Jim Peterik Has Been a Rock Star for Decades, and He’S Not About to Change Now

Jim Peterik has been a rock star for decades, and he’s not about to change now [30 August 2010] By Christopher Borrelli Chicago Tribune (MCT) CHICAGO — He’s a friendly stranger in a black sedan. Won’t you hop inside his car? He’s got pictures, he’s got candy, he’s a lovable man. He’ll take you to the nearest star. He’s your vehicle, baby. He’ll take you anywhere you want to go. He’s your vehicle, woman. By now I’m sure you know ... who I’m talking about. If you grew up in the late ‘60s to early ‘70s, with a radio pressed to your ear, then certainly you know. That’s when Jim Peterik and the Ides of March, the pride of Berwyn, Ill., roamed the earth. Until they split up in 1973; then most of the band, having socked away some cash, went to college and started families, became upholsterers and property managers. They were in their 20s. But a funny thing happened: Jim Peterik didn’t grow up. He traded in his black sedan for a Lamborghini. And radio ubiquity? For him, it never dried up, and he never went away, or left Chicago. Indeed, if I had a nickel for every time I heard him recently sing “Vehicle,” the Ides’ biggest hit, which reached No. 2 on the Billboard Top 40 charts, and was impossible to avoid in the summer of 1970 and now sounds like the marching band anthem it is — if I had a nickel for every time I heard him simply reference those lyrics (“Well, I’m a friendly stranger/In a black sedan/Oh, won’t you hop inside my car?”) — I would be wealthy. That said, it would take many lifetimes, and as many Top 40 hits as he’s written (18), before my nickel jar was as heavy as his. “I don’t know what it means to work an hour for an hour’s pay,” he told me one day. “And I never will. You write a hit song, it keeps coming back.” Jim Peterik wrote many hit songs. Today, he is one of the richest, most sincere rock musicians in Chicago’s Burr Ridge suburb, though I can’t be as certain of his sincerity as I am of his royalty checks (or if he’s the richest rock star in Burr Ridge, because Dennis DeYoung of Styx lives nearby). He has a cheerfulness, a puppy-dog earnestness not dissimilar to the muscular, sweaty- with-feeling anthems he built his career on, as leader of the Ides of March, founder of Survivor and songwriter for .38 Special, Sammy Hagar, Doobie Brothers and Cheap Trick. And like those songs, he is as heartfelt as he is hard to take seriously, a living portrait of a very successful recording artist and a marginal rock star long after that success has peaked. 1 of 5 The first time I saw him, he was walking down Armitage Avenue, outside Park West, dressed in what appeared to be a loud, flared ‘70s uniform, the kind you might assemble if Jefferson Airplane and the cast of “Hair” had hosted a trunk sale. Irony free, after all these years. Guitar case in hand, Peterik passed Geja’s fondue emporium, a long, lanky R. Crumb cartoon in the flesh. He waved to a fan who shouted his name. He paused briefly to soak in the recognition, then he sauntered on, Geja’s and rock singer merging in a single nostalgic haze. Inside Park West, the evening was about Tributosaurus, the popular group of Chicago session musicians who re-create live the recordings of a different artist each month. That month, one-hit wonders of the ‘70s was the theme, and Peterik, introduced as “an authentic one-hit wonder living in captivity” (though he really isn’t), was their guest. The crowd, seated for most of the show, stood as he took the stage. I had no idea who he was, but weathered, impish and confident, he looked like somebody — this, I learned, is a typical reaction to Jim Peterik. He says he gets a lot of double takes, a lot of “Are you Keith Richards?” The song he’s about to play, he told the audience, he’s performed 100,000 times. But he doesn’t mind, he said, because every time he plays it, he’s 19 again. Then, as promised, he played “Vehicle” as though for the first time, with soul. Afterward, the applause was long, and Peterik hesitated to leave. He stayed so long, basking in cheers, the band began to play him off. They broke into “Eye of the Tiger,” the theme to “Rocky III” — another once-ubiquitous anthem Peterik wrote, back with Survivor. He also co-wrote “Heavy Metal” with Hagar, and was a quasi-member of .38 Special, writing that Southern group’s biggest hits, from “Hold on Loosely” to “Caught up in You.” So, yes, since you’re wondering: Peterik makes a lot of money on royalties — from marching bands, “Guitar Hero,” commercials, ring tones. He makes so much on royalties that when McDonald’s launched its “I’m Lovin’ It” jingle, friends called to congratulate him; they assumed he had licensed “Vehicle” to the fast-food behemoth. He hadn’t. But after listening to it, he decided that “McDonald’s missed a lawsuit by two notes.” Peterik turns 60 this fall. He could retire. But with his World Stage series (which brings together members of once- hot ‘80s acts, from Night Ranger to Loverboy), his jazz act Lifeforce, his rock group Pride of Lions, and the Ides, which reunited in 1990 (and just released their first album, called “Still 19,” in 37 years), he has a visceral desire to remain onstage, even when that stage is a county fair and only a handful of curious passers-by have heard of him. “I should write more marching band songs,” he told me one day. I called his wife, Karen. They’ve been married 37 years. I asked if Jim craves attention. “What do you think?” she said, laughing. Indeed, no stage is too small. Peterik plays local house parties when the money is right. “We were in San Francisco,” his wife said, “and this beggar’s playing for pocket change. 2 of 5 So we listened, and when the guy finished, we threw in some money. Then Jim approached and said, ‘Hey, I play guitar.’ The guy handed him the guitar and Jim sang ‘Vehicle.’ Right there on the sidewalk. And when it was over, this is the best, the guy gave Jim back his money.” We met at Moondance Diner in Burr Ridge, Peterik’s “second office,” a few blocks from his house. He stood when I entered and waved and said, “Hi, I’m Jim,” as if I wouldn’t have noticed him among the other diners, who sat in cargo shorts and oversize T-shirts. Peterik had the flowery hair of a peacock, with more purple in it; he was rail thin and wore torn skinny jeans; his cowboy boots had skulls painted on the sides, and stretched across the toes, one phrase per boot, was “Rock to Live, Live to Rock.” He wore countless rings and bracelets, and a large silver dragon dangled from his neck. His crisp white shirt was embroidered with an eagle that stretched across his shoulders. I never saw him dressed in less than this. But this wasn’t always Peterik. He was once a thicker guy, a dorkier guy. “Back in the day, we kept Jim in check,” said Dave Bickler, Survivor’s first lead singer. “He blended in more, believe it or not. I remember the record company saying, ‘Get him in something (cool).’ So he gets a leather suit. We’re like, ‘Jim, no.’ He wanted to be flamboyant.” And now he is, a man at ease with himself, almost annoyingly comfortable in his own skin. In the Moondance parking lot sat a 2008 Lamborghini Gallardo. The license plate read “EYETGR.” This was Peterik’s car, of course. His “fun car,” he explained, and then he listed the other cars he owns. This took a minute: He owns an Audi A8 sedan, an Audi S5 convertible, an Audi Q7 SUV (to haul equipment), a Plymouth Prowler, a Ford Expedition, a ‘58 Corvette Roadster (bright red, in perfect condition) and a ‘55 Chevy convertible. Wow, I said. Yeah, he said, and he’s “gotten out of countless speeding tickets” by mentioning his career too. “I’ve been pulled over so many times. Usually for going at least 25 miles per hour over. If the cop is semi my age or a little bit younger, I know I got it made. I go, ‘You know, I don’t expect this to influence you at all, but did you ever see ‘Rocky III’? ‘Yeah.’ ‘Well, hey, I’m the guy who wrote “Eye of the Tiger”! I played the guitar too! Dooga-dooga-dooga-dooga-Dant!-Dant!-Dant!-Dant!-Dant!-Dant!-Dant!-Dant!-Dant!- Dant!-duhhhhhh.’ ‘Really? No kidding?’ ‘Really!’ ‘Sing it!’ So, now I’m on the side of the highway going, ‘Risin’ up, back on the street ...’ My record is clean, yet I’ve been pulled over something like 20 times. “In Michigan, I got a ticket. The cop didn’t know who I was.” “Why don’t you go away?” I asked, meaning why won’t he just retire. He considered the question. 3 of 5 “I could,” he said. “I do live in the House Stallone Built.

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