By Rachel Sauer
Special to The Daily Sentinel
If, like me, you have survived on a diet of mostly fingernails and stomach acid this week, and worn your fingerprints smooth hitting refresh on pages of election coverage, then allow me to tell you of the solace I’ve found in the ukulele.
And by “solace” I mean “my ukulele teacher sighed just a skosh less than usual Thursday night.”
As I’ve mentioned before, I asked for and received a ukulele two Christmases ago, then bought “Ukulele Primer for Beginners,” a book with four and a half mysteriously blank pages at the back. Am I supposed to dash off music I compose? Journal my thoughts?
Dear Ukulele Diary,
I seriously doubt any pineapples are going to grow or ocean breezes blow while I’m around. I believe the music I’m making is better suited to getting sand kicked in my face at the beach or raising sea beasts to terrorize Tokyo. Plus, what the actual heck, D chord?? I’m supposed to squish three fingers onto three strings ON THE SAME FRET??? Do you even understand how hands work??
Disgruntledly,
Rachel
Suffice it to say, the sounds I produced on my own, in a darkened corner, with the door closed, and religious candles lit to ward off the mid-level demons I might inadvertently be summoning, were not going to raise Don Ho from the grave weeping tears of musical gratitude, if you get my drift.
I am not a gifted solo ukulele learner, it turns out, so I signed up for a community education class.
My previous experience with community education musical instruction was a steel drum class I took in Florida. It was good fun and had the added bonus of a teacher who informed my classmates and me that there’s a secret planet on the other side of the sun that the CIA isn’t telling us about. Obviously, I demand answers.
However, while I loved playing the steel drum, it isn’t the most convenient of instruments, even those tabletop jobbies. While I cherish the mental image of a Rocky Mountain campfire hootenanny at which I declare, “Hang on, gang, let me grab my steel drum,” and then harmonize on “Peaceful Easy Feeling” – because it’s always “Peaceful Easy Feeling” – ultimately it strikes me as a lot of heavy lifting.
No, I’ve come to value the portability of a ukulele, plus it only has four strings, statistically fewer strings than a guitar and (in theory) fewer for me to get wrong. You better believe my next step is the Chinese erhu, which only has two.
So, my class began three weeks ago, and if you’ve never lurked in a community center meeting room with eight adults clutching $50 ukuleles and staring blankly at a gentleman named Henry, then you haven’t lived.
Henry seems to believe that the ol’ strum-and-sing method of generic chords and the Jason Mraz songbook is the coward’s way out, so it’s important to him that we learn individual notes. I adore Henry.
We began with Brahm’s Lullaby, and I’m sorry to say that no babies will be lulled to dreamland in the foreseeable future.
Ukulele students: Lull…
…
…
Ukulele students: …a…
…
…
Ukulele students: …by…
And Henry meanwhile saying, “I’m hearing an F. We need a G – second string, third fret. OK, I’m still hearing an F. Nope, that’s going to wake up the baby. OK, look at my fingers. Nope, still F, look at my fingers.” The man deserves a medal.
I’m sorry to admit that group instruction ignites my generally latent competitive streak, and I’m secretly vying to be valedictorian of ukulele class. My status is in uncertain after Thursday night, however.
In a grudging concession to strum-and-sing, Henry brought us music for “Hey Jude” and the Eagles’ “Desperado.” I understand now why Desperado is unable to come to his senses.
We launched in with a G chord and then sang. Yes, sang, five adults (we lost three classmates) tremulously strumming $50 ukuleles in varying combinations of occasionally correct finger placement, singing about ridin’ fences and advising whoever’s listening not to draw the queen of diamonds.
I don’t know about anyone else, but on average I had to warble through four or five notes before finding the correct one. And that was with my voice. “Hey Jude” was about the same. These were among my favorite versions of both these songs.
And you know what I didn’t do for the hour I was in class? Hit refresh. Plus! Henry promised that next Thursday we’ll do some Christmas music! The way I play, those reindeer are going to be pausing on the housetop for a loooooooong time.