“Make us sound smart” — Mike Mitschele
They pulled their name from a hat full of nouns and adjectives, and thus nearly became the Sausage-y Guys. For their first live show they hung “the world’s biggest flyer” from the club’s marquee — “They’re Coming, April 13” was all it said. They’ve titled their albums Love Mouth, Goodbye Poochie, Arabian Fisticuffs and worse. They played their New York City CMJ showcase dressed in lederhosen, last year’s South by Southwest as dirty guys with cheesy moustaches and an outdoor show as 8-foot redneck clowns on platform shoes made from 2x4s.
They are, of course, Charlotte’s Alternative Champs. Kicking around in various forms since the late ’80s, high school and college buddies Mike Mitschele, Rick Randall, Dave Massi, Brent Dunn and, newest member, John Morris have improbably become one of the city’s sure-fire live draws, a cocktail of the absurd and sublime that many find irresistible. Their live act is part performance art, stand-up routine, game show, porno soundtrack and rock gig, and has crossed over into “event” territory.
Their latest brainstorm is billed as the First Annual Prom Nite this New Year’s Eve at the Visulite. It’ll feature music from the Champs, the Poontanglers and DJ George Brazil, with cash prizes for the prom king and queen, a midnight ball drop, champagne toast, photo booth, balloons, announcements from the principal and lord knows what else they think up between now and then. The obvious question is: Prom Nite?
“We thought it would be fun for the crowd to take part in the whole dress-up thing this time,” says Randall. “Tuxes are certainly an obvious choice but not mandatory. Just anything that makes you feel festive and prom-like. Kids nowadays are making their prom attire totally out of duct tape. You can look it up on the Internet.
“It will be like a normal Champs show, but at Mach 5.”
“Normal” and “Champs show” are two phrases you rarely hear together. Their costumes, songs and themes can be ripped from the headlines or as provincial as their tribute to Orange Annie, a local eccentric and orange-clad bicycle enthusiast. They’ve suited up as softball coaches, mall walkers, sensitive songwriters and plenty of other thrift store-inspired uniforms. They’ve penned tributes to Shaquille O’Neal, Michael Jackson, Sammy Hagar and John Travolta, and heart-felt narratives about “Kickin’ It with Chickens,” a “Taco in the Mail,” “The World Wide Web” and, naturally, the “Penis.”
Of course, it’s all fun and games until someone loses an eye because the music sucks — in the Champs’ case, that won’t happen. They may be on stage dressed as auto parts store clerks surrounded by alternators and radiators, fast food drones taking Happy Meal orders over their headsets, or in one instance as a giant banana, but the music, though filled with humor, is no joke.
Their pedigrees tell the story: the Hard Soul Poets and Jolene (Mitschele); the Husbians (Randall and Massi); Come on Thunderchild and Lou Ford (Morris); and Dunn’s lengthy resume is punctuated by his current job as bassist for freak folk supergroup Vetiver. He’s not at this Snug Harbor pre-gig interview because he’s touring with Morrissey — ’nuff said.
MM: “We totally didn’t give a shit in the beginning.”
RR: “I think that’s why it worked.”
The Champs formed during — and were informed by — the heyday of the grunge/alternative rock movement, when every song was an ode to how shitty life was or the pros-and-cons of shooting smack. It was music as grey and dreary as the weather in the Seattle scene that spawned it, and seemed to make being in a rock ‘n’ roll band a gigantic pain in the ass. This didn’t mesh with the Champs’ experiences.
“We would joke around and act silly when we hung out, so why filter a big part of who we are from the music?” Randall asks.
“There were way too many serious, serious bands,” Mitschele adds.
Though they began writing Champs songs before they’d heard of indie tongue-in-cheekers Ween, the chops-in-multi-genres parallels have merit. Their MoRisen debut, 2005’s Welcome to Fort Awesome, comes in a variety of styles, from 80s’ cock rock to Motown soul. SXSW.com declared them “like an ice cream social with Beck, Boston, Pavement and The Commodores,” and you could also add some of The Cramps’ world-view, “Don’t Eat the Yellow Snow” Frank Zappa and a liberal dollop of bad ’80s synth pop. Part of what makes the shtick work so well is the Champs’ ability to mimic just about any style ever recorded, but to do so with reverence and mockery.
There’s also an abundance of tasteless dick and poop jokes, XXX fare that would make Ron Jeremy blush and just plain nonsense. But not only is it delivered in tight, well-played songs, it usually comes wrapped in clever conceits, like the absurd word-problem couplet from “Mathematics 101”:
“If Sally took a ride down a banister rail/Only to find her leg impaled/If the artery was severed and no pressure was applied/How long would it take till the poor girl died?”
Since 2003, the band has added pre-recorded material to their between-song banter, its primary function to get the improvisational ball rolling. Snark and sarcasm zing across the stage with heartless accuracy, indicative of a group with decades of deadpan between them. Even in interviews, tongue and cheek never stray far from each other.
MM: “I met some guy the other night who saw us recently and he hated us because of the way we were dressed. It was that show we played all in white as sailors.”
RR: “We were sailors?”
Irreverence may be their muse, but early circumstances made it easier for them to indulge their inner juvenile delinquent. All the Champs were engaged in more serious bands initially, and were also often scattered over all over the shop — Boone, Charlotte, Greensboro, New York. So practice sessions were a luxury, which is where they say the idea to dress up came from.
“The music was barely together,” Randall says, “so we felt we needed something else to loosen the vibe up a little bit so that if it flopped at least we’d look good.”
Early shows were predictably rough around the edges. They sometimes played with a drum machine that had a propensity to short-out, and once tried playing without any amps at all, running everything directly through the soundboard. (It didn’t work.) And many of those early gigs were at Fat City in North Davidson, where more than one band succumbed to cascades of alcohol before their sets ended.
RR: “We did one show as the Class of ’73, and I got so drunk I couldn’t strum a chord properly.”
JM: “Was that the one where you kept asking the sound guy for ‘more shots in the monitors, please?'”
Over time, the shows and themes have become more elaborate, and the props more intricate. One of the most memorable featured The Good-Timez-Happy-Fun Wheel which fans got to spin between songs, though the choices mostly included buying band members drinks. The tennis player-themed show found the stage covered with tennis balls, and yet another featured an office worth’s of Xerox and fax machines. Still, they’re just as likely to decide on a theme the day of the show, when local wig and hat shop owners may suddenly find five grown men rummaging through their sale bins for inspiration.
Says Randall, who admits he spends way too much time on props: “Ideas are not a problem for me, but good ones are.”
Creative Loafing: When did John officially join?
MM: He’s still not in yet.
RR: He’s still on trial.
DM: He’s got to nail it tonight.
MM: Yeah, if he can finally nail one show, we’ll let him in.
Morris had followed the band for years and thought his keyboards might add producer Steve Lillywhite-like sheen for even more contrast with the ridiculous narratives. He played some on Fort Awesome, then learned about the Champs’ penchant for last-minute themes the hard way on his 35th birthday. Dunn called him up before the gig that day to say they were dressing up like southern 70s’ rockers Blackfoot: all blue-jean bellbottoms, fringe-y leather and Ronnie Van Zandt hair. But they had something else planned for the newbie.
“So there I am on stage at the Visulite, playing and singing with the Champs behind me dressed as Blackfoot and me as a giant banana,” he laughs. “Then we covered (Michael Murphy’s) ‘Wildfire,’ which was really the highlight of the night for me.”
A typical Alternative Champs show in other words, with the fun-first aesthetic writ large. Just as the rock canon would be unthinkable without the dour-puss genius of the Smiths (that’s Morrissey’s and Elliot and Robert), the Champs choose to remember why most people pick up a guitar or pound on a drum-kit in the first place: because it’s a fucking hoot.
The Alternative Champs present Prom Nite, Monday, Dec. 31 at 10 p.m., at the Visulite Theatre, with the Poontanglers and DJ George Brazil. Tickets are $15 in advance and $20 on the day of show.
An Alternative Champs discography*
1. Love Mouth
2. Emancipation Proclamation
3. Goodbye Poochie
4. Dolphin Crazy!
5. Cocky Pop
6. CD for Sale
7. Lasting Love Songs
8. Arabian Fisticuffs
9. Let’s Kill It
10. Deep Fried Hand
11. Creamy Nougat
12. Welcome to Fort Awesome
13. 37 Steps to Emotional Healing
*”We have always thought it important to recycle, so a lot of our releases were just new album covers. We feel okay with stretching the truth as long as it keeps things interesting.” – Rick Randall
This article appears in Dec 26, 2007 – Jan 1, 2008.
