franklin.habit
Active member
I'm writing about this for the possible benefit of other newbies who are convinced (as I was) that they will never, ever have the nerve to let anyone hear them play.
I've had a uke for about two months, but my playing has been confined not only to home, but also to home when nobody else is there except the dog.
The dog, I should note, is not a fan. As soon as I open my case, he sighs heavily and heads for the bedroom.
I wasn't sure if I'd ever be able to so much as strum a C within earshot of humans. I'm getting better, but even the hint of somebody else listening made me freeze up. I went to the Kupa`a/Old Town School of Folk Music world record attempt a few weeks ago in Chicago (I live nearby), but with 529 other players all strumming at the same time, I knew I wouldn't exactly be in the spotlight.
This week I headed out to a teaching job in New Hampshire at a very old camp on Squam Lake, and decided I couldn't face five days with no uke. So I took it along, and figured I could hole up in my cabin with it to practice.
But when I arrived, I found that in a camp full of board-built cabins there was no real privacy - I could close my door, but not shut out the world entirely. I avoided playing until I couldn't stand it any longer and toted my uke out to the porch where about eight students were sitting and working between classes. I thought I'd just practice fingering chord shapes and not make any noise.
Folks won't let you do that, though. You can't, I learned, bring a ukulele into a public space and have it go unremarked. I had to strum a tiny bit for everyone, just to demonstrate the sound. Then the conversation moved on and I was left to myself. I did some fingering, then some fingering with very light strumming, then the rest of the world sort of fell away and I realized after about 10 minutes that not only was I playing - gently, as a background to the general chatter - but that a few folks were listening with something approaching genuine pleasure.
So, now I've crossed the line. I've been heard. Nobody threw vegetables, and in fact a few folks remarked about how pleasant it was to have live music on the porch and asked for more.
I'm still not ready for an open mic situation, but it no longer seems out of the question that one day I might step up. This was a good way to fall backwards into public performance.
Postscript: I'm home again, and the dog still doesn't like my playing. But I've decided it's because he has no taste.
I've had a uke for about two months, but my playing has been confined not only to home, but also to home when nobody else is there except the dog.
The dog, I should note, is not a fan. As soon as I open my case, he sighs heavily and heads for the bedroom.
I wasn't sure if I'd ever be able to so much as strum a C within earshot of humans. I'm getting better, but even the hint of somebody else listening made me freeze up. I went to the Kupa`a/Old Town School of Folk Music world record attempt a few weeks ago in Chicago (I live nearby), but with 529 other players all strumming at the same time, I knew I wouldn't exactly be in the spotlight.
This week I headed out to a teaching job in New Hampshire at a very old camp on Squam Lake, and decided I couldn't face five days with no uke. So I took it along, and figured I could hole up in my cabin with it to practice.
But when I arrived, I found that in a camp full of board-built cabins there was no real privacy - I could close my door, but not shut out the world entirely. I avoided playing until I couldn't stand it any longer and toted my uke out to the porch where about eight students were sitting and working between classes. I thought I'd just practice fingering chord shapes and not make any noise.
Folks won't let you do that, though. You can't, I learned, bring a ukulele into a public space and have it go unremarked. I had to strum a tiny bit for everyone, just to demonstrate the sound. Then the conversation moved on and I was left to myself. I did some fingering, then some fingering with very light strumming, then the rest of the world sort of fell away and I realized after about 10 minutes that not only was I playing - gently, as a background to the general chatter - but that a few folks were listening with something approaching genuine pleasure.
So, now I've crossed the line. I've been heard. Nobody threw vegetables, and in fact a few folks remarked about how pleasant it was to have live music on the porch and asked for more.
I'm still not ready for an open mic situation, but it no longer seems out of the question that one day I might step up. This was a good way to fall backwards into public performance.
Postscript: I'm home again, and the dog still doesn't like my playing. But I've decided it's because he has no taste.
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