The Ukelele Syndrome

Times of TW

Fretting over a lost chord

By Kent Barker

A number of years back a friend started circulating notices of unusual upcoming concerts.  In itself, this was unsurprising. A group of us would often share information about the chance to see Neil Young or Bob Dylan or even the remnants of Pink Floyd. But these were different. They were for the Ukelele Orchestra of Great Britain. Frankly, we thought him a bit bonkers. I mean, he’d always been eccentric ever since he’d played drums on an early David Bowie recording and had then been dropped before the Hunky Dory album. Such chance disappointments can affect your whole demeanour. (Just think how Pete Best must have felt when Brian Epstein told him "The lads don't want you in the group any more.”)

Anyway, I never took my friend up on his offer to see the ‘Ukes’, and then he moved to China and we’ve hardly been in touch since. But I have heard more and more about these unusual ukelele musicians and their curious four-stringed Hawaiian, miniature, guitar-like instruments. With abundant musical humour and apparently effortless ability, they take jazz, pop and classical standards and transpose them. In 2009, they even sold out the Royal Albert Hall for a Prom performance which included Beethoven’s Ode to Joy.

Now, a small personal confession. I am, musically, all but illiterate. And any small ability I might have had was crushed when, aged about 11 and auditioning for a school production of The Mikado, I was told firmly by the music teacher that I was ‘tone deaf’. Certainly, all subsequent attempts at singing or playing music resulted in failure. I was even instructed by the mother of my baby son not to sing him lullabies lest the discordant tones should ruin him musically for life. (I did and it didn’t and we’re now divorced but that’s another story).

So, given all the above, you might have been rather surprised to find me sitting in the back room of our local pub last week with a new ukulele across my knee, rehearsing Blowin’ in the Wind with 15 others. It certainly surprised me.

It’s true I had been considering the possibility of taking lessons for a while.  They are such jolly little instruments and, I was informed, extremely easy to play.  So when someone in the pub suggested we form our own ukulele ensemble, I agreed to join in. (It’s noticeable, however, that he then disappeared to do old- time dancing classes instead!)  But others liked the idea and an enterprising friend drove to Ashford to pick up 20 Soprano Ukes in various bright colours.  Mine was red and I was intensely proud of the little thing and almost immediately began fantasising about headlining Glasto with my own unique style.  The reality, however, was somewhat different. To start with, apparently, you have to tune the thing. This was certainly way beyond my competence, but an app on the iPad helped and I managed to tighten the strings until I obtained a sound that roughly approximated to the given note. Then I was told I’d have to learn something called chords. This was a bit of a blow as it seemed that everyone else in the group knew what a chord was and, more to the point, could actually achieve several in a row.

Try as I may, I simply couldn’t get my fingers onto the fret in anything like the right order. The ‘C’ wasn’t too difficult as you only have to hold down one string, likewise an ‘A minor’.  But a ‘G’ or a ‘G7’ seemed completely impossible as it required three fingers. By the end of an hour I was utterly frustrated, with aching wrist and sore fingertips. Meanwhile the ‘intermediate’ group on the other side of the room were all thoroughly enjoying themselves romping through Octopus’s Garden. Finally the music teacher who was selflessly overseeing the session took pity on me and suggested I might be better off with a bigger instrument which to accommodate my fat digits.

So a week or so later my new baritone ukulele arrived and, joy of joys, I found my fingers actually fitted on the fret. With little time to practice, I went to the next pub session imagining I’d again be the class duffer. But an amazing thing happened. There were other neophytes present who were WORSE at it than me.  The teacher even asked me to show one how to do a G7!

I know there’s a long way to go before I’m headlining the Pyramid stage and I doubt if I’ll ever be invited to join the ‘Ukes’. But my ambition is to learn sufficient chords to fumble my way through a Leonard Cohen song –when my total inability to sing may go partially unnoticed.