Blind to the signs of ukulele crimes

The other day I was led down Victoria Avenue wearing a blindfold. A scarf had been placed over my eyes. I had been spun round three times to ensure complete disorientation before being guided along the footpath by my wife. All I knew was that the destination was a secret.

A good secret requires a respectable hint of mystery in order to make it work. There had been mutterings about surprises combined with a need to participate in the actual choosing of the mystery object over the preceding days so anticipation was already turned up to eleven.(refer Spinal Tap for explanation)

As we walked, directional cues were given by the feel of the footpath translated via the shoes. The change from paving stone to smooth seal was duly noted, the turns to right, left then right again carefully calculated but this provided little in the way of clues. Gleeful voices were heard commenting on the sight of a grown-up wearing a blindfold being guided down the street. The answer given was that it was going to be a surprise. Children responded with immediate understanding - surprises by their very nature require preparation, anticipation and fun in order to get the full effect.

Being guided blindfold through town is an interesting sensation. The reliance on your guide is something of a revelation as is the focused listening in an attempt to interpret your location. As a musician, I recalled the many blind musicians who bring their wonderful talents to audiences around the world.

This blindfold walk gave me a brief snapshot of the daily challenges they face to bring us the joy of their music.

We walked for a few minutes and then came an instruction to mind the step and we entered a building. An unusual voice greeted us, speaking in the high pitched tones and accent of a Monty Python character asking if we needed any assistance.

I recognised the voice immediately. Only one person could disguise their voice that badly and the blindfold was removed. I was just inside the door of the local music shop with owner Craig standing there with a grin bigger than a Gibson cutaway on his face.

It seems we were there to choose a ukulele. It is important to understand the significance of this. My wife had many years before stated she could not stand the sound of the ukulele because they go "pluckity-plonk" and I had dutifully noted this and never got one, even when they became fashionable again after a long time in the musical wilderness.

I did have a mandolin at home. These are also small but make more of a ringing plikkity-pling sound. (My daughter christened the mandolin the happy instrument - no matter how minor the chord, it always sounds cheerful)

I chose a lovely ukulele and after a short detour to get a play ukulele in a day book from the library, headed home to commit some ukulele crimes. After a quick tune-up, your dog - not my dog - has fleas (my ukulele has six strings instead of the usual four) the sound of George Formby sunbathing on a pacific atoll was ushered up with just a few basic chords.

The sound is relentlessly cheerful and you feel compelled to play everything at breakneck speed. I am sure this new relationship will settle down eventually but for now, singing along to the frantic strumming of tumbling chord sequences has captured my heart.

Terry Sarten is a local musician, writer and social worker pondering if there is a cure for ukulelitis. Email: tgs@inspire.net.nz