Why I play the ukulele

I play the ukulele. I know, you're probably thinking, "Oh, you're one of those hipster pricks." While I like fairy lights and Mason jars about as much as the next man, I didn't choose ukulele so that I could fit with the great sockless, box-drumming masses. The whys of my choice lie at the intersection of biology, spontaneity, history and happenstance.

History, repeating

I've never really been taught an instrument. Growing up, my parents weren't interested in developing me in that way (or, any way other than the basics really...) – which is a shame because as I've grown older, it's become clear I do have some smidgeon of musical ability.

Throughout my childhood, I would throw myself at the spiked walls between myself and musicality until I was bloody and bruised, but with a new line of enquiry crossed off. I knew that having music in my life was something that I wanted, but it took years to find my way. 

School of hard knocks

I've had a fair few attempts at finding music.

I joined the school choir because I love to sing, though my naturally individualistic nature meant I disliked basically everything about the 'school choir' part. All that smiling-while-singing, and the prerequisite to sing-like-a-Casio-keyboard. You know, the choir singing that children do: mouths and eyes wide, flatly exacting on a simplified melody, with no swing or passion to it. Excruciating. On the other hand, my crippling shyness of the spotlight meant that while I was told I had the voice for solos, my throat would close up when I tried. I pale a little at the memory of discovering that particular fact, in front of a class of my peers, even now. 

School violin lessons didn't work out. They were doomed from the start...and cancelled by my parents when I mentioned that half the lesson was spent with the elderly teacher tuning the group's broken school violins while we sat, waiting. Years later, I saved for months, bought myself a cheap violin and (despite great levels of pain in fingers and neck) taught myself up to Grade 2. Then I realised I'd need a tutor to progress further. I couldn't afford one, wasn't allowed one (see the aforementioned parental disdain) and that was the end of that.

Fast-forward a few years and I borrowed my then-boyfriend's guitar: his first electric, and now mine on loan. This clunky beauty was precious like diamonds to me – but thinking about it now, it badly needed new strings, and the action easing up. It ripped my fingertips to shreds. I persevered for months, poring over photocopied printouts of chord diagrams and songs scribed out in biro by a friend's friend. I taught myself how to play to a fair standard, but could never master barre chords. Certain finger layouts and moves that other people found natural were impossible for me. After an age of frustration, joint-locking and more pain, academic life called. Guitar and its stumbling blocks faded while college, living in halls and University bloomed.

At Uni, I was diagnosed with EDS3, and my troubles with violin and guitar made sense. No wonder I couldn't hold the violin with my neck like other people! Naturally, I couldn't do barre chords on that guitar! The doctor told me to say goodbye to high heels and playing an instrument.

After University, there were some flailing, bloody-minded attempts at keyboard. I had neither passion nor affinity for the instrument. Its cold keys thumbed their noses at me in disinterest. 

Later I bought a cello...and got absolutely nowhere. It was too loud, and I was too heavy-handed at it, probably due to my compromised proprioception from my EDS... 

Which brings me to last year, at age 35. By this point I have no real musical outlet – I'm pretty sure I can sing though. I've fiddled and tried (with varying results) to teach myself how to record on Cubase, but writing songs is hard without background knowledge. My musical output is limited to singing along with whatever my now-husband will play for me. (Remember that guy who lent me his first electric guitar when I was 16? He stayed.) And while he's willing, and patient, and endlessly kind, something is missing. 

Under the surface, unbeknownst to myself, I am frustrated by the state of affairs. But I won't realise that until an impromptu conversation changes everything.

Turnabout 

On the tram to work one day, that kind-eyed-boy and I have an off-the-cuff conversation like this:

Red: What I want is a guitar, but one that's easier to play than your ones.

Blue: Like an acoustic guitar then? With nylon strings so it's nicer to your fingers.

Red: Yeah, I guess. But maybe smaller or lighter so it's not so hard on my joints to hold the neck.

Blue: So, like...a ukulele then?

Red: What?!? 

Blue: Well, that fits the bill of what you just described. Small, light, gentle action. Though they have certain associations, and I don't know if you want to be that guy.

Red: What associations? I associate them with Breakfast at Tiffany's, where she sings Moon River. What are they usually associated with?

Blue: Well, hipster twats who sing pseudo-folksy bollocks and have those haircuts. Bands where they wear waistcoats and some idiot sits on a box and drums on it. They're a hipster instrument, and they're kind of 'in' at the moment.

Red: Really? Ugh. Maybe they're not the kind of thing I want to be associated with.

Blue: Or, you know, George Formby, leaning on a lamppost.

Red: Even worse. I hate that guy. Regardless, a ukulele sounds like what I might be after. 

And here's where spontaneity strikes.

Red: So...wanna go to a music shop with me tonight and look at some? Maybe I'll buy one?

That night, we trekked to the other side of the city, out to the industrial sticks where the gargantuan retail warehouses swallow money. We muddled our way through the labyrinthine music store to the ukulele section, where the comically dinky toy-town versions of acoustic guitars slept. And I picked up the first instrument in my life that would feel just right. Like it was already mine. I bought it on the spot, and played for hours when we got home.

Who I have become 

That was just over year ago. Since then, I've practised most every day. Usually I'll play for an hour or so, singing and playing songs I know, using chords found on the internet. Often I'll play literally for hours, and not realise how much time has passed.

Given the automatic, instinctive dedication I've discovered, I can safely say ukulele isn't a fad for me...though it may border on an obsession, but only in a good way. Oh, and somehow I own four ukuleles now. 

The reasons

That conversation on the tram was spot on: ukulele was exactly what I had been searching for.

They're essentially miniature acoustic guitars, sized-down with narrow necks, fewer strings (four, not six) and a gentler action. While it hurt my fingertips to play at first, I quickly built calluses and now the pain I still experience (from my EDS when playing) is mild – but absolutely justifiable, given the joy that playing brings to me. 

Since my condition doesn't get in the way all that much with ukulele, suddenly the door to learning and playing an instrument was open for me, for the first time – and it's just as wonderful as I'd hoped. Singing and playing songs, learning new chords, mastering tricky ones, making progress, and just making a tuneful sound gives an incredible sense of achievement.

I think the voice of the ukulele is beautiful too – like a little harp – though I often dislike the sound of it played by others. But then, due to my tastes and some workarounds due to my condition, I don't play like other people. As always, it's my preference to buck pointless convention to do what feels good and right. Ukulele lets me do that but still follow the rules enough to learn, grow and improve. 

Did you know ukuleles come in different sizes? I didn't. I chose a concert sized ukulele (the second-to-smallest size) not just because I think the truly tiny soprano-sized ones generally look a bit bloody stupid, but because I prefer the slightly mellower sound, and my long, thin, lock-prone fingers can fit more easily in the top frets.

Picking up my first ukulele in the music shop was a revelation because it felt right. It felt mine. It didn't feel like I was trying to coax something from nothing – but instead like the magic I'd hoped to find was present and real. Achievable. Natural.

Why did I choose ukulele? I didn't, it chose me.