My Grandmother's Uke
Winner of the Mighty Uke 2012 Essay Contest
Recently I found a love for something that I'd long ago forgotten- my grandmother's banjo ukulele. It was presented to me at age 10 and for 46 years it's resided at the bottom of various closets or hung on walls unplayed.
It was 1965, one short year after the Beatles first came to New York. I was sitting in my grandparent's apartment in Manhattan wondering what to do with this relic. It had no strings and the bridge had fallen off. My grandfather took it down to Schirmer's in midtown where they promptly fitted it with steel strings and added the missing bridge. But the friction tuners slipped and it never kept tune. Worst of all, it was a banjo and a ukulele! In 1965 there was probably nothing less cool. Almost immediately I bought a guitar. But there was something about that uke that made me keep it by my side for the next 46 years.
In the 20s when she bought it, my grandmother decorated the head with names of friends. Still visible are Dot, no doubt!, Carrie, Cutie Benedictine, Tess, and Mae, faded names that have now outlived their one time owners. Even to my young mind those were sacred memories which could not be easily disposed of. There was also the matter of it's somewhat impressive appearance. "Bruno" inlaid on the peghead and tiny diamond shaped inlays spread out like confetti down the neck gave the banjo a feeling of majesty, even if it was a uke.
Over the years my musical career has rebounded from guitar, to cello, to tenor guitar but it has always played second fiddle to other interests in language, books, and family. Last year, looking for a new venue to play my tenor guitar, I re-tuned it like a baritone uke and began attending a local ukulele group. What I experienced there has changed my life forever. I think it must be similar to what a violinist feels when switching to the viola, that much maligned orchestral instrument. Suddenly, the world is not centered on the ego of the violinist, but recentered on finding the harmonies and stories behind the music as told through the viola. Going from guitar to ukulele was like that for me. Gone were the egos of the finger style guitarists and the narcissistic noodlings of the flatpickers. Present was the joy of music neatly found in the simple accompaniment of the ukulele and the universal welcoming attitude of those who play it. By the end of the night I had remembered grandma's old banjo uke and started planning its rejuvenation.
In the days and months since that night I've enjoyed playing my ukes (like many players I've acquired a few more!), especially my grandmother's old Bruno banjo ukulele. It remains my favorite not just for its sound or even for the still present scribblings in grandma's hand, but because its true gift is its ability to reach across generations to provide the simple joy of music to all who play or hear it.
Kevin C. Crowell
December, 2012
It was 1965, one short year after the Beatles first came to New York. I was sitting in my grandparent's apartment in Manhattan wondering what to do with this relic. It had no strings and the bridge had fallen off. My grandfather took it down to Schirmer's in midtown where they promptly fitted it with steel strings and added the missing bridge. But the friction tuners slipped and it never kept tune. Worst of all, it was a banjo and a ukulele! In 1965 there was probably nothing less cool. Almost immediately I bought a guitar. But there was something about that uke that made me keep it by my side for the next 46 years.
In the 20s when she bought it, my grandmother decorated the head with names of friends. Still visible are Dot, no doubt!, Carrie, Cutie Benedictine, Tess, and Mae, faded names that have now outlived their one time owners. Even to my young mind those were sacred memories which could not be easily disposed of. There was also the matter of it's somewhat impressive appearance. "Bruno" inlaid on the peghead and tiny diamond shaped inlays spread out like confetti down the neck gave the banjo a feeling of majesty, even if it was a uke.
Over the years my musical career has rebounded from guitar, to cello, to tenor guitar but it has always played second fiddle to other interests in language, books, and family. Last year, looking for a new venue to play my tenor guitar, I re-tuned it like a baritone uke and began attending a local ukulele group. What I experienced there has changed my life forever. I think it must be similar to what a violinist feels when switching to the viola, that much maligned orchestral instrument. Suddenly, the world is not centered on the ego of the violinist, but recentered on finding the harmonies and stories behind the music as told through the viola. Going from guitar to ukulele was like that for me. Gone were the egos of the finger style guitarists and the narcissistic noodlings of the flatpickers. Present was the joy of music neatly found in the simple accompaniment of the ukulele and the universal welcoming attitude of those who play it. By the end of the night I had remembered grandma's old banjo uke and started planning its rejuvenation.
In the days and months since that night I've enjoyed playing my ukes (like many players I've acquired a few more!), especially my grandmother's old Bruno banjo ukulele. It remains my favorite not just for its sound or even for the still present scribblings in grandma's hand, but because its true gift is its ability to reach across generations to provide the simple joy of music to all who play or hear it.
Kevin C. Crowell
December, 2012
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After nearly 90 years of service the original banjo head with my grandmother's drawings and jottings developed a tear around the hoop and had to be replaced. While I was sad to have to relace it, I took the opportunity to continue her tradition.
You can see it's getting played quite a bit!
You can see it's getting played quite a bit!