The Conquerors convene only when convenient for the individually cantankerous, curmudgeonly, callous & cocky members. Their justified & ancient leader, Keith Patterson is so riddled with aches and pains that it is a miracle when he leaves the house, if ever. Periodically he is strapped to a gurney and transported to a secret location; upon arrival a painful device called a Bison is strapped on him and he is then barely enabled to participate in the ritual racket-making.

The enabler in this scheme is a saturnine and well built tradesman called Adam "Sluggo" Fesenmaier. He is dedicated to his own pleasures and has little time for non-sense, save for pushing Patterson's wheelchair when necessary. Concluding his caretaking duties, the Fez retires to the basement pedal testing chamber and gives all present an extended earful of the latest in electronic squall. After rummaging through the Blackmore & Montgomery catalogues, he repairs to a nearby tavern to either talk shop or on occasion, cause "bovver". Then quietly returns to his family, on the right side of the tracks.

Stopping by for a few short minutes, from an editing suite way 'cross town, is the man who will bring this meeting to order (and in tempo)- Mr. Bonnie Greg. Diplomacy and drumsticks are the tools employed by the slightly hunched batteur. The organization would have collapsed early on if not for Bonnie's subtly strongarm tactics in finding floors to kip on (and preventing Patterson being buggered by a 400 lb. "Bear"). His 17 year old son tolerates him at home, barely, in the deep south of Minneapolis.

Completing the foul brew of humanity, David J. Russ was forced into this loathsome brotherhood only after two successive choir directors vanished amid the curdled atmosphere of the cavernous clubhouse. And by virtue of the fact he is also the landlord ("you're not living here, are you?"). When not snarling "what the fuhuuck?!!" at his aging co-conspirators, DJR can usually be found collecting awards for swindling young Lutherans and making pancakes. Most recently he invoked the furor of the Bible belt after claiming to be "bigger than Levon Helm!"

Simply put, The Conquerors are of little use to, nor humble toward the Rock community. They offer no soul salvation or redemption via the powers of their music, as most orchestras in this day and age are wont to claim. Despite it all, this motley collection of groovy grandpas can still slake the world's collective thirst, if only because they don't brew Falstaff anymore.