Saturday afternoon is my favourite time of the week. My ukulele group meets at 4pm. We drink a glass of wine, play ukulele and sing together. For two hours, nothing else matters.
Our nine members bring a range of musical backgrounds—some have been playing for six months, others for six decades. Our folders are bursting with songs, and we’re always discovering new ones. This week it was “Mamma Mia.” I’ve never been much of an Abba fan, but I’m learning to appreciate them via the ukulele.
We’re also working on Ed Sheeran’s “I See Fire” and “Black Silk Ribbon,” a darkly gothic murder ballad by Bic Runga and KT Tunstall. Anyone can bring music to share.
A small portal to a world of music
The ukulele is a remarkable instrument. It’s fun, fast to learn, affordable, portable, and sociable. Of all the instruments I’ve played, it’s the quickest way into real music-making I’ve ever found. You can go from absolute beginner to confidently playing songs in just a few months.
Hooked for life
I first played the ukulele at age six, when my mother, Sue, taught me three chords. I was hooked.
Sue had learned to play ukulele and guitar in Hawaii in the mid-1950s, just before arriving in New Zealand. She was a folk musician before Bob Dylan made it cool—singing, playing, even writing songs. A couple of her originals survive on vinyl.
From that first triumphant moment with “My Bonnie Lies Over the Ocean” (quickly followed by “Morningtown Ride,” a favourite in my school class), I knew the ukulele was my ticket to a lifelong love of music.
But Mum soon stopped playing—she had three young kids and a vocation as an archaeologist (the first to do fieldwork in the New Guinea highlands). I was ushered into the classical music world instead: violin and viola, symphony orchestras, and chamber groups.
The music was exquisite, but the culture often wasn’t. Orchestras could be more toxic than high school. And after seeing a talented peer fail a university exam for playing Bach “in the wrong style,” I realised classical music might not be for me.
After dropping out of music school in my 20s, I wandered across the U.S.A. I spent a summer playing bluegrass fiddle in a bar band in Montana. Back in New Zealand, I played violin, bass, drums, and keys in various alternative rock bands for two decades. These musical adventures were exciting and fulfilling—but fun was rarely the main goal.
With the ukulele, fun is the whole point.
The joy of not being serious
The ukulele is deeply democratic. It’s small, affordable, easy to learn, and acoustic—you don’t need amps or gear. It’s quiet enough not to disturb the neighbours and simple enough to build if you have woodworking skills (which I don’t—but I know some lovely grandfathers who do!).
Critics sometimes dismiss the ukulele as a child’s toy or a beginner’s instrument—not “serious.” But that’s exactly what makes it so powerful. The expectations are lower, so people start playing sooner. No need for years of practice or perfect pitch. Just pick it up and strum.
George Harrison loved the ukulele for this reason—it brought him back to the sheer joy of making music with friends. Paul McCartney said in The Concert for George: “Sometimes when you went round to George’s house, after dinner the ukuleles would come out…”
It works just as well for beginners. Or anyone in between.
Participatory, not performative
Ukulele playing is different from most other kinds of music-making:
- It’s participatory, not performance-driven. No need to practice endlessly for a spotlight moment.
- You don’t need to read music. Most ukulele players use chord charts and lyrics.
- It gets people singing. Ukulele groups make space for singing without judgment. No pressure to be “good.”
- It lets us reclaim pop music. After 50+ years of being passive listeners, we get to play the songs ourselves. Learn four chords, and you can play hundreds of songs. (Well, maybe not The Beatles.)
- It’s a great tool for songwriting, as performance artist Amanda Palmer often notes.
Polynesian ukulele strumming
Here in the Pacific, the ukulele is woven into our musical and cultural fabric. Hawaiians made the ukulele globally famous, and Polynesian musicians from various Pacific nations developed intricate rhythmic strumming styles that give the instrument its unique flavour.
Wabi-sabi – perfect imperfection
And then there’s the charm of imperfection. A musician friend once said that ukuleles always sound a little out of tune—even when they’re not. I think that’s part of the magic.
The Japanese concept of wabi-sabi—beauty in imperfection—fits the ukulele perfectly. When a group of ukulele players strums together, something greater emerges. It’s more than the sum of its parts. Even beginners contribute to the harmony.
Perfection in imperfection.
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