"We walk into the bar, and it's this low cement-block building out in the middle of nowhere. Everyone has on black concert T-shirts, and they're listening to heavy metal…and I think, 'Shit, they are going to kill us,'" says Andy Poland, drummer of Chicago-based cover band, The CoverGirls.
Poland's fears weren't mere hyperbole. While playing at the Second Annual Beaver-Eating Competition in late January of 2003, The CoverGirls certainly could have found trouble. Set in a macho-man dive bar in north-suburban Round Lake, the gig offered a rough audience by any standard. But for a quartet of cross-dressing rockers covering girl-band classics of the '80s and '90s, how the audience responds is always a touchy—and potentially dangerous—issue. Thankfully, the "girls" of the band tend to garner more cheers than enemies.
Donning wigs, mini-skirts, go-go boots and push-up bras, the guys of The CoverGirls offer up girl-band standards in drag, sans phony falsetto or any pretense that they are "real" women. In this version of girl pop, a midriff top only barely covers a pronounced beer belly and a hint of blusher dusts a rugged five-o-clock shadow. It's a kitschy blend of nostalgia, parody and hard-rocking musicianship that's built a small but steadily growing fan base for the band.
Originally formed by employees of Jellyvision, the Chicago-based game manufacturer of "You Don't Know Jack," The CoverGirls currently consists of four members. Fronting the "girls" is local actor Phil Ridarelli, known to Chicago audiences for his work with the Neo-Futurists, Victory Gardens, Northlight and Live Bait. ("He's the eye candy," fellow band member Poland announces.) Trotting flirtatiously onstage in a blonde wig, Ridarelli portrays Toni ("with a little heart over the 'i'") Summerdale, the band's saucy lead singer. "She's a rough little girl," he says of his alter-ego. "She likes acting the whole innocent, popular girl in high school, but boy, do not cross her!"
Band-mate Brian Chard embodies Chastity, the "dark, ugly soul" of the band, magically transforming the keyboard runs of '80s techno rock into slick licks on the guitar. "Chastity just wants to rock," Chard intones stoically. "It's all about just making every song as hard-rocking as it can possibly be." He's joined by John Whildin, as the winsome Kiki Goodnight, on bass.
Rounding out the fem four is drummer Andy Poland as Velvet Busche ("pronounced 'boo-shay"). "Velvet started out as the Catholic school-girl, Britney Spears thing; she's changed to more of a Eurotrash Jennifer Garner type," says Poland. "She spends a little too much time worrying about her footwear when no one's going to see her feet behind the drum kit."
Despite the kitschy gimmick, music is the band's top priority, and they strive to create a fresh sound. "The goal is certainly not to sound like women or to sound like the original group," Ridarelli explains. "It's to do our own version of the tune, and do it in a way that gets people on their feet."
But the costumes do help, and for that, the guys seek the assistance of specialists. "All of us are married, and our 'significant others' are definitely involved in creating our look," says Ridarelli. "I swear, every time before a show it's like, 'Is your wig clean?' 'What jewelry are you wearing?'" Chard is particularly grateful to his wife Lina for her support. "She always helps me look my best."
So, why dress in drag? Poland says the inspiration was purely commercial. "We wanted to maximize our money-earning potential." Chard and Poland had played in Something for Joey, a '70s cover band that made "ridiculous amounts of money." When the audience for '70s tunes petered out, he and Chard searched for another hook. "It was very cold and calculated, very evil," he says. "We wanted to draw more women to our band. Where the women go, the men follow."
It's the men in the audience who often provide the most surprising response. "There tends to be this phenomenon when the show starts out," Ridarelli says. "There are the big guys with their baseball caps on backwards at the back of the house with their arms across their chests, kind of wondering what the hell is going on. By the end of the night, they're at the front of the stage, screaming 'Material Girl! Material Girl!'"
Thankfully, that was exactly what happened at the Beaver-Eating Contest last January. "When we came out, I thought for sure they'd kill us," Poland remembers. "But it turned into this love fest. All these guys were way into it." Ridarelli recalls, "We hung around and made a lot of new friends that night." Says Chard, "That's right—you shouldn't judge a crowd by its cover."
