Who you are doesn’t matter, they come to hear,
Some high on life, others drunk on beer.
Sit and enjoy, there is no need to pay,
A group with little practice is about to play.
People in lawn chairs scattered all over the yard,
They begin to cheer when they hear the first chord.
Duct taped wires and oil on the floor,
The opening song leaves everyone wanting more.
When the last song is played, and the music is done,
People start to leave at the first light of sun.
This group packs up, until next time they disband,
There is nothing greater than a garage band.
Therapy, like people, come in all forms, shapes, and sizes. It doesn’t matter where you come from or who you are, a hobby of some sort can be an excellent therapy. I have always said that music is a universal language. This includes raw music. I found that playing guitar, drums, and doing a little singing has been one of my greatest outlets. Are we any good? I would say probably not, but we don’t care. Is it some of the most fun I have ever had? Absolutely it is. Thank you to my wife for the picture.
I wrote a little poem about a garage band. Music, good or bad, has been both therapeutic and one of the best things in my life.