I'm Dr. Rock and Roll: Presence

You may not know the name Steve Lukather, but as the kids like to say, “the real ones know.”

For you 80s music afficionados, you may know that he is the guitarist for the band Toto, a band who scored hits with early 80s classics like “Hold the Line” and “Roseanna.” He also famously said, in response to a song proposed for their album “Toto IV”: “If a song about Africa is a hit, then I’ll run naked down Hollywood Boulevard.” (Luckily, no one ever made him pay up). Toto is essential listening on any self-respecting 80s pop mix or Yacht Rock mix.

The guitar players know Steve Lukather as a phenomenally skilled session player. He simply knows how to make music, and his expertise has traditionally been in high demand. While we tend to glorify guitar gods like Eddie Van Halen or Randy Rhoads, Lukather is what you’d consider a “glue” guy. He will make your favorite songs sound good, and you’d notice his absence if he wasn’t there. Perhaps the best example of this is the work he did on the legendary Michael Jackson album “Thriller.” Quincy Jones leaned into Lukather’s technique when the songs got too “poppy.” Imagine that – producers actually worried about that back then! (Ironically, Eddie Van Halen would also work on the album, lending that iconic solo to the song “Beat It.” For free). Lukather describes getting a call from Quincy Jones because they were having trouble with the track “Human Nature.” The glue guy came through, massaging a background guitar riff that gave weight to the track without dominating it. I remember it being my least favorite track on “Thriller,” but my tastes have changed with time, and now I love the slow groove of the song, buoyed by Lukather’s ethereal playing.

A few years later, Terence Trent d’Arby provided a huge contrast. 1987 saw the release of “Introducing the Hardline According to Terence Trent d’Arby,” and it caught the world’s attention. I heard his first release “If You Let Me Stay” and was immediately transfixed, despite my heavy metal tendencies at the time. But it was the release of “Wishing Well” that really catapulted the singer with the rough, yet silky-smooth, voice into the stratosphere. Suddenly, he was everywhere, and his follow-up track “Sign Your Name” continued his meteoric rise. He was a musical genius, a rung or two below Prince on the ladder, and it appeared that nothing could stop him.

Until he answered a question poorly to a British magazine. That’s the one culture where there is no quarter given to salacious claims.

D’Arby stated that his debut album was on par with the Beatles’ “Sergeant Pepper” album, and the gloves came off. Let’s be real, no lucid mind would think that, and it was likely to get attention for the album, but it backfired spectacularly. So much so that the music critics waited for his next album, 1989’s “Neither Fish nor Flesh…” The critics were brutal, and the album barely sold 100,000 copies. He’s since changed his name and faded out of the spotlight, but one can still hear that iconic hook to “Wishing Well” at a club and turn to their friend and say, “I wonder what happened to that guy. What was his name again?”

It comes down to one word: presence.

Some folks possess it. Others proclaim loudly that they have it, proving only that they don’t. It is a sense of being. A confidence that speaks volumes without uttering a word. That kind of silence can only be acquired through deeds or through an unwavering belief in their abilities that they don’t have to advertise; a belief that causes others to second-guess their assumptions about the other. I once lived in an area that had a bar where bikers and other tough customers were known to hang out. I was there one night with some friends and made the comment, “I expected it to be a lot rowdier here,” implying that the clientele had a penchant for raising hell. “He wouldn’t let that happen,” my friend replied, gesturing to the guy taking cover at the door. When I questioned this, they said, “Everyone here knows that he’s the toughest guy in the bar, and no one wants any of that. I haven’t seen a fight here in years.” He hadn’t uttered a word when we arrived, and he was a man of few words, and my friend concluded with, “He doesn’t talk because he doesn’t have to.” That, in a nutshell, is presence.

We live in a world that gives attention to the loudest, with grease being applied to the squeakiest wheels. It’s no surprise that everyone is disillusioned when the reality pales to the talk. There was a social media influencer that had a huge following until he demanded special attention at a restaurant that had closed. When he became belligerent and picked a fight with another patron, he summarily got the beating he deserved. Six years later, his comment sections continue to be littered with hecklers, and his star has dimmed. In our society, it’s about “views” and “engagement” (I realize that if you’re reading this, I’m being somewhat hypocritical in that regard). There’s a difference between having something to say, and others wanting to hear what that is. Even my best intentions have been chastised as “high-minded advice” (by family, no less), and I am forever being reminded, through words or deeds, that I’m not nearly as clever as I think I am.

Look at the current debate raging in the NBA world about the Jordan vs. Lebron legacy. Reporters continue to ask Lebron about the best player in history, and he’s always falling into the trap by voting for himself. Muhammed Ali pronounced himself “The Greatest,” and it was off-putting at the time. Now, time is proving Ali right, and Lebron may want to cool his own narrative and let time be the judge on his legacy. At the end of the day, the problem with being loud with your proclamations is to live in constant fear of being proven wrong. As an IU football fan, I’ve heard plenty of blowhards say they’d do outlandish things if IU won this or that game this year, only to disappear when it was time to pay up. Once again, we look to the past and realize that its teachings are still relevant, where actions speak louder than words. Or, my personal favorite, uttered by the progressive Republican Teddy Roosevelt (an oxymoron, these days), speak softly and carry a big stick.

Only one of these guys felt the need to announce his greatness.

It’s a challenge in medicine, where there are opinions about 21^st century medicine, and are we as smart as we think we are. I’ve been accused of being a shill for the pharmaceutical industry, or that I care about money more than my patients. It’s tempting to loudly proclaim my achievements and my training, to beat my detractors into submission with the facts. But then I remember something a preacher once told me – a good Christian should never have to tell anyone, for it’ll be obvious. Once again, that’s presence. And maybe it starts with believing in ourselves, which is no small feat, given the multitudes that are cruel for the fun of it in our society. Presence comes from belief, and belief is the most powerful skill we can bring to bear.

I believe I’ll listen to “Human Nature” one more time, to appreciate what I never heard before. I know Steve Lukather never would’ve told me about it.