Well before dawn one rainy Tuesday last November—“depression month”, when Oregon rains begin in earnest and the daylight hours shorten by half—I arrived at Portland airport with a green backpack and two ukuleles.

I was bound for O’ahu; the Ukulele Guild of Hawaii Exhibition at the Moana Surfrider on Waikiki beach, with a brief visit to the north shore beforehand. Honolulu, Waikiki, Diamond Head, Hale’iwa, the North Shore during surf season—a dream trip.

But I wasn’t feeling it. I wanted to exhibit of course, meet great ukulele makers and players, see fine instruments new and old, and (for my goal-oriented self) see just how high the bar is set in the ukulele world. But the anticipation of major travel stresses me out no matter how good the destination sounds in theory. 

The flight took 1500 hours as I recall, during which hundreds of movies played simultaneously on screens on every side. I consumed cup after cup of orange juice, including the ice cubes, but none of the little Chex’n’pretzel packets. 

But then…

Sunshine. Warm soft air. Birds and flowers. Rainbows in profusion. A food cart waffle-n-fruit breakfast watching squalls over Shark Cove, moving as I learned where the canopy would intermittently unload rainwater. The great folks at the Ukulele Site/Hawaii Music Supply and Ko’olau. Albatrosses slicing a wind that tried to blow me off Ka’ena point (the westernmost tip of O’ahu), whipping the ocean to a stern blue-gray as it hurtled toward Kauai.

After the relative peace of the north shore, Honolulu was intense…but not nearly what I had built up in my mind. There were a prodigious number of tourists, but by staying at a backstreet AirBnb and eating at small local joints it was manageable. Two cafes with good baristas within walking distance assisted this urban transition. 

The Exhibition itself was an enjoyable blur of activity, and the people were so kind it felt like a massive expansion of my family. The ukes were amazing. Hot and cold running music, workshops, meals, jam sessions, conversations.

By the end I was saturated—ready for a zen garden or empty beach—when a good friend said we have to check out the kanikapila on Waikiki beach. I managed to avoid whimpering, barely. We made our way to police station, took a right turn toward the water, passed the window with six kinds of ahi poke, almost to the sand…and discovered them tucked behind the building.

“Them” was a group of folks in a dis-array of chairs and picnic tables, as if waves had deposited them among the bike racks and surfboard concessions behind the police station. Despite shorts and a camouflaging old Hawaiian shirt I felt conspicuous; this was a local group. I sat at a picnic table discreetly tangent to the circle.

After each song the next person would name a tune, working in this way around the circle. Several played uke, including a blind woman who as far as I could tell never missed a chord change. Most folks sang, mostly in Hawaiian–a local man joined my table and explained the songs. It seemed as if everyone knew every tune. 

What mesmerized me, however, was the hula. On any given song, one or more folks would say “Oh this is a good song”, or “I think I remember this one”, and make their way to the middle; regular folks, in everyday clothes…dancing the stories of the songs through hula.

Well past dark, a group of high school girls—looking as if they’d come from soccer practice—headed past us to the beach. One of the frequent dancers, apparently a hula teacher, called out and coaxed them into the now-crowded circle, coaching and encouraging them.

As fatigue nonetheless overtook me I decided to slip away, but a local held my arm and urged me to stay–“not too much longer, and we will sing the last song together”.  

The players and dancers and hula teacher and soccer girls laughed and danced and sang until it was nearly time for the last bus that could take the blind woman home.

And just as my companion had said, we gathered into one big circle, held hands, and sang (or hummed) “Aloha Oe”; and the kanikapila ended for the night.

Hawaiian ukulele master Kimo Hussey will give a workshop and concert here in Corvallis on September 24 and 25. Kimo brings a wide range of standards, hits, and Hawaiian tunes to life with his sweet chord-melody playing, and in the workshop gives insight into how this magic happens.

The small venue ensures a close encounter with the music, and tasty hors d’oeuvres will be served at both events. See the attached flyer for details.

Kimo and Pat event Sep 2016

A while back, Doug Reynolds (czar of the Reno and Palm Strings Ukulele Festivals) and Daniel Ho (grammy winning Hawaiian music performer) collaborated to create a virtual ukulele ensemble performance of Daniel’s well known tune “Pineapple Mango”.

A virtual what? The uke-centric version of a virtual choir, in which musicians from far and wide record themselves performing the same tune and upload them, and some extremely creative (and patient) person edits them into a single magical performance–no mean feat, as technical issues abound.

This sounded like fun, so I recorded a version in the woodshop, uploaded it, and promptly forgot all about it. While preparing to sign up as a vendor for the 2016 Reno Ukulele Festival I stumbled on the finished product. Individuals and groups from all over the globe making music together!.

In a nice surprise, somewhere near the middle–for nearly an entire second–I demonstrate my command of the descending D7 scale, dominating the dominant as it were (sorry, bad music theory reference). Thanks to Daniel, Doug, and the video editor for including me.

There’s a delightful Italian saying that translates roughly as “this is so good you will lick your mustache”–an expression, I’m told, that works across age, gender, and subject. I’ve been feeling this way about the chance to design a long scale tenor ukulele for Kimo Hussey.

Excellent long scale tenors are made (Lichty, Kanile’a and others), but I wanted to design the entire instrument around the 19″ scale rather than put it on my standard tenor body. This would add resonance, sustain, complexity, and power to more fully render what the (naturally higher tension) long scale was contributing. Kimo was enthusiastic with the direction, so I plunged ahead.

Pulling out plans for great classical guitars by Hauser and Romanillos (plans 12, 30, and 33 for the curious), I noticed that the scale–starting from the 5th fret, equivalent to tenor C6 tuning–was just over 19″, right where Kimo likes it. Taking that as an omen, I ran down to Fedex and reduced those plans to the new scale length.

Studying them alongside existing long tenors, I began the alchemic process of creating a body/bracing plan; radical shape or not?; computing string pull; adjusting the sound hole and transverse bars to define the primary resonating surface; open harmonic design?; a little more fullness here if the bridge goes there; fairing the curves so the wood will take the shape without tension; testing ideas with luthier friends and mentors, and on–sketching and shaping bits of wood and paper until a form emerged with an appealing balance, technically and aesthetically.

Comparing it to my current tenor plan, they were clearly siblings, no surprise I suppose as the same technical considerations and sense of allure guided my original tenor design. Yet subtle differences between the siblings exist, which makes me happy–what if I could have simply photocopied my current tenor plan at larger scale and saved all that work?

What to call it? “Super-tenor” and “long scale tenor” normally refer to a 19″ scale on a more or less standard tenor-sized body. It quickly became apparent that a body designed around the 19″ scale would be about the size of the baritone uke. As a baritone singer, I was drawn to the name “lyric baritone”, a singer’s description for a baritone with a higher range and generally lighter and sweeter quality (not my voice, sadly). One tiny problem–no one would realize from the name that it’s a tenor uke. Scratch.

Borrowing again from guitar history, we settled on grand tenor, a naming convention signifying a step up in size and power. I’m concerned that “grand” sounds a little bit, well…grand. Holding a mockup in my hands, it doesn’t feel big or flashy; it feels balanced and sweet, with the charm and friendliness that so appeals to me about ukes.

In the meantime I’ve already shortened it to GT to save keystrokes, though GT now makes me think of Mustangs (the car). However, I learned to drive in my mom’s powder blue ’66 Mustang (not a GT), a nice memory, so I think it will be OK. 

Kimo Hussey has been a powerful source of inspiration for me. His spirit of aloha and encouraging advice when I was new to ukuleles have been like a lighthouse.

Befitting these lofty duties and his renown in the ukulele world–and despite his approachability and warmth even at our first meeting–I had him on a pedestal, with a little mist swirling below to heighten the effect.

So it was a huge surprise when we were corresponding recently and he suggested that I make him an instrument. Had he not been home in Hawaii he might have felt my jaw bounce off the floor–seismic detectors throughout the Northwest recorded it. I recovered sufficiently to agree enthusiastically, and we began discussing possibilities.

I’ve been intrigued for years with longer scales for tenor ukes, and Kimo has been exploring this with Jay Lichty and other wonderful makers. Kimo’s warm sound also suggested a larger body to go with the longer scale’s sustain; a more resonant, ringing, and complex palate to complement the juicy chords and melody lines of his playing. The larger box also promised a sweet balance for the longer neck.

What a wonderful way to start the year!

Despite the good things that happened in 2015, I’m afraid the date I will always recall is August 20, the day we learned that my wife Ann had cancer. Stage 4 lung cancer.

Naturally the first thing you do is look it up online, and the information is…terrifying.

No risk factors, clean living, healthy as the proverbial ox, long lived parents. Yet within weeks Ann was winded just walking across the kitchen, losing weight by the day, going down before my eyes.

Long story short, she is on a targeted therapy that dramatically reversed the symptoms–as evidenced by our hikes at Cape Perpetua in the picture–but will have to fight this from here on out, with no prospect for remission. A game changer, we’re still processing it, taking things a day at a time with a sharpened sense of what matters and what doesn’t.

We have been humbled by an outpouring of love, help, prayers, healing thoughts and more. It makes a huge difference, and we thank  you deeply.

Thankfully, this was not the only story of the year. New Year’s eve marked our first anniversary with Cap, the extremely charming and high intensity German shepherd in the above picture with Ann. Cap all but requires that he accompany us when we leave the house, and sits up so straight in the car that he could comfortably wear a seatbelt much of the time. On the other hand, he hangs his head out the window in classic dog fashion too, so we haven’t buckled him in.

In spring I played the vile M. Thenardier in a production of Les Miserables. It was a beautiful show and a wonderful bunch of friends new and old who shared this labor of love. This picture is the wedding scene, where I was no less evil, but a good deal more presentable than in the other scenes.

Just after Les Mis I traveled to Hawaii to build flamenco guitars with Woodley White and Tom Harper. We stayed at Woodley and Julie’s place in Naalehu, at the south tip of the big island. Working like beavers in his basement shop, we built the best part of four guitars. Woodley set the pace with two at once, while Tom pushed his the furthest. It was very snug, as Woodley also had more than a dozen ukes and one or two other guitars in the shop. It was a revelation for me to work with these guys, and I still benefit from it every day in the shop. Overlooking the ocean as we had fresh mango out on the lanai each morning wasn’t bad either.

If you don’t hate me now, presumably it’s safe to mention hiking in the Sierra Nevada around Mammoth Lakes. The Sierras were in their 4th year of drought, but relatively heavy summer rains made for unexpectedly good flowers. For some reason this year my hikes often ended after dark. In the picture you can see the shadows lengthening while I’m still miles from the roadend. A teeny tiny flashlight saved my neck more than once.

Among the ukulele building highlights of the year were delivering instruments to two very special friends in my musical life (and beyond), folks who bring joy to a wide circle through their teaching studios and ensembles. Longtime friend and choir mate Anne Loewen conducted a nefarious campaign over several years that eventually lead me to building ukes, and Suz Doyle has been a mainstay of the local musical scene for as long as I can remember. Thanks!

Wishing you (and us) a good 2016!