Rod Stewart and Cyndi Lauper Reignite “This Old Heart of Mine” in Unforgettable 2017 Duet

In 2017, Florida fans were treated to an unforgettable surprise when two icons—Sir Rod Stewart and Cyndi Lauper—joined forces for a dazzling live performance of “This Old Heart of Mine.” The duet carried extra weight thanks to Lauper, who personally chose the song. Originally recorded by Stewart for his 1975 album Atlantic Crossing, the track has long been a fan favorite in his catalog.

A Stage Full of Style and Energy

The performance was as much a visual spectacle as it was musical. Rod, in his signature silver jacket, exuded showbiz charm, while Cyndi took the stage in a bold rose-red outfit, a sparkling black hat, and her trademark pink hair. At ages 72 and 64 respectively, their energy was nothing short of electric. Their voices carried the vitality that first made them legends, and their playful dance moves had the audience roaring with approval.

A Full-Circle Moment for Cyndi

Before the duet began, Lauper shared a heartfelt story about her early career, when she used to perform Rod’s songs in a cover band. Standing beside him decades later, singing one of his classics, was a moment of artistic full-circle magic. The connection between them was genuine—they’ve been friends since the 1980s, often crossing paths at events and even touring together.

Two Legends, Two Legacies

For Stewart, the performance was yet another reminder of his remarkable staying power. From hits like Maggie May and Reason to Believe to albums such as Every Picture Tells a Story, he has remained one of rock’s most distinctive voices. Lauper brought her own infectious spirit—the same one that launched her into superstardom with 1980s anthems like Girls Just Want to Have Fun and Time After Time. Beyond pop stardom, she later carved out a new legacy as the Tony Award–winning composer of Kinky Boots.

The Song’s Storied History

This Old Heart of Mine first belonged to The Isley Brothers, who released it in 1966. Stewart reimagined it for his Atlantic Crossing album in 1975, and later revived it in 1989 as a duet with Ronald Isley himself. But in Florida that night, with Rod and Cyndi’s unique chemistry lighting up the stage, the classic found new life once again—a joyful celebration of friendship, reinvention, and timeless artistry.

Though millions have since watched the performance online, those lucky enough to witness it live experienced something truly rare: two legends at the height of their connection, making an old classic feel brand new.

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HE WAS 20 MONTHS OLD WHEN A FIGHTER JET WENT DOWN OVER OKINAWA AND TOOK HIS FATHER WITH IT. HE WAS 22 WHEN HE WATCHED FOUR CLASSMATES GET SHOT ON THE LAWN AT KENT STATE. HE WAS 26 WHEN HIS THREE-YEAR-OLD DAUGHTER DIED IN A CAR CRASH ON THE WAY TO NURSERY SCHOOL. AND HE WAS 47 WHEN HE FINALLY ADMITTED THE BOTTLE WAS GOING TO KILL HIM TOO — IF HE DIDN’T LET A BEATLE PULL HIM OUT FIRST. He wasn’t supposed to make it. He was Joseph Fidler Walsh, born in Wichita, Kansas in 1947. The son of an Air Force flight instructor who taught young pilots how to fly America’s first operational jet — the Lockheed F-80 Shooting Star. The boy whose father climbed into a cockpit one summer day in 1949, took off over Okinawa, and never came home. The toddler whose mother folded the flag and packed up the house because she had to. He grew up never knowing the man whose middle name he carried like a wound. By 5, he was being adopted by a stepfather and given a new last name. By 12, the family had moved to New York City. By high school, to Montclair, New Jersey, where he played oboe because the football coach said he was too small for tight end. By the time he got to Kent State, he’d attended schools in three different states and never stayed long enough to belong anywhere. Then came May 4, 1970. He was sitting on the lawn at Kent State when the Ohio National Guard opened fire on student protesters. Four kids his age died on the grass that day. He picked up a guitar and never put it back down. A power trio called the James Gang. A song called “Funk #49.” A guitar so loud Pete Townshend turned around. By 1971, Jimmy Page personally bought his ’59 Les Paul — the guitar that became known to the world as Page’s “Number One.” By 1973, he’d moved to Colorado, formed a band called Barnstorm, and written “Rocky Mountain Way” on a riding lawn mower because the riff wouldn’t leave him alone. Then came April 1, 1974. His three-year-old daughter Emma Kristen was riding to nursery school in Boulder when another vehicle struck the car. She didn’t survive. He wrote “Song for Emma” and placed a drinking fountain in the park where she used to play, with a small plaque nobody but the locals would ever notice. He named the album that came after her death “So What” — because nothing else mattered anymore. His marriage didn’t survive it. He started drinking before sunrise. He started using anything that would make the morning quieter. Then came 1975. The Eagles needed a new guitarist. The first album he made with them was called “Hotel California.” The solo he traded with Don Felder on the title track would later be voted the greatest guitar solo ever recorded. Twenty-six million copies sold in the U.S. alone. A Grammy. A Rock & Roll Hall of Fame seat waiting for him. And underneath all of it — every platinum record, every stadium — a man drinking himself slowly into the grave. By the late eighties, he couldn’t remember tours. By the early nineties, he couldn’t remember days. He checked into rehab. He checked back out. He checked in again. He went into rehab for the final time in 1995. He had to put his guitar down — possibly for good — in order to put his life back together. He didn’t think he’d ever play again. Addictionrecoveryebulletin The phone stopped ringing. The Eagles toured without him in everything but body. He sat in a house full of platinum records and couldn’t remember writing most of the songs on the walls. And then a Beatle showed up. Ringo Starr — nine years older, several years sober, and married to a woman whose sister Joe would eventually marry himself — sat down with him and stayed sat. Not as a rock star. As another drunk who’d put the bottle down and lived. Starr brought him back to music and became a sober buddy. Answer Addiction Joe Walsh made a vow to himself in front of an instrument he wasn’t sure he could still play. If I never write another song, that has to be okay. Sobriety comes first. He looked the bottle dead in the eye and said: “No.” One day. Then the next. Then a thousand more. “People tell me I play better now sober than I did before. But the only thing that matters to me now is that I can say I haven’t had a drink today.” Rolling Stone He recorded “Analog Man” in 2012 — his first album as a sober musician in his entire adult life. He started a charity called VetsAid for the children of fallen service members, because he had been one of those children. He told audiences across America: “They told me I was finished. I’m just getting started.” Some men chase the spotlight until it kills them. The ones who matter learn to set the bottle down before the spotlight does. What he said the night they handed him the highest humanitarian award in the recovery community — with his wife Marjorie standing behind him wiping tears, and his brother-in-law Ringo presenting the trophy — tells you everything about who he really was. He didn’t talk about the Grammys. He didn’t talk about Hotel California. He talked about the men an