I still get a rush when I think back to walking into the Grandstand that night. The fairground buzz was humming—people wandered between rides and band booths, but every step seemed magnetized toward that stage. Fans decked in T-shirts that looked as old as Permanent Vacation, leather jackets patched with tour logos, and every age group crammed shoulder-to-shoulder. I may have been more excited than anyone; I spent that afternoon pacing, replaying “Dream On” in my head, trying to calm down. But once the intro tape hit, I was done pretending—this was about to be an Aerosmith night I’d never forget.
Stage & Production
No bells and whistles here—just a solid festival setup that leaned into no-frills rock energy. The stage had that classic fair-concert vibe: big and open, backdropped by giant speakers and lighting rigs waiting to pop on cue. A few trusses stretched overhead, ready to flicker in rhythm. Visual screens off to the sides pulsed with abstract video and live camera footage—only enough to give us Big Stage energy, not to distract. Steven Tyler’s mic stand was wrapped in his signature scarves—instantly familiar like an old friend. The setup said “we’re not here to dazzle you with pyrotechnics—just to blow you away with raw, visceral rock.”
Setlist & Performance
Aerosmith loaded right into action with a classic mix of swagger, soul, nostalgia, and eye-popping energy. Here’s how the night broke down:
Setlist – Aerosmith at New York State Fair – August 26, 2010
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Tape Intro: Rainy Day Women #12 & 35 (Bob Dylan cover)
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Back in the Saddle
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The Train Kept A-Rollin’ (Tiny Bradshaw cover)
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No More No More
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Love in an Elevator
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Falling in Love (Is Hard on the Knees)
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Livin’ on the Edge
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What It Takes
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Pink
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Last Child
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Cryin’
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Drum Solo
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Rag Doll
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Joe Perry Guitar Battle
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Stop Messin’ Round (Fleetwood Mac cover)
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I Don’t Want to Miss a Thing
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Come Together (The Beatles cover)
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Sweet Emotion
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Draw the Line
Encore: -
Dream On
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Walk This Way
Highlights
Let me walk you through the night, moment by moment:
Even before they hit the stage, that Dylan-soaked tape intro—“Rainy Day Women #12 & 35”—had the crowd swaying, a groggy call to action, a wink from rock creed. And then—Back in the Saddle, ripping its way into everything. You could feel the floor rattle, the amps growl, and every head nod in unison.
The Train Kept A-Rollin’ drove us forward, a gritty cover that landed powerful and full-bodied. No More No More turned up the tough-love energy, then Love in an Elevator sent the crowd into giggling fits and fist-pounding frenzy—serious bone-deep fun.
When Falling in Love (Is Hard on the Knees) barreled next, it felt like home base—the Nine Lives era still packs that punch. Livin’ on the Edge followed, and it was the same anthem I’d played in my car windows-down a hundred times, only louder and better lived in by Tyler’s voice and the crowd’s roar.
What It Takes brought the night down for a second—emotional, smooth, and velvet-edged. Then Pink jolted us back up, and Last Child reminded us they could still steal your attention with sheer groove.
Cryin’ was one of those moments where hundreds of thousands of fans sang every heartbreaking note back at him, falling into the chorus like a shared confession. The Drum Solo gave the band space to breathe, thunder, and tease us into the next gear.
Rag Doll surged in with swagger, and Joe Perry’s guitar battle followed—watching those flying hands riff back and forth, it was like watching old-school comedians duel with strings. Raw, friendly, electric.
Then Stop Messin’ Round—a gruff nod to the roots that grounded us before they soared again. I Don’t Want to Miss a Thing reminded everyone that the band could still hit big, stadium-size ballads. And Come Together—that Beatles nod—with its bass-line swagger, let us feel the breadth of their influences.
Sweet Emotion rolled in smooth as molasses, and Draw the Line pulled it to a stomp-and-shout frenzy. The energy was full-tilt.
Encore pinned us down in the best way: Dream On built slowly from tender whispers to anthemic roar—everyone’s voice cracked on those high notes. Then they flipped it back into Walk This Way—loud, infectious, still walking thirteen years later like new. The crowd didn’t so much leave as get ejected, euphoric and buzzing.
Crowd Energy
That evening, the air felt alive. People swung between singing every lyric, jumping when the beat hit, and getting reflective in the softer moments like What It Takes or Dream On. I watched grandparents head-bobbing through Draw the Line, teens lip-syncing Cryin’, moms hoisting daughters on their shoulders during Rag Doll, entire sections clapping in unison.
Somebody near me yelled, “I’ve waited twenty years for that song!” when Last Child hit. During Walk This Way, we all moved in sync like long-lost family members reunited through rock. Walking back to my car later, I could still hear “And she’s living on the hill in Tupelo…” echoing in my head.
Vocals & Musicianship
Steven Tyler sounded like he was living in every lyric—he owned the highs and the howls, the whispers and the screams. His control over power and vulnerability is timeless. That slide from raspy grit to high falsetto still gives me goosebumps thinking about it.
Joe Perry and the guitars were jagged poetry—stinging, melodic, playful, snarling. The rhythm section laid a foundation so tight, you felt the floor pulses matching your heartbeat. The drum solo thundered and teased, then retreated as though warning us that more storm was coming.
The chemistry between their years of pushing sound together was obvious—muscles in tune, eyes sharing jokes, movement synced like an unspoken language.
Personal Reflection
That night, my voice went silent for days—I literally couldn’t talk without my throat catching. But I wore that rasp like a badge. I left with my ears ringing, adrenaline still racing through me, and a stupid grin I couldn’t shake.
Standing there under fairground lights, I realized even decades in, Aerosmith still knew how to light a fuse and ride the explosion. Watching crowd-surfers during Walk This Way, I felt connected to hundreds of strangers through shared thrill. Years later, I can’t hear that opening riff of Draw the Line or that distinct scream in “Sweet Emotion” without being re-zipped into that moment.
It wasn’t just nostalgia—it was validation. These songs, these voices, still mattered. They still shook you.
Conclusion
Aerosmith at the New York State Fair on August 26, 2010, wasn’t a nostalgia show—it was a statement. With a setlist that blended deep cuts, hits, covers, and fresh power, they reminded the audience of their range and their fire. The stage felt intimate and epic at once. The crowd was living and breathing every riff. The band sounded like they were just getting started, not winding down.
That night wasn’t historic because of flash—historic because of heart. Aerosmith didn’t just perform—they reminded you what real rock feels like. And honestly? That night still hums in my bones.