Forged from an incandescent oblivion, somewhere in the deep dark jungles of south-east LA, time conceived this still anomalous entity only referred to today as: VUdoo. The VUdoo legend has it that this mysterious creature, part ashanti warrior, part genghis khan/atilla the hun, packs the vocal range of Aretha franklin with the projection capacity of a small nuclear device. He walks like a little bit of break dancing and a whole lot of soul. All this, tightly condensed into a form perfectly designed to compliment the size of the average woman. you never see him coming. Lookout for the VUdoo on the front lines of the ‘ LOGSQUAD”- he’ll always be there, our first line of defense against the maddness of acapella music.


Mark, also known as Sparty, loves the letter ‘z’. Carnally. He can often be seen man-handling a blow-up plastic ‘z Me: what up Sparty? Sparty: chizz-illin Me: you coming to rehearsal? Sparty: lizz-ogs!! Me: what? Sparty (running down the hall imitating a velociraptor): wot wot!!! Really though, Sparty is the man. Except for when he sings solos. If you can’t hear him singing, it’s because he’s mouthing the words watermelon cantaloupes over and over. No joke. But hey, it all works out for Sparty. You guessed it-he’s also that kid who got a 1590 on the SATs using the ABACADABA method. His other talents include hitting the 7th of any chord at will, and conversing with the imaginary English gentleman in the group.


Out of dust and legend rose our Father, Father? say you. yes Grand Master Robert Bates is our metaphorical (though to karl he is much more) father. Why? Other than his deity like presence, Father simply guides us. His falsetto never falters or sway from key. His ear picks up the faintest malady. More-over his leader-esque reproaches quickly straighten even the likes of collins. Always Vigilant. Always the Voice of Reason. Always Cheeks Rosied. Always SPORTIN’ dem Transitions Lenses. Always Chic. Without Father we would be forever mired in a hellacious cacophony Sea Gullish squaks and no doubt verbose expletives. Though we know your dream is the VBC (Vienna Boys Choir……. duh) we are so thankful you became a LOG.


This disturbingly tall blond boy from the wrong side of PA (not the ‘across the track’ wrong side, the ‘momma, I’m gonna go get me a sheep’ wrong side) seems meek at first glance, but that all jumps out of the closet, along with his heterosexuality, anytime there’s a drum beat. Watching this beanstalk dance is like a collage of all great dance forms, at least 3 psychedelic drugs, and 2 wars. It leaves the mind aching, and the rhythm gasping for air. The dancing doesn’t even begin to describe the insanity that is VarSanchez. He’s been seen convincing even ‘girls’ girls’ to play for the winning team (if you know what I mean). And when he’s not showing off his voice, he can be found wearing his name across his loins (fits the full name of course), as a Speedo-bearing member of the Varsity Swim Team.