Hey, Kids!

To reveal the rhythmatist, click on the face you suspect belongs to the tub-thumper. (Be advised that the "Theory of Beards" is unproved.)

BA-DA-BOOM! More ways to win stylin' Washington City Paper Web T-shirts.

1. Tell us the name of the band.
   Or...
   
2. Tell us which band member will quit the band, and why.
   Or...
   
3. Tell us which band member will be fired, and why.
   

Answer any of those questions to our satisfaction and a T-shirt is yours. E-mail your best guess to webmeister@washcp.com.

LAST WEEK'S MYSTERY BAND: "My goodness," says old pal Greg Barbera from North Carolina. "I take a few weeks off to mourn the death of my Macintosh G3 laptop and what happens? Frigging heshers." Greg goes on:

I've said it before and I'll say it again: Metal comes from two places—Florida and Jersey. Clearly, by the hoagie that dude is holding, these guys are from Jersey. Likely Cherry Hill or Secaucus. This is not thrash or death metal. No, sir. These guys play classic, British-influenced metal. The drummer's undoubtly got a kit the size of Rush's Neil Peart. Guitar player can do leads in his sleep. The bass player either has a hot sister the other guys want to get with or owns the van that gets them from gig to gig at the shore.

With that, I give you: Helldarodo. No wait, that's a rockabilly band, I think. Chairmen of the Bored. Yeah, that's it. A nice reference to the boardwalk and the shore and crimped hair and T-top Trans Ams.

All the finer things in life, eh? And sorry about the laptop. Newcomer Nicole Elliott suggests that "the bastard in the orange T-shirt will likely be first fired and then chased and spat upon for bogarting the cheesesteak." And who could blame them?

Old pal Kip Shepherd swears that "it's the Octane Boosters. They play acoustic Zeppelin covers on "un-Led-ed" night down at the Fillin' Station. They're standing in front of the place in this picture. None of them are going to leave because this really is as good as it will get for them. And they know it.

"Or," Kip continues, "it's an early picture of PJ Harvey. Polly Jean broke up the original trio because those two guys would never buy their own sandwiches. But as soon as the bus got back on the highway, they'd start whining about how hungry they were."

No place on the bus for whiners, baby! Finally, Michael Leventhal offers a suggestion that "answers both questions 1 and 3. I hope you enjoy..."

Seattle's only Zen Buddhist power-trio, grunge-rock band One With Everything fired its lead guitarist/vocalist, Vincent Frankfurter, for violating one of the band's core rules. "He ate meat, man. And we just don't do that. That's totally against everything we stand for," stated Nathan Sabrett, bass player for One With Everything in a press release from its record label, Lucky Dog studios. Ironically, band members found Vincent ordering one with everything from a hot dog vendor outside Lucky Dog's main recording studio during a break from recording their new album. Mr. Frankfurter issued no comment other than to say he had indigestion.

Actually, that's almost close, Michael. At least the indigestion part. Because the band was ULTRA VOMIT, "est un groupe monstreaux," as they say in their native France. And, no, I don't think that's true there, either.