The little instrument has gone from being an exotic new trend to
the embodiment of kitsch since it arrived
on Hawaii 125 years ago, but is currently enjoying a revival.
With its chunk-a-chunk sound, whispery nylon strings, and diminutive
body, the ukulele is having a moment. Or maybe even a decade. Zooey
Deschanel strums one while crooning sweetly with Joseph Gordon-Levitt.
Tony Blair disrupts Labour Party conventions with one. When Eddie Vedder
impulse-bought one on a trip to Hawaii, he was compelled to record a
whole album ofUkulele
Songs. (It won a Grammy, of course.) And then a Hawaiian ukulele
prodigyplayed
a Beatles coverin
Central Park, and the video went viral—but more on that later.
Despite a long history that once included a reputation as an exotic and
highbrow instrument, the ukulele has also endured decades of snubbing
from both the pop music scene and the more cultured world of classical
music. But with the help of trendsetters and tastemakers, it's making a
strong comeback—the National Association of Music Merchants reported a
54 percent jump in ukulele sales in 2013—that can be traced in large
part to the instrument's accessibility, affordability, YouTube
popularity, and celebrity esteem.
The instrument's renewed appeal can be seen in the rise of ukulele music
festivals, which have cropped up in places like Reno, Milwaukee, Napa,
Port Townsend, Washington, and Rockville, Maryland. Take New Jersey's
second annual Ukefest last August at the Morristown Unitarian Fellowship
Hall, which kicked off with 86 beginners tackling their first piece,
"Surfin' USA." During the festival, the rented church was awash with
love for the novices—a kind of generosity rarely seen at a piano or
guitar convention. “Strum with your index finger or thumb—whatever feels
good,” ukulele teacher, author, and songwriter Jim Beloff told the
beginners. “There are no ukulele police.”
True enough, cases plastered with stickers like “Ukes Heal” and “I’m Pro
Ukulele and I Vote” were sprawled out throughout the rooms. The inner
sanctum offered a hodgepodge of instruments on display: ukes fashioned
from indestructible polycarbonate and painted in retro pastels,
cigar-box ukes, and the classic natural wood Hawaiian models.
Participants lapped up advice on fingerpicking, playing by ear, and
songwriting in workshops with titles like “Something in the Way She
Ukes” and “Game of Ukes.”
This isn’t the ukulele’s first brush with mass popularity. The
instrument, with its four plastic strings and a short neck, originated
in Europe and was introduced to Hawaii in 1879 when a Portuguese
immigrant named Joao Fernandez jumped off the boat and started strumming
and singing with hisbranguinha(a
small guitar-like instrument, sometimes called the machete). The crowd
of Hawaiians were so impressed by his fingerboard prestidigitations that
they called the instrument “ukulele,” which translates to “jumping
flea.” Fernandez and the instrument became a local sensation, and the
reigning monarch Kalakaua even learned how to play it. By 1900, the
sound of the ukulele was ubiquitous across the Islands, where it was
pronounced by Hawaiians as “oo-ku-lay-lay.”
The ukulele got its first taste of mainland popularity in the 1900s when
the Panama Pacific International Exposition lured over 17 million
visitors with hula dance and song at the Hawaii Pavilion. What mainland
Americans lacked in understanding of their exotic territory’s music,
they made up for in enthusiasm. In 1913, a reporter for the Hartford
Courant described how "the wonderfully sweet voices and weird melodies
of these ukalele (sic) players strike a plaintive heart-note never to be
forgotten once heard.”
Cutesy Hawaiian kitsch became big business. By the 1920s, Sears Roebuck
and other department store catalogs offered ukes for a couple of
dollars—and sometimes even for free with the purchase of lessons. Tin
Pan Alley songsmiths cranked out dozens of “Hawaiian” novelty hits like
“On the Beach at Waikiki,” followed by parodies of those same hits (“Oh
How She Could Yacki Hacki Wicki Wacki Woo.”) Soon came an avalanche of
inexpensive, mainland-made plastic ukuleles, ukulele method books like
“Hum and Strum,” and “Beach Boy Method Hawaiian Style,” pandering to the
appeal of faraway Hawaii as an exotic paradise. For four decades, the
sounds of Hawaii drifted over the air to hundreds of radio stations.
The Great Depression provided another gateway for the ukulele. As sales
of pianos, accordions, and other pricey instruments soared, saving and
scrimping Americans helped boost the ukulele to peak popularity in the
1930s. Indeed, bluegrass music took off during that period as well, and
the ukulele is still strongly associated with the string-band
phenomenon.
Television offered a golden opportunity for the instrument. In 1950, the
popular television host Arthur Godfrey, sporting a Hawaiian shirt,
actually gave lessons to millions of viewers right in their living
rooms. Plastic ukuleles proliferated— $5.95 each—and 1,700,000 ukulele
players were born. Even Americans who'd never picked up an instrument
couldn’t help developing a soft spot for the uke when it was played by
Bing Crosby, Betty Grable, and Elvis Presley. (Blue Hawaiiwas
Presley’s biggest box-office hit, and the soundtrack was number one on
the Billboard charts for 5 months.) For a while it seemed like the
ukulele had it all: a high-class reputation on the silver screen and
folksy appeal as the people’s instrument.
Then came the ukepocalypse. For kids doing the Twist and rocking around
the clock, the ukulele looked and sounded like a toy, compared to the
thunderous electrified guitar sounds they heard from Elvis Presley and
Chuck Berry. “If a kid has a uke in his hand, he’s not going to get in
much trouble,” Arthur Godfrey had said, apparently unaware that he'd put
his finger on the uke’s fatal weakness.
Even as early as 1951, the National Association of Music Merchants
attributed swelling guitar sales to “the desire of persons who learned
to play the ukulele in its recent popularity upswing to master the more
advanced instrument.” And on February 9, 1964, 74 million viewers of a
popular variety show watched a typical ukulele act—a music hall artist
clad in gold lame and singing and strumming her heart out—followed by
four teens from Liverpool. As if the Fab Four playing “She Loves You” onEd
Sullivanweren’t
crushing enough for the little uke, Tiny Tim tiptoed through the tulips
on late-night television in 1967, consigning the ukulele to a two-
decades-long image of creepy emasculation, absurdity, and plain
irrelevance.
* * *
Then, decades later, a new generation of musicians jaded by electric
guitars and mostly unaware of either the uke’s squareness or its
Tiny-Tim-related disrepute began to tinker with the instrument.
Beginning in the 1980s, some rock ‘n’ rollers began to introduce the
ukulele—in some instances, to sound a note of folksy authenticity; in
others, to explore more intimate, spontaneous and personal aspects of
music making. Paul McCartney strummed one on his 2002 tour as a tribute
to fellow Beatle George Harrison, a serious ukulele player and a devotee
of the British music hall ukulele tradition. Harrison later gave his
blessing to the ukulele revival by penning an introduction to Jumpin’
Jim (Beloff)’s60s Uke-In
Songbook: “Everybody should have and play a uke. It’s so simple to
carry with you and it is one instrument you can’t play and not laugh!
It’s so sweet and also very old.”
The pop artists most identified with the ukulele, however are Steven
Swartz of Songs From a Random House, Zach Condon of Beirut, and Stephin
Merritt of The Magnetic Fields. In some cases, these artists have
attempted to replace the ubiquitous guitar with a sweeter and gentler
sound, in others, a less familiar sound that would surprise audiences.
“When you have a guitar, people are going to make judgments about what
they’re going to hear, but with ukulele, the field’s open, and it’s a
much more musically versatile instrument that people are aware of,”
Swartz has said.
Those looking to validate their choice of instrument via celebrity
association can point to a bevy of uke-playing luminaries—Cybill
Shepherd, William Macy, and Pierce Brosnan—along with politicians (Tony
Blair) and business executives (mega-zillionaire Warren Buffett). The
ukulele has made a number of unique cameo appearances, appearing in the
Flying Karamazov Brothers’ juggling acts and the Rockettes' annual
Christmas show at Radio City Music Hall. In ads for products like
Yoplait and Canadian Tires, it's featured as the primary instrument of
whimsy, along with glockenspiel, tinkly piano and tuneful whistling.
Another unexpected driving force for the ukulele was the Hawaiian music
revival of the 1980s and 1990s. Hawaiian youth had previously fallen for
rock just as hard as mainlanders. Local interest in the uke and
traditional Island music had waned in the 1960s, and the dwindling
numbers of students enrolling in Hawaii’s ukulele studios were mainly
interested in learning Beatles songs. But then Hawaiian artists
rediscovered the ukulele on their own terms, exploring the instrument in
a new way, blurring the boundaries between Hawaiian folk and mainstream
pop that had helped to marginalize the instrument.
There were Kelly Boy Delima of Kapena, Troy Fernandez of the Kaau Crater
Boys, and Israel (Iz) Kamakawiwo'ole, who inspired audiences with both
pyrotechnics and politically conscious songs that protested the
second-class status of Native Hawaiians. His ukulele medley“Over
the Rainbow/What a Wonderful World”was
featured on the television showERas
well as on movie soundtracks and ads, boosting hisFacing
Futurealbum
to platinum sales (a first for a Hawaiian artist). Even more unexpected
was the YouTube-driven stardom of20-year-old
Hawaiian artist Jake Shimabukuro,
who posted a video of himself playing elaborate, introspective
variations on George Harrison’s “While My Guitar Gently Weeps” on a
ukulele. One of thefirst
YouTube videos to go viral,
it helped dispense with the stereotypically kitschy images that
Hollywood had imposed upon both Hawaiian music and the ukulele.
The ukulele, one could say, has returned from pop-culture purgatory. The
eight-member Ukulele Orchestra of Great Britain—composed of
self-proclaimed “anarcho-syndicalists of the ukulele world”—draws
sellout crowds with an eclectic repertoire ranging from the Sex Pistols
and Nirvana to Bach and Beethoven. The modern Canadian movement, with
deeper pedagogical roots than either Britain’s or America's, thrives
thanks to school-based programs that advocate using the ukulele to teach
music. The Langley Ukulele Ensemble, made up of high-school artists in
British Columbia, has nurtured such luminaries as award-winning
artist/ukulele advocate James Hill. And few nations have more rabid fans
than Japan, where Shimabukuro spends half of the year touring and where
members of the Ukulele Orchestra of Great Britain get stopped on the
street to sign autographs.
Despite its higher profile, the ukulele still plays its role as everyman
instrument quite convincingly. "The ukulele has always fascinated me
because it doesn’t intimidate other people," says Shimabukuro. Indeed,
the scores of beginners at Ukefest New Jersey reaffirmed this statement.
Hardly as long a kid’s arm, the miniature instrument is so inviting, and
its sound so wispy and sweet, that it was hard to keep from strumming
while teachers were talking at the workshops. Not everyone can tackle
the guitar, with its bulky size and six metal strings; comparatively,
the ukulele’s four plastic strings appear more manageable and less
painful for the left-hand fingers on the neck.
Because of its accessibility, the uke has managed to attract the huge
grassroots following it struggled to draw before the Internet hooked up
players and enabled Uke Meetups, jam sessions, and YouTube uke
tutorials. Marcy Marxer, two-time Grammy-award winning folk artist who
performs on ukulele and other string instruments with her partner Cathy
Fink, says that what makes the uke so popular now "is the friendliness
of the community. There’s no hierarchy of advanced players, just
wide-open acceptance. Since so many people are new to the instrument,
they remember what it was like to be a beginner.”
In other words, people don’t expect you to uke with your teeth or up in
the air, like virtuoso Stuart “Stukulele” Fuchs does in his solo acts.
George Hinchliffe of the Ukulele Orchestra of Great Britain attributes
his supergroup’s (and possibly, the instrument’s) success to the
worn-out appeal of high-tech shows, and performers who stare at a
laptop. "We yearned for a gig in which people simply play the music," he
said, "and [the ukulele] is open to all. The audience goes home and
thinks, ‘I could do that.’”