But to be fair, the sheer joy and bonhomie with which he banged his drums powered the trio through many mishaps.
On bass, the modestly named Handsome A. He was a solid, steady bassman. Until he got boozed. Then, possessed with what he cryptically referred to as his "Rebel Yell" he became an erratic, irresponsible bassman, unafraid to risk everything in pursuit of rock star glory.
This Rebel Yell saw him only rebel against his actual skill level as he attempted flashy bits of bass razzamatazz that, at best, he had a 50 per cent chance of pulling off. When he did it was a marvel of musicianship. But when he didn't it signalled the beginning of the end for the band's set. And finally, on guitar, the Kmann. The most musically talented of the group. And easily the coolest dude in the band. The giant on whose shoulders the other two stood. He attacked his guitar parts with rakish intensity, sending his guitar soloing with a louche ease - especially when launching into his signature tune: a mind-expanding cover of Santana's shamanic Black Magic Woman.
As guitarist and founding member, I can quite confidently state that we were the greatest worst virtual covers band the world has never seen.
Nearly every Friday night for nearly two years in the mid-noughties The PMZ would assemble at mine to have a few drinks and kick out the jams.
I'd set up the plastic drum kit, charge up the plastic guitars and load up the very latest Guitar Hero on my Xbox. That done, we were ready to rock. It was a terrific start to the night's festivities.
It was a great era for The PMZ and it was an even greater era for any and all wannabe rock and rollers who happened to own a games console. It was the era of the music rhythm game. A genre that burned brightly before being unceremoniously snuffed out.
For a number of years the two rival franchises Guitar Hero and Rock Band battled it out for chart supremacy, spewing plastic instrument controllers into the world's living rooms. With options to create bands, save profiles and change skill level, novice players could happily jam along with those who had spent far too long riffing their hearts out.
The great trick was the illusion of musical prowess and how accurately the game recreated the band vibe. When the three of us were rocking a song, being cheered by the virtual crowd it truly felt like we were the greatest band in the world.
But popularity is a fickle beast; one day you're in, the next you're out. And just like that, music rhythm was most definitely out. It was weird. The game just stopped being fun. Maybe there's only so long you can jump around the lounge clutching a brightly coloured toy guitar before you start feeling a little bit silly. Just like that The PMZ were no more. I packed up the controllers and left the virtual rock n' roll lifestyle behind me.
As did the rest of the world, who seemed to come to the same conclusion at the same time. After a relentless schedule of updates, themed packs and DLC the curtain finally fell on Guitar Hero in 2010. Not to thunderous applause but rather to an indifferent shrug.
So this week's announcement that after five long years Guitar Hero was back, baby, took me by surprise. Announced for all consoles and, bizarrely, mobile devices, the new game hopes to reignite the rock. It certainly looks ambitious, though I'm not impressed with the mid-90s CD-ROM apeing FMV vibe they've got going on. But it's too early to tell if this will be a triumphant return to form for the genre's past masters or an embarrassing middle-aged reunion cash grab. Is the audience still there or have they all moved on?
I guess, really, it all boils down to one simple question: are you ready to rock? Nails, if you're reading, gizzus a call.
