Fast embracer of gas station tubular meats, chipoltle sardines, and brrrl'ed peanits, this tall drink uh water was wicked road-ready with his bag-o-rollies, broke-down Volvo, and dead dreadlocks, which he keeps in a satin satchel by his bedside. (No, he's not GreenStar Dreadlock Guy. Nope.) An already adept guitbox player, Zatch learned keys just to be in the band...so we said, "Hey man, you like tah-coes?" and we all rode off into the sunset...of the desert...in Coachella. Baby Boy had a BIG DAY.