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 (leave it!), and dead dreadlocks (which he keeps in a satin satchel by his bedside...nooo, nope, just kiddin.) Maddy was like, "Oh, you mean GreenStar Dreadlock Guy? Sure! Sign 'im up!" An already adept guitbox player, Zatch learned KEYS just to be in the band...so we said, "Hey man, you like tah-coes?" and rode off into the sunset...of the desert...in Coachella. Baby Boy, you so extra. We luh you.