Still Firing Up Fans in Laguna

The lead singer has a Robert Duvall look and a Van Morrison sound. His groupies are bikers, yuppies and hippies. On Thursday nights and Sunday afternoons, they take over the Marine Room Tavern and spill out onto the streets of Laguna Beach, dancing with each other and occasionally with themselves in a twirling, arm-waving introspective sort of way.

“It’s a phenomenon that’s gone on for so long,” said Poul Finn Pederson of the Missiles of October. “I guess all the parts are there for that sort of thing.”

The Missiles’ fans have been pouring into the little beach bar in the heart of Laguna for 14 years, captivated by Pederson’s haunting voice and the band’s bluesy, folksy tunes.

“Poul has the greatest voice in America,” said longtime Missiles fan Leo Castro, 53, of Laguna Beach. “It’s such a hard-working voice, and you can tell it comes from the heart.”

Unlike Dead Heads and Parrot Heads, Missile fans don’t have to follow their favorite band across the country. They know where they will be every Thursday night (from 8 p.m. to 12:30 a.m.) and Sunday (from 4 to 8 p.m.) -- at the Marine Room.

On a recent Thursday, the tavern’s front room was a mix of Missiles regulars and newcomers like Bruce and Susan McAllister, who had heard from a man on the street that there was “some great music at the Marine Room.”

It took only a few Bob Dylan covers before the Irvine couple was hooked.

“The way the lead singer raises his voice to hit the high notes is incredible,” said Susan McAllister as she nursed a beer and listened to Pederson’s rendition of Dylan’s “Knockin’ on Heaven’s Door.” “I didn’t expect to hear this kind of music for $4.”

And the Missiles didn’t expect to be playing for $4 a head either. Pederson and many of his followers thought that by now he would have hit the big time. But it’s hard to go anywhere in the music business without a manager or a booking agent, neither of which the Missiles have had on a consistent basis.

“People talk a big game with us, and people have a lot of enthusiasm for the band, [but] nothing ever seems to go anywhere,” said Pederson, 50, who played with the Breeze Brothers and the Heat Band for a decade each before hooking up with the Missiles in the early 1990s.

With two albums to their credit -- “Soulfolk” and “Hope” -- and one European tour, the Missiles have attempted to broaden their appeal and become more than just a local treasure. But nothing has panned out.

Marine Room regular Jeannie Kemper of Irvine has a dream that Pederson and the band will reach stardom when they least expect it.

“So many times I’ve tried to figure out a way to get [record producer] Clive Davis to walk into that room,” Kemper said. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard Poul hit a wrong note in 12 years. The rest of the world is missing something really special.”

But those who religiously attend the Missiles’ shows at their hometown bar feel pretty special themselves. Thursdays, the crowd is smaller than Sundays and late arriving. During the Missiles’ first two sets, the bar was only half full. By 10:30, the place was packed, yuppies were dancing with hippies, and bikers were spinning by themselves.

Everyone seemed to know someone.

“I come here for the music and the people,” said Jim Winkler, 37, of Aliso Viejo. “I’ve had the best times of my life and some of the worst while listening to these guys here. Initially, I came here for the music. But along the way, I’ve met some good friends.”

The crowd is more eclectic and raucous on Sunday, when Harley riders, Dead Heads and families pack the bar and part of Ocean Avenue.

“They’re packed in here like sardines,” Marine Room owner Kelly Boyd said. “I don’t even bother going inside. It’s a better party outside.”

It was Pederson’s idea to take his music to the streets. In the early days -- before the Missiles were the Missiles -- he played with the band’s former lead guitarist, Bob Hawkins, in the tavern’s back room. The duet had a small, loyal following, but they were playing in virtual obscurity.

“The windows were blacked out, the bar was dark and they were hidden in the back room,” Boyd said. “The atmosphere wasn’t great.”

As he kept adding musicians -- bassist Jimmy Perez and drummer Frank Cotinola -- Pederson realized that his new band needed more exposure. So they moved to the front of the bar, took the shade off the windows and expanded their audience. Some Sundays, the party is bigger outside the bar than inside.

At this stage of his career, Pederson has resigned himself to the fact that the party may never leave Orange County.

“It’s frustrating,” he said. “I’d like a larger audience, but I don’t have the dream anymore of selling to a major label and going through the whole pop thing. I just want to put out good artistic music.”

And maybe it’s that fire-in-the-belly anger that keeps Pederson’s voice so strong and soulful.

“I’m still slugging away in a nightclub, still reaching for something,” he said. “I’m not completely accepted.”

The Marine Room faithful would beg to differ.