Michael Isenberg and the Pekin, Illinois Scene Editor’s Note: It’s often been said that there was a local band on every street corner in every town in mid-‘60’s U.S.A. and things were no different in Pekin, Illinois.  Numerous rock groups sprang to life in Pekin during that time, and many – including Suburban 9-5, the Shags, and the Third Booth - are still fondly remembered today.  It’s also interesting to note that a handful of members from those bands found greater fame and fortune down the line: Dan Fogelberg, Gary Richrath and Pork Armstrong all parlayed the experience gained from playing with their Pekin groups into bigger things.  Michael Isenberg was also in several Pekin combos during that period and he, too, moved onto bigger things as a member of the Jets - perhaps the Midwest’s most successful band in the 1970’s.  Before that, however, he had tasted varying degrees of success in The Mods, The Blues Feeling and other local bands… The Blues Feeling My first band experience was with schoolmates Steve Ball and Rusty Vest. Steve played guitar as I did, and Rusty played the drums. Steve played guitar before I had even got one, so I spent a lot more time than usual at his house playing his guitar and absorbing whatever he knew how to play. I had the unusual ability to identically copy people’s voices and had perfect pitch, a gift from my mother, so I was a hell of a singer at an early age. That was how I got into my first bands; I could sound just like those cats on the records everybody loved, especially The Beatles. The Mods were already a band; they were a year or two older than I was. I must've seemed like a baby to them, in fact they were all wondering why their guitar player Randy Clinebell had brought me to one of their practices. Along with Randy, they had Mike Beuhl on bass and Rick Durrand on the drums. When I told them I could play guitar and sing they sort of chuckled and asked me what songs I sang. I told them I could do “Money.” They had already played it and I knew it in the same key. They invited me to sing it with them. I'm relatively certain that they did it for a laugh, but when I belted into it just like John Lennon their eyes got as big as silver dollars. I could see that Randy was visibly nervous about it.  He knew what I could do before we went there and probably thought he could be edged out because of me. I was immediately invited in; that kind of bothered Randy too - like it should have at least appeared tougher to get in than it was. They were getting more invites to play because of me; there was a kind of novelty in having a little grade school kid in the band that could sing, snarl and scream like The Beatles did. Michael Isenberg Although we started out practicing in Rick's parent’s basement, in the summer we moved our gear into the garage. The level of excitement you could get back then just practicing was amazing; it would only be minutes before everyone in the neighborhood was crowded around the garage to watch. It was a new deal back then.  The Beatles opened a floodgate and people weren't used to seeing kids with guitars. If you could play at all people were amazed and if you sang as well it was like winning the girl lottery. Add a baby face and long hair and you had me. I was lucky that there were tough guys who loved hearing me play; I had guys all over the place wanting to beat me up because of their girlfriends making googly eyes at me. I can't remember why The Mods broke up, but I went back to playing with Rusty and Steve. We started playing parties and became very popular. We knew it would only be a matter of time before Randy would come around and want in, which made Steve nervous. He couldn't sing and knew that Randy would edge him out of the band because of it. He eventually did come around and join with us. Steve was right; Randy felt we didn't need three guitar players and Steve was out. I felt pretty rotten about it but I saw the truth in it. I was serious about the band thing and really expected to go far. That sort of thing was common with garage bands and there were hard feelings. That was the beginning of The Blues Feeling. Why we arrived at that name is beyond me since we didn't really do any blues. We didn't have a proper bass player and Randy offered up a friend he knew named Mike 'Sully' Sullivan. Sully came over to a practice with a two twelve Silvertone amp and 65 Kay bass. He knew the real bass lines to “Gloria” and “If I Needed Someone.” That’s all we needed to know about him and he was voted in on the spot. We wanted to make records and there was one of those battles of the bands things that was nation wide and offered a real recording deal with a real label. The winner got to play the Steel Pier in Atlantic City along with the cash and record deal. We worked really hard, but only placed third. This new group with a female drummer/singer won first. They were The Carpenters. Though it might have seemed a bit embarrassing to be beat by a girl at the time, looking back now it doesn't seem bad at all being in the top three with Karen and Richard Carpenter. The band scene in Pekin, Illinois was growing like a weed.  All sorts of bands started to spring up, practicing in their garages on nice days to get attention and a fan base. The different neighborhoods that had bands in them had a sort of 'our band is better than your band' allegiance, though really everyone loved most all of the bands anyway. It was very like admiring your hometown sports team. Remember, it wasn't like today. Now every kid you know plays a guitar, it's almost abnormal not to have been in a band. Then it was a brand new deal.  I started asking for a guitar long before The Beatles came along and my parents were actually worried about it, like there might be something wrong with me. I was perceived as a neighborhood threat, 'that kid from Coolidge Street that was putting all of these screwy notions in their kid’s heads.' Instead of asking for a football helmet, kids started asking for guitars and drums and in my neighborhood it was all blamed on me. I've never heard anyone mention it in anything I've ever read, so maybe I'll be the first to bring it up, but there was a real worry on many parents part that this long haired band thing had something to do with homosexuality, though there was no possible way to get more girls than to be in a band. My dad went on and on about 'The Beatles being queer' and when rumors began to spread about Brian Epstein being a homosexual (no one said 'gay' then) it was like giving my dad proof he was right. It seems funny now, but it wasn't then. You really could get hurt badly if anyone thought you were queer, wearing your hair long and wearing high heeled Beatle boots. Good God, when bell bottom trousers came out everyone wanted them but many fell in gradually, testing the water so to speak. They were afraid to wear them in public for fear of ridicule. I got away with everything.  I was the first to have real Cuban heeled Beatle boots and when they came along, bell-bottoms. I got whistled at once or twice, but I was well protected. The jocks hated the band guys for the effect they had on girls, but jocks showed up at all the dances anyway. It was either that or stay home. Suburban 9-5 There really was an innocence compared to now, at least up until ‘67 or so, given the fact that the coasts catch on first and things gradually come to the Midwest last. Even Playboy barely showed girls breasts then, and even when they did it was in a playful way, not seductive or slutty. The whole thing seemed to have two sides - the good guys (The Beatles) and the bad guys (The Rolling Stones). The good guys definitely got more girls, usually nicer prettier girls, and the bad guys ended up with the rougher girls. If you want a direct comparison and imagery to go with it, American Graffiti's street cruising scenes were absolutely picture perfect. That was exactly the way it was on Court Street in Pekin. Everyone had their hot cars, GTOs, 56 Chevy’s, all cruising the burger joints. Sandy's was the hang out and there was the occasional fight. But there were always several dances to choose from on the weekends and the streets were always filled with kids going from one dance to another to see another cool band. In Pekin there was the Knights of Columbus Hall dance, the Parish House dance, Catholic Youth Organization dance, Arena Dance, after game dance and private parties to choose from. It was paradise for the kids; they were never at a lack for something to do and all of it was tremendously exciting. Those Beatles had really turned the world on its ear. There were the Buster Browns, a three-piece band with a very young, but capable Greg Williams on guitar and vocals (later to be with Head East, 1983, Captain Strobe, Ready Steady Go and Kick In The Pants) - a real threat to me.  I was desirous of being the hot guitarist around. Also The Little Kiddles, with drum and later keyboard wiz Harold Smith, but at the time their keyboard man was the legendary Oscar Meyer (real name). The Shags were the kings of the band scene at that point.  They had matching black tuck and roll Kustom amplifiers and wore matching suits, very cool. Plus their lead guitarist Paul Booe served as a sort of guitar tutor to me, though he was fully unaware of it. I used to take my student guitar to the dances and hide it in the bushes while I watched him play, then go out on the breaks and try to figure out what he did. I never took a girl to a dance ever; it was that way for lots of band guys. We were interested in the bands when we went; we had plenty of time for girls at home or in a car somewhere when it really counted. Dan Fogelberg, another Pekinite whose dad was the high school orchestra director (The “Leader Of The Band” Dan later wrote about) had a band called The Clan (kind of strange to note that Pekin was the original home of the Klu Klux Klan) and Gary Richrath (later of REO) had a band called The Alliance, but left to join Suburban 9 to 5. The Yellow Bird featured a young Pork Armstrong on vocals (later to form the legendary Pork and The Havana Ducks). There was also our main competition, a group called The Mourning Ours, with Doug Schlotmann on vocals, Gary Quade on rhythm guitar, Jeff Wald on drums, Gary Gengrich on Keyboards and Tim Brower on lead guitar. Flores Music in Pekin had sort of decided to sponsor them and even put their name on the side of the store van. Blues Feeling I think at this point, it's interesting but sad to note that the incredibly thriving scene I'm describing (a microcosm, we were one tiny town out of an entire nation this was happening to) completely vanished for young people shortly after the mid seventies. Nothing was left.  It wasn't for lack of wanting it, it's just that no one would sponsor or chaperone any dances or music events for kids. They had absolutely nothing to do and nowhere to go. The endless days of excitement and fun that we experienced would never be known by the next generation. They had no idea what they were robbed of. Gear for bands ran the gamut from very bad to gear that remains the standard to this day. In the ‘60's a Les Paul or Stratocaster (the most desirable vintages) went for around $300.00. Those same pieces today can run up to $100,000.00. It was nothing to go into any music shop and wheel and deal yourself a Gibson, Fender, Hofner, Rickenbacker, Mosrite, Univox, Vox, Epiphone, Stella, Gretsch or any number of other instruments for what would be considered little or nothing compared to today. Can you imagine me trading a speaker cabinet worth about $150.00 for a ‘59 sunburst rosewood strat? Well, I did. I thought so little of a common deal like that; I eventually traded it away for something else I found cool. There were about 108 of those trades. Had I kept those guitars, I would be independently wealthy now. At the time, in 1966 I had a Vox/Eko 395 Black Jack hollow body electric shaped like a violin. It really was a great guitar, its action beat out every other guitar I ever found then and now. I moved up a year or so later amp-wise, to a Sunn Solarus two twelve all tube amp. Sunn suddenly became a big deal, boasting many big name groups as endorsee's. My bass player moved up from his Kay Bass and Silvertone amp to a new Hofner Beatle bass and a Vox Essex bass amp complete with chrome trolley stand. By that time we had added to the band a keyboard player, Ernie Emig. Ernie and our rhythm player Randy Clinebell both got new Sunn Sonaro amps and Randy moved up to a Harmony hollow body, a lot like a 335 Gibson. Ernie stuck with his trusty Farfisa combo Organ. We had also (with the help of our drummer's dad) purchased a Kustom PA, a 400 watt blue sparkle tuck and roll job with two columns loaded with four twelve inch speakers each. Kustom had lock on things for a while PA wise, and was fairly affordable. We had to pay our drummer's dad Billy back for the $450.00 purchase. We bought the PA from a band called The Days of Night. We saw them play at the Youth Building at Exposition Gardens with The Buckinghams. Blues Feeling Exposition Gardens in Peoria, Illinois was the first home of whatever concert acts came to town: Paul Revere and the Raiders, The Who, The Buckinghams, The Cryan Shames, Iron Butterfly - you name it. The guy that booked those acts, Hank Skinner from Peoria Musical Enterprises, had a chance to book The Beatles when they first came over for a mere $10,000.00 but believe it or not, he didn't want to take that big of a risk. Ten grand was a fortune then. He also booked Buddy Holly, slated and contracted for February 4, 1959 I believe; I know it was to be a day or so after the fateful plane crash that took Buddy's life along with Richie Valens and J.P. 'The Big Bopper' Richardson and Jim Peters, their pilot. Ironically, he also booked Ricky Nelson and the Stone Canyon Band, whose plane crashed on the way to the Clearlake, Iowa Buddy Holly Memorial Concert at The Surf Ballroom, where Buddy did his final performance. Hank Skinner was one hell of a character.  He booked everybody who was anybody in the central Illinois area and became one of the biggest agencies in the Midwest. Hank had no idea what he was getting into when he booked The Who at Expo in 1967. He got all of the required gear for the band at his father's music store with the same name as the agency, Peoria Musical, and paced the floor angrily awaiting the two-hour late British band. When they finally arrived, Hank took them aside and had Roger Daltrey and Pete Townsend up against the wall of their make shift dressing room, threatening to kill them. "I don't know who the fuck you think you are, but you're in my country now motherfucker! Now get your faggot ass's on that stage or I'll fucking kill your ass!" He barked at them and they were definitely afraid. There exists film footage, only about a minute of their performance that night, as seen on local news. It was the finale with them trashing all of the gear the Hank had provided for them. You can see Hank barnstorming the stage in shock at the destruction. Backstage, the destruction was far less fun. Hank beat the hell out of the band and sent them on their way minus their money and Pete's Beatle boots, which he gave to a member of the Coachmen. Craig Moore, who took over PME in the late seventies, now owns the contracts from that night. Craig was also a ‘60's rock warhorse (and thrives as a player to this day, like myself) with his still legendary garage band Gonn whose record “Blackout Of Greteley” is a punk/garage classic. He also played with Ilmo Smokehouse, Ready Steady Go and a dozen other bands, all very successful. The scene really started to widen out towards the end of 1968 and into '69.  Bands really began springing up everywhere with the heavy groups like Led Zeppelin, Grand Funk Railroad, Jimi Hendrix, Cream and other guitar driven powerhouse jam bands, allowing musicians to thrive in bands that weren't completely vocally oriented. My bass player, Mike 'Sully' Sullivan came to me one afternoon with three 45rpm records for me to examine: “Sunshine Of your Love” b/w “SWABLR” by Cream, “Summertime Blues” b/w “Out Of Focus” by Blue Cheer and “Purple Haze” b/w “The Wind Cries Mary” by Jimi Hendrix. I'd avoided this stuff as long as I could, being a staunch British Invasion guy, and admittedly I was put off by it at first, but I was in denial that the Beatlemania era was closing. The Beatles certainly hadn't lost any steam, but the mop top thing was snuffed out when “Sergeant Pepper” made the scene. I wasn't alone, even Playboy magazines review of “Pepper” claimed it was the worst thing the Fab Four had ever done. What a laugh!  It was Sully who said that we needed to 'get with the times' and go three piece. All of the bands were going heavy and wild, with show stopping antics like Hendrix had exhibited at the Monterey Pop Festival in the summer of love. That meant a couple of things; getting rid of Randy and Ernie without cause - and dumping the weight of the band load on the guitar player, me. I started pouring over Cream's Wheels Of Fire album, copping everything I could off of it, and finding Clapton's blues phrasings very appealing. We formed a three-piece group called The Rat Band with Sully, our Blues Feeling drummer, Rusty Vest and me. We incorporated many of Hendix's cabaret guitar tricks and Grand Funk's stage antics; jumping all over the place and doing a new 'dance' craze called the Gator. The Gator amounted to what genuinely looked like an epileptic seizure and it was very easy to get severely hurt doing it, but I had to go it one better and dive off of stages into the crowd doing it - with my guitar on and still playing. Amazingly, though I was bruised and battered, my guitar remained intact. We became wildly popular, getting booked everywhere. We did the wildest stage act around, gaining us lots of new fans and aggravating the hell out of the bands that relied only on musicianship to get them across. There was a rather infamous story of a Rat Band appearance where I wore bell-bottoms that appeared to have been made out of an American flag, though they were factory made and purchased in Peoria at a hip clothing place for young folks called The Shed House. When a cop tried to bust me for desecrating the flag, I told him I bought them at the aforementioned clothier and he thought I said 'shit house.' He was really pissed, but it all got cleared up and I was allowed to go home. We were, for quite some time, the only jam band around, doing long extended jams that sometimes lasted for half an hour. Sully and I even left Rusty on stage drumming out Cream's “Toad”, while we left the venue and went over to a party for about twenty minutes. When we came back, Rusty was still pounding away, though he was a bit pissed that we'd left him with no alternative. Pot was an incredibly big part of the scene at that point, along with the standard black light, incense drenched, scantily dressed hippy chick scene that came with it, and we couldn't get enough. The Rat Band flourished until 1970, ending the ‘60's with the breakup of The Beatles and the beginning of a whole new era, filled to the brim with things we had yet to imagine. Needless to say, we swan dived right in! Michael Isenberg Michael Isenberg