Jean's talent cover the gamut. She has a stylistic range that allows her to fit any situation. She also possesses an unparalleled ability to create delicious drumbeats. From the first pentatonic paradiddle to the final phrygian flamadiddle, Jean creates a ride to remember.

When one thinks of Greg, the first word that comes to mind is Spam. Greg is solid, reliable, oleaginous, and covered in a gelatinous goo. Qualities you adore in a lunchmeat, or a long-time friend. Greg has played drums and percussion behind 135% of Wisconsin bands over the last forty nine years. What more can we say. He's been there, tasted it, and come back for more. Don't ask him to sit down though. There's just too much to do.

Steve is the largest member of REPLAY and it shows, because he frequently loses his shirt. He brings to the party over 20 years of experience and adds a pungent male vocal presence in both lead singing, harmony, and fustification. Steve displays an athletic guitar playing style he perfected in Gold's Gym. He also provides a deep insouciance in song-arrangment that is a contributing factor in the "REPLAY" sound. As if this weren't enough, Steve can be credited for single-handedly saving this band's sorry ass and for delaying them the humiliation of appearing on VH1's "Where Are They Now?"

Back in the day, a diminutive marsupial named Helmut dropped off a simple pantyhose egg on the doorstep of the Casa del Replay. And tarnation! Sure as Kilimanjaro rises like Olympus above the Serengeti, Bubbles hatched herself into existence. Being concerned with the rites of decency and organic dignity, the Replay band gave young Bubbles a keyboard on her 1st unbirthday. It was soon discovered that, natural as pancakes, that girl could play those keys and soon was proclaimed by the editorial staff of The Valley Scene to be the bustiest keyboardister since Studebaker Hawke. But you'll never know, unless you get yer beehind (and your beehive, if you are follically inclined) out to a Replay show.

Tom has been at this for a long time. Probably too long. As a small child, watching Greg play in a warmup band at Woodstock, Tom decided that he'd like to play in a band too. As a lad of twenty-five Tom ran away from home to pursue that dream with only the milk money in his pocket and the weight of certain humiliation on his back. Shortly, he hooked up with Greg playing the Motel Six circuit in Nebraska. After twenty years and a list of former bandmates that make Helmut Newton look like a wedding photographer, Greg and Tom can still look at each other over the plastic woodblock and say, "five more years."

Jon, Jon, Jon. Three words be no less musical than Handel's Messiah. Spawned from a perfect intersection of the crescent moon and the stuff inside a lava lamp. Thy name be manifest perfection. As are you. Rotator of knobs, slider of sliders, so handy with a wrench that grown men swoon in your presence. All hail Jon.

And can you turn up Steve's monitor just a little?