Four or five years ago, I went to a rollerderby match, and during the intermission, they announced a band called The Group Hug. Then three high-school-aged boys come out. Except it was actually two boys and a refridgerator box shuffling out. The box is decorated in glitter paint and has the band's name printed across it. Also, the drummer is this beefy, bearded guy wearing a floral-print dress. At no point during the performance was this ever addressed.
So the band starts playing, and the singer busts out of the box wearing a leather jacket and cheap plastic shades. The whole time he's singing, he's jumping around the penalty box, pretend-kickboxing with members of the audience, just going ape shit. Then, as soon as the first song ends, he dashes back into his box and reappears in a different costume. Now he was dressed in a wrestling unitard and singing something about his coach. In a four-song set, he did three costume changes and never stopped moving. By the end, the drummer was dripping sweat, face red as a beet. My girlfriend was seriously afraid he was about to collapse over his drumset.
Their guitarist knew three cords, they were more "loud" than "good," but damnit, I've watched musicians getting paid tens of thousands a night to play for a stadium of screaming fans who didn't work as hard, or had as much fun, as those guys did.
The Group Hug didn't last very long. At least, I never saw or heard from them after that one show. They didn't have any CDs to sell after the show, but I bought some stickers. One of them is still stuck to the side of my dresser. I glance at it sometimes and remember the best live act I've ever seen.