Brian kicked the bass drum. His foot led the pace of the song. The sound transmitted itself through my chest, challenging my heart for dominance.  I watched Bob as he fingered a chord, ready to join the song. With the pick in his right hand, he raised it and strummed the strings. At the same time, I did the same. Instantly, I was in a band. Bobby launched into the vocals, enthusiasm pouring through the microphone and amplifier into the room. I stood nearest to my friend, Steve, the bassist.

Steve had introduced me to the band, inviting me to join him on a “Friends and Family” night when acquaintances could join the band onstage. That first night was the thrill of a lifetime. And instantly, I had the bug to do more.

I was nervous before joining them onstage that first night. When I’m anxious, I talk nonstop, trying to defuse the tension with humor. I offered to pay off the bartender to call out “last call” to avoid playing and potentially making a fool of myself. I playfully curse my sister-in-law, Steve’s girlfriend, for making me do this in the first place. Steve told me the three songs I would accompany the band with. I had practiced them incessantly for a week. Then, a few hours before the event, he texted me the songs again. Except they were different! I practiced the new batch until I had to leave. When I arrived at the bar, Steve told me the three songs I would be accompanying the band with. Two were different! I panicked. I had played them before but was not as comfortable with them as I was with the others.

And then something amazing happened. I joined the guys on stage, plugged in my guitar, the song began, and muscle memory took over. I did know the songs well enough to enjoy myself thoroughly. The other member of the band, Joel, is flat-out incredible. He plays the guitar (incredibly well), the violin, bass, and harmonica. There are cover songs the band plays where the original has no violin, and yet Joel can launch into a solo that catches your breath. He did that on one of the songs I was playing. Comfortable enough with the rhythm section I was playing, I found myself mesmerized by Joel’s violin. I thought to myself that I had the best seat in the house. When the song ended, I found myself applauding along with the audience.

The band practices every Monday night. I have not joined them as I am not a member. I can only imagine how fluid the band members become as they feed off of each other while playing, comfortable with their arrangement of any given song and working out any flaws. How powerful and collegial it must be.

In contrast, I have only played with Pink Floyd, The Beatles, The Rolling Stones, P!nk, Green Day, My Chemical Romance, Eric Clapton, and other bands. Well, not really. I play along with songs by these bands, learning chords, strumming patterns, and pretending I can solo.

I learned to play the guitar in college. I’m left-handed, and so was my roommate, Eric. He played and had a couple of guitars. He taught me a few chords, and I fiddled with them, eager to learn. Bill, across the hall, was a major Ozzy fan. More than once, upon returning from class, I would hear Randy Rhodes midway through a classically inspired solo in an Ozzy song, Bill attempting to follow along. Eric was excellent. I was not. I’m still not. I’ve learned many more chords and can play along with hundreds of songs. And that’s fine with me. Playing the guitar is relaxing. I can play along and forget the stresses of life for a while.

As someone who likes to write, the creativity bug bit me hard before playing with the band. Other than learning the circle of fifths, I churned out eight songs in a week without the benefit of any songwriting rules. Some were new, while others were old poems I put to music. I’m sure they are awful. I’ve played them many times in my office, trying to sing along. Learning to play and sing at the same time is a skill. I’m getting there. I have an audience of one, me, who is critical enough. I doubt anyone outside of my house will ever hear these songs.

Playing with the band has been a thrill. All of the guys are very kind and have welcomed me. They are Crazy Pete’s Band. And like Pink Floyd, none of them are named Pete. There’s a story about the name. Something about a character in their town everyone knew. They play every third Wednesday at the Common Pub in Bristol, Rhode Island. They’re great guys, the music is fun, and it’s a good time and even better when you play with them!