The mood is a little tense in the Griz Collective's storage space-turned-rehearsal studio, as the four band members wait for a guy named Rob Bower to show up for his audition. "He sounded pretty relaxed on the phone, so I'm not surprised he's late," says guitarist Roy Kielich, between swigs from a can of Busch.

"I really don't like auditioning people," Alan Treotch chimes in, tapping a Parisian-style tune on his keyboard. "It's like a blind date — you have a few things in common, but it's still [awkward]."

Bower, 28, shows up 30 minutes late with a six pack of Red Stripe, which instantly puts him on the band's good side. Because with the Griz Collective, finding a replacement for their longtime drummer is about more than filling a spot behind the kit. It's a search for a new buddy — a tall order for the 44-word ad they placed on Craigslist.com.

For the past seven weeks, band members Roy Kielich (lead guitar), Mike Schilp (guitar), Alan Treotch (keyboards) and Ernesto Ruiz (bass) have searched for a replacement for their friend and drummer, Joe Lencioni, who is leaving Tampa for Illinois in pursuit of love and academia.

It's an experience shared by bands across the country. Any group of musicians with staying power will eventually bid goodbye to a bandmate or two, and if they're a relatively unknown act, they cannot rely on hype or record label success to draw aspirants. So when they exhaust possibilities within their clique, that's when websites like Craigslist offer a chance to snare a talented musician, and hopefully, a new friend.

But as the Griz Collective can tell you, finding a new band member is tough. Placing an ad is just the first, and easiest, step. Then come the auditions, events that make the band as uncomfortable as the musicians coming in. In the span of three or four hours, both the auditioner and current members must find common ground, musically and socially. Personality traits must be played as smooth as chord progressions, mutual respect must find its own groove.

"We're like brothers, man, we all do the same things," says departing drummer Lencioni, who said he feels just as responsible for finding his replacement. "We help each other move. We party together. How do you find a new brother?"

The whole process can be daunting and wearisome. "There's a certain level of frustration that goes with the whole [audition process]," Kielich says. "Having to do it in the first place is frustrating."

It's not something Kielich envisioned when he joined with four other USF students to form Griz Collective three years ago. They came together as a band of and for friends, crafting a wide-ranging sound that can only be described as "experimental reggae," and playing at area house parties until they had a following big enough to pack small bars like Tampa's Pegasus Lounge.

All went well until Lencioni announced his departure. "It's the first time we've had to [audition], but I think we have to in order to keep what we're doing," Kielich says.

Bower's tryout lasts three hours. His metal-laden drum lines only fit certain songs, and he seems unable to improvise and jam, taking a cigarette break after nearly every song. Once he leaves, the band reluctantly picks apart his performance.

"As far as transitions, he didn't quite pick up on it," Treotch says.

The others agree.

"Personality-wise, I liked him a lot," Kielich says. "I'd party with him, but he wasn't getting the vibe."

That vibe is the most important part of the Griz Collective.

During the next few weeks, the band holds a flurry of audition nights, frantically trying to fill their open spot before their last show with Lencioni. The guys' hopes rise when they pull up to their storage shed and see Bob Menzies waiting on top of his car. A tall, slim man with longish white hair and a bushy mustache, the 52-year-old looks like he could be in a Crosby, Stills and Nash cover band.

Menzies, a former jazz and blues drummer whose claim to fame is opening for REO Speedwagon in his younger days, plays an upbeat, creative set. His staying power surprises the band — he keeps up with the band for every second of a jam that lasts, seriously, 90 minutes. He lets out a loud guffaw as the last cymbal rattles.

Menzies might be their pick — if he chooses to join.

"It's not a one-way street," Menzies says of auditions. "What a lot of [bands] don't realize is the guy coming in is definitely checking out the band too." In the end, it didn't prove to be a good fit; both decided to go their separate ways.

The weeks and tryouts drag on: a Counting Crows fan too drunk to play; one annoying drummer who decides to show up with just one loud and jarring snare drum; another more interested in text-messaging his girlfriend than completing a song. Griz Collective ends up jamming with 10 drummers before settling on Craig Heneveld, an acquaintance from their college days. Heneveld, a regular DJ at Bahasa Lounge and former drummer for 10 Second Drop, has long come to the band's shows, partying with them and jamming along with Lencioni. When he agrees to sign on, the audition is a formality. Heneveld is more than good with the sticks. With his long dreadlocks and beard, he fits the band's look, too.

On the day of his last show, Lencioni throws the band a curve: His girlfriend does not want him to come to Illinois anymore. Problem. The band has already told Heneveld he was officially in and can't break its word.

"He's better than me," Lencioni says with a note of resignation. "I'm ready to move on. This really is my last gig."

That night, Griz Collective plays what they say is their best show yet, running through their standard set list with some special surprises like a spontaneous jam on the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles theme song.

After the gig, the band praises Lencioni and expresses relief over the end of the audition process. But then more problems. By the following week, after a talk with Heneveld determines his priorities lie with his DJ gigs and not the band, Griz Collective is back where they started a month ago.

Instead of putting out another ad, though, the members decide to revisit some previous auditioners. One of them, 31-year-old Tony Martin, returns. With his shaved head, clean-shaven face and flashy silver chain, he seems out of place among the dreadlocks, beards and hemp necklaces of the Griz Collective. He struggles with the slower reggae rhythms, but his style — a tight, funky blend of his rock and rap influences — works well with the group's faster jams. Martin has "potential" — the one thing Griz Collective has sought all along. After a long audition, Martin scores an invite into the Griz Collective family. He accepts.

Seven weeks, 11 drummers and more than 40 hours of auditions later, the Griz Collective is complete once more.

"It was interesting," Kielich says of the experience. "Something I never really thought I'd have to do when I started this band. It was kind of awkward at first, but we got to play with a bunch of different people and experience different styles and sounds."

But the end is a relief. Now, the task at hand is teaching Martin the finer points of Griz Collective — from the three-hour jams to the more wild, alcohol-fueled fun.

"We just want to get really tight," Kielich says, playing off the word both musically and socially. "We're not so much worried about coming up with new material. We just need to be tight and then we're going to play everywhere we can."

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This article appears in Aug 16-22, 2006.