breakout 2011 “Smooth Criminal” went super-viral), yet sharing the stage with a Rock & Roll Hall of Famer inside the world’s most famous amphitheater pushed even their show-manship. They leaned hard into harmonics to replicate Perry’s squealing bends, then dropped to rich, rumbling low notes that rattled the stone tiers where Roman commoners once sat.
Tyler’s Italian roots—his grandfather Giovanni Tallarico emigrated from Calabria—gave the night an extra layer of homecoming energy. Between songs he peppered the crowd with “grazie” and “ti amo,” prompting cheers from Romans and visiting Aerosmith die-hards alike. One fan waved a 1977 Tour of Europe T-shirt, its faded logo suddenly back in the spotlight.
When Tyler introduced “Walk This Way,” he joked that the Colosseum had “pretty good acoustics for a hip-hop classic.” The quip nodded to Aerosmith’s 1986 crossover with Run-D.M.C., a culture-shifting moment that married rap and hard rock. Here, the cross-genre torch was carried by two classically trained Croatians whose bows chopped out the riff with percussive fury that would have made Jam Master Jay grin.
Throughout the set, Tyler’s recent vocal-cord surgery seemed a distant memory. He soared to the stratospheric A-notes of “Dream On” on sheer grit, then raspy-whispered the lower verses like a midnight confessional. The cellos answered every flourish, sometimes doubling his melody, other times adding baroque counter-lines that made the 50-year-old anthem feel freshly minted.
Offstage, Bocelli’s 60-piece orchestra waited in the wings for their own portion of the gala, and their presence emboldened Tyler to dip briefly into “Amazing,” trading bluesy ad-libs with a lone oboe. That impromptu segue reminded listeners that Aerosmith’s power ballads have always worn a touch of classical drama beneath the distortion.
Back in 1973, “Dream On” stalled at No. 59 on the Billboard Hot 100 before climbing to No. 6 on its 1976 re-release. Watching thousands of Romans roar along to every lyric four decades later testified to the track’s slow-burn immortality. Even without a Les Paul in sight, the song’s keening plea—“Sing with me, sing for the year”—felt tailor-made for communal echo in a ruin designed for 50,000 spectators.
Šulić later said backstage that the Colosseum’s curved limestone acted “like the world’s biggest cello.” Indeed, the cellists’ pizzicato slapped off the walls like snare hits, while their double-stops filled gaps normally occupied by Tom Hamilton’s bass lines. It was a masterclass in rock arrangement: subtract the electric band, amplify emotion.
Tyler’s wardrobe—a sequined duster and flowing paisley shirt—was pure ’70s excess, yet against the moonlit masonry it seemed almost ceremonial, as though the Colosseum itself had decreed the evening a feast of spectacle. At one point he planted a foot on Hauser’s monitor, channeling the mic-stand thrust made famous in the “Dude (Looks Like a Lady)” video, proving swagger needs no electricity.
The crowd included fellow rock luminaries: Sting offered a standing ovation, while opera star Vittorio Grigolo filmed half of “Dream On” on his phone. Rumor has it that backstage Tyler proposed a future “Roxanne”-meets-cellos mash-up, further proof that the singer never stops chasing the next unlikely collaboration.
Financially, the night smashed its target, reportedly pulling in several million euros for charity. Symbolically, it hammered home an idea Tyler first floated when Aerosmith cut “Walk This Way” with Run-D.M.C.: rock’s power lies in reinvention. Replace electric guitars with cellos, swap Boston Garden for an ancient arena, and the songs still strike like thunder.
As final bows unfolded, Tyler blew a kiss to the upper tiers and told the audience, “If these walls could sing, they’d be hitting the high note, too.” Then 2CELLOS obliged with one last harmonic scream, letting the Colosseum “sing” through vibrations running straight from carbon-fiber bows into history’s most storied stone.
Long after the stagehands packed up, tourists wandering the moonlit arches claimed they could still hear fragments of “Dream On” floating in the air. Maybe it was imagination; maybe limestone really does hold echoes. Either way, for one unforgettable Roman night, a rock icon, two cellists, and 2,000 years of architecture proved electricity is overrated when passion does the amplifying.
