I don’t want to say that Queens of the Stone Age’s lineup changes a lot, but when I ask bassist Nick Oliveri who’s playing drums on the upcoming tour, he has to call across the parking lot outside their rehearsal studio. “Hey! What’s Kellii’s last name?”

Oliveri can be forgiven the momentary slip. (Kellii's last name is Scott, by the way.) After all, it wasn't more than a couple of months ago that the Queens came through town with a certain Foo Fighter behind the kit -- to quote the parting remarks of one awestruck fan, "Man, we just saw Dave Grohl!" Oliveri and guitarist Josh Homme, both veterans of '90s monsters of rock Kyuss, are the center of the band's revolving cast of characters, which has also included Mark Lanegan and Barrett Martin (both of Screaming Trees, with whom Homme toured after Kyuss' breakup), A Perfect Circle's Troy Van Leeuwen, even "Hats Off To" Rob Halford, who put the "C-c-c-c-c-cocaine" in "Feel Good Hit of the Summer," the song whose driving, high-concept attack helped make the Queens' Rated R the disc of choice for PBR-hoisting, narcotically enthused rock-heads who've gotten tired of blowing the dust off their Mötorhead LPs. Of course, the Queens don't take kindly to categorization: "Feel Good Hit," whose lyrics simply run through a shopping list of illegal substances, was the band's shot at critics who labeled their first album "stoner rock," and even their name was chosen to preempt homophobic metal fans from coming to their shows.

Songs for the Deaf (Interscope), the Queens' long-awaited third album, similarly resists easy labels. The album's songs are linked together by the chatter of a half-dozen fictional radio stations, whose oily DJs do their best to cram Songs into their cookie-cutter formats. The first assumption is that the band's taking a slap at commercial radio for presumably refusing to play them (although they did have a minor hit with "The Lost Art of Keeping a Secret," from Rated R). But Oliveri says it ain't so. "The only thing I'm bitter about is that rock radio doesn't play The Ramones," he says. "I don't understand that at all."

The idea for the radio sketches came about, Oliveri explains, partly just 'cause they thought it was funny, but also because they were faced with the unusual problem of having a record so varied it didn't sound like all the songs were played by the same band. With lead vocal duties split between Homme, Oliveri and Lanegan, and styles ranging from the anthemic thud of "You Think I Ain't Worth a Dollar, But I Feel Like a Millionaire" to the murder ballad swoon of "Hanging Tree" -- not to mention the hidden "Mosquito Song," which could be what the Queens might come up with if asked to provide a theme for the next James Bond movie -- ended up sounding, Oliveri says, "kind of like a compilation record. It's still our tone, it's still us playing on all the songs, but we like so many different things that we wondered, ŒWow, what's gonna make these tie together?' The only thing that did was the radio thing." Think of Songs for the Deaf as twisting the dial in a Clear-Channel-free world, one where radio stations sound different from each other, and still play songs you want to hear.

Of course, changing lineups quicker than Destiny's Child has its price. Playing with Grohl, Oliveri says as wistfully as you expect a bald, tattooed man with a six-inch goatee to get, was an experience not likely to be equaled any time soon. "I just tried to lock in with him, and it really started to happen. Like, wow, this is kind of a rhythm section thing -- I've never had that before. So it was a good fit, and I was happy to do it for a little while. He's on the record, and that's what counts."

But there's no question that the band's varied roster of contributors is key to the refreshing variety of their records, which leaves contemporaries choking on their dust. Given what passes for hard rock these days, it's not surprising that the Andrew W.K.s of the world fall back on self-parody and WWF theatrics, or pursue the lucrative music-as-therapy route made popular by those wankers in Creed (who make what a friend describes as "my daddy touched my bunghole" rock). But while they're not above the occasional balls-out party rocker, Homme more often slips into falsetto than a Cookie Monster growl, and if Oliveri dresses the part, Homme sports short, vaguely spiky hair and shiny button-down shirts. At their shows, you're as likely to get jostled by a chunky-shoed indie rock girly as a pumped and tatted headbanger. And that's just how the band likes it. "One of the things we weren't into from the former band was the huge amount of guys [who'd show up]," Oliveri says. "It was guy rock, basically. We weren't trying to be, but when we were young, we were a little more pissed off, I guess. I'm not saying we're soft [now], but fortunately, we have been an alternative, like ŒBring your girl, she'd be into it, too.' That's kind of cool to me to see a more evened-out crowd, whether it's a different race or whatever." He starts to chuckle. "Definitely more girls is a plus. Dude, I'm on tour living with six other dudes, man! To see a girl is like a breath of fresh air. It's like, ŒWow, a chick! She smells a lot better than the hardtails on the bus.'"

Queens of the Stone Age plays Sat., Aug. 31, 8:30 p.m., with …And You Will Know Us by the Trail of the Dead and The Burning Brides, $20, Electric Factory, 421 N. Seventh St., 215-336-2000.