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Club Date:
The Champs, Regraped, Truman's Water, Cherry Valence
EJ's
2140 NE Sandy Blvd., 234-3535
10 pm Sunday,
April 19
$5

Context:

Tim Soete and Josh Smith review video games for magazines. They have to reach the highest level before they can write a review, and they sometimes play one game for 20 hours straight.

Justin Callaway--who works at Will Vinton Studios in Portland--destroyed a car while shooting the Champs' video for "You've got a Thirst, Portland."

 

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Heavy Metal Heroes
 
Don't be fooled by their haircuts--the Champs are no pop band.

BY BROOKE DeNISCO
bdenisco@wweek.com

"Most heavy metal singing is so awful that it makes people hate the music," says Tim Green (left).

The Champs' mind-blowing guitarist Tim Green says he's not a metalhead, but here are the facts: He saw Judas Priest a few weeks ago; the last book he read was the unauthorized biography of Kiss (written by the band's accountant); and he says he's "not really familiar" with Stereolab, Pavement or Tortoise.

 Green was playing in the sludgy Olympia band Lice when it opened for the Champs in 1994. "I got really depressed after the show because the Champs were doing what I wanted to do, and I could never do anything like it." A year later Tim Soete and Josh Smith of the Champs moved to the Bay Area without their guitarist; Tim Green moved to San Francisco without his band. The three started hanging out and listening to Carcass, Morbid Angel, Queen, Pussy Galore and Thin Lizzy. Soon the Champs had a new guitarist. But the obvious and blissful situation wasn't easy for Green, who had to learn a lot of new songs. "I didn't just start playing Champs songs," he says. "I had to have my brain broken and reassembled. My head was aching."

 The new lineup was plagued by one odd reality: Metal bands have two places to play--basements and arenas. Instead of choosing, the Champs made the savvy decision to pass as indie rockers. Donning Kraftwerk and Black Flag T-shirts, and without a mullet in sight, the band started playing with the likes of Track Star and Trans Am. Now venues welcome them, and alternative newsweeklies write about them.

 Two of the first things you'll notice about the Champs is what they're lacking: bass and vocals. Friends who walk into your house when you're playing their CD, C4AM95 (Frenetic), are likely to comment on how good the Scorpions are sounding these days. After a few minutes they'll start to wonder what happened to bassist Lothar Heimberg and singer Klaus Meine. They'll be even more confused when effects from a Roland sampler, a guitar synthesizer, a Korg Poly-61 keyboard and electronic drums ooze out the butt of songs with titles like "Now Is the Winter of Our Discoteque" and "Andres Segovia Interests Me."

 The reasons for the Champs' omissions are both practical and aesthetic. Focusing on guitars forces them to stay melodic and sharp. "A lot of times bass players clog things up by trying too hard to maintain a constant seam," explains Kip Larson, the bass player for frequent Champs openers Regraped. "Tim Green's low-frequency guitar rounds the sound out, so it doesn't sound like they're missing anything."

 Besides making them seem arty and elusive, staying mainly nonvocal allows the Champs to exert more breath and concentration on their instruments--and avoid politics. It may also help them avoid mainstream success. Green admits that having almost no vocals leaves his band less accessible, but he points out that "most heavy metal singing is so awful that it makes people hate the music." Green says that he would definitely take $10,000 from AT&T to turn his song "Heart to Heart" into a long-distance commercial. So far the phone company has only sent bills, but a software manufacturer may buy a track from the Champs for a new video game.

The Champs' tremendous live shows are also marked by absence. Although Green and Soete record tons of drum-and-bass music on their own tape label, Louder, and spend more time fiddling with equipment in the basement than rehearsing rock music (the Champs rarely practice together more than twice a month), they ditch their electronic effects during performances. Esoteric touches are lost, but the payoff is a thick, physical show that oscillates from headbanging drums to glam-psychedelia and raucous upside-down guitar duels. Plus you don't have to worry that you're going to EJ's to stare at a couple of white guys twisting knobs.

The Champs are not moving north any time soon, but they are at least honorary Portlanders. They thank this city in their liner notes, write songs about it, hang out at the Lutz Tavern and Delta Cafe and are close friends with the members of local bands the Kung Fu's and Regraped. Heavy Johnson Trio lead singer Dan Carey, whose band has toured with the Champs, is a fan of both their music and their strong support of Portland's hard-rock scene. Last year the Champs sold out shows at Reed College and EJ's--an inspiration for Oregon bands influenced by Sepultura and Van Halen. "The Champs are a tasteful fusion of Queen and Slayer played with Joycean mettle," Carey says. "They're pretty great."

Originally published: Willamette Week - April 15, 1998

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