The Who The Who Left Out

Ignoring all reason, hoping to squeeze in, young Hobart strolled onto the stage.
The band was held rapt as our hero slapped on his bass in a musical rage.

Said Keith, the band's drummer, "I might join this number!", as he banged away on his kit.
"The melody's grand, I think I could stand having him play for a bit."

Not skipping a beat, Hobart turned to Pete, and roguishly grinned at the chap.
Picking out a mean flurry, as though in a hurry, he popped off a 12-bar blues slap.

Seeing this as his queue, this music so blue, this fellow named Pete joined the fray.
A few chords were strummed and the atmosphere hummed as this threesome jammed away.

Pete smiled and quipped, "Just how this chap slipped on the stage will a mystery remain."
"But nevertheless, this bassist's the best!  His skill with the thing is quite plain!"

The band requested he stay and be tested, this young Hobart from Nowhere.
Yet off of the stage, silent in rage, a lone hopeful seethed with a glare.

Ignoring that one, Roger joined the fun, and grabbed a guitar of his own.
Just one note he struck, and darn the bad luck, it seemed the speaker had blown.

Not wanting to quit, they decided to sit, this quartet of musical men.
Out came the acoustics, Keith grabbing for new sticks, and the session began once again.

When in from the dark came a fellow so stark, with eyes glowing hotly with ire.
"My name is John; seems I've come upon a campsite lacking a fire!"

In what now was a race, John grabbed Hobart's bass, and expertly set to playing.
"I'll beat you with skill and melodic will," yelled John.  "I'm the one who'll be staying!"

So artfully graceful, John gave them a face full of unbelievable bass.
At Hobart he yelled, "You've just been spelled; now leave you unskilled disgrace!"

His voice but a rasp, young Hobart did gasp at the accusations just made.
"There's no way," he spoke, "this fellow's a joke!  You gents just heard how I played!"

Replying in kind, John then lost his mind, and raised the bass overhead,
saying "For that remark, I bid you to hark!"  And to the ground the bass sped.

Splinters went flying, the young guitar dying in echoes of broken strings.
The bandmates then knew they'd finished the crew and set off to break other things.

Nothing was spared, not guitar, not snare, in the frenzy that ensued;
As Hobart looked on, all sanity gone, the newly formed band came unglued.

Minutes had passed, the band became gassed, and finally peace then reigned.
Feeling dejected, young Hobart inspected his poor bass guitar's remains.

"No good can come of what you've just done," Hobart resigned with a sigh.
"I'd never approve of your reckless groove; It's time I said my goodbye."

Our hero departed, quite brokenhearted, and feeling a bit subdued.
A man agonized, for he'd realized, his musical dreams had been Whoed.