fretie
Well-known member
The tenor was a good looker, for sure. Handsome solid spruce top, solid koa back and sides with some classic figure. Abalone rosette, fret markers and abalone inlay up the headstock. The uke sounded rich and warm right off of the work bench and the tone just got better over time. Two years later, the tenor was a great sounding instrument. But I hated to play it!
Eventually, I gave this gorgeous instrument away to someone that loved to play and did not have any history with the uke.
Has this ever happened to you? Have you ever had a uke that just kept reminding you of a painful time? How did you heal?
Building my own instrument was so exciting. I enjoyed learning each step and sweated the details, I mean really sweated in the shop as the mercury hit the mid thirties. There were only four of us, all focused to the max as we measured, sawed, glued and sanded. I enjoyed seeing my class mates each morning when we arrived fresh, clean and eager to dive back into uke building. And I had many a fine bus ride home with the guys, covered in wood dust and streaked with sweat, we laughed about our efforts to get each day’s tasks completed in time so that we’d be able to have a playable uke after the two week course ended.
Our instructor, though knowledgeable and experienced as a luthier, guided us clearly at first but as the days went by and the summer heat stoked the intensity in the shop, his patience shrank and kindness diminished. A few days before the course ended, I miscalculated a measurement and this error triggered an explosion from the instructor. Shouting, he berated me in front of my classmates, to the point where I was close to tears as the other students ducked their heads, no one had the courage to tackle our emotionally charged teacher.
Though I felt a strong desire to quit then and there, I stuck it out, finished the uke and did indeed travel home with a fine musical instrument.
But the verbal abuse from my instructor, the put downs from him when, one on one, I tried to address his outburst, seemed to be trapped in the uke. It was hard not to feel the pain of those final days in the shop when I would have liked to be enjoying the completion of the instrument and instead had switched into survival mode in order to be able to finish the course and complete the build.
Some day I would still like to build a uke of my own, one that I can keep and play, one that is filled with good vibes.
Eventually, I gave this gorgeous instrument away to someone that loved to play and did not have any history with the uke.
Has this ever happened to you? Have you ever had a uke that just kept reminding you of a painful time? How did you heal?
Building my own instrument was so exciting. I enjoyed learning each step and sweated the details, I mean really sweated in the shop as the mercury hit the mid thirties. There were only four of us, all focused to the max as we measured, sawed, glued and sanded. I enjoyed seeing my class mates each morning when we arrived fresh, clean and eager to dive back into uke building. And I had many a fine bus ride home with the guys, covered in wood dust and streaked with sweat, we laughed about our efforts to get each day’s tasks completed in time so that we’d be able to have a playable uke after the two week course ended.
Our instructor, though knowledgeable and experienced as a luthier, guided us clearly at first but as the days went by and the summer heat stoked the intensity in the shop, his patience shrank and kindness diminished. A few days before the course ended, I miscalculated a measurement and this error triggered an explosion from the instructor. Shouting, he berated me in front of my classmates, to the point where I was close to tears as the other students ducked their heads, no one had the courage to tackle our emotionally charged teacher.
Though I felt a strong desire to quit then and there, I stuck it out, finished the uke and did indeed travel home with a fine musical instrument.
But the verbal abuse from my instructor, the put downs from him when, one on one, I tried to address his outburst, seemed to be trapped in the uke. It was hard not to feel the pain of those final days in the shop when I would have liked to be enjoying the completion of the instrument and instead had switched into survival mode in order to be able to finish the course and complete the build.
Some day I would still like to build a uke of my own, one that I can keep and play, one that is filled with good vibes.
