Playing Ukulele On The High Seas

Our Princess ship

In one of my recent posts I wrote about my snorkeling adventure in Hawaii and how it was probably my top favorite activity while visiting the islands. And it was. But I also had one other top favorite activity on this cruise that took place on board the ship itself–and that was playing the ukulele with a group of other like-minded cruisers.

Before we left on the cruise Faye and I discussed whether or not we should take our own ukuleles with us, as we had read that there would be a ukulele lesson offered during the voyage, but in the end we decided that we had enough luggage to worry about without adding musical instruments and cases to the mix, so we left them home (mine on the east coast of Canada and Faye’s in Alberta). We figured it wouldn’t be worth the effort to drag them along for just one ukulele lesson and we knew the instructor would have to have instruments for students to play, so we cruised sans our really, really nice-sounding ukuleles. Stupid decision.

Me with my new ukulele in the summer

While we were waiting to board the ship at the cruise terminal in Los Angeles we were in a line up ahead of a couple who were both carrying ukuleles. Immediately a red flag began waving in my brain.

“Oh, oh–what do they know that we don’t know?”

We started a conversation with them–were they perhaps cruise performers who were in the wrong line up?

Nope–they were a lovely couple of travelers from Utah–Steve and Shelley, and they were carrying their ukuleles with them because they liked the sound of these instruments and they wanted to be sure they got the most out of the ukulele lessons they were planning to sign up for on board.

Lessons? With an ‘s’? The plural of lesson? As in ‘more than one’?

Yep. Lessons. Definitely more than one, maybe as many as five or six.

The red flag in my brain waved more frantically. Stupid, stupid, stupid…I told you to pack your ukulele but would you listen to me, your red flag? No…you ignored me and made the wrong decision…again. Will you ever learn?

Apparently not.

Once we boarded the ship and had an opportunity to peruse the lists of activities that were going to be offered during the days at sea (four days going to Hawaii and four days returning from Hawaii), we found out there were indeed ukulele lessons offered during most of those days. All we had to do was show up; everything else would be provided for us.

There were two sessions scheduled for the first day at sea–one in the morning and one in the afternoon. Faye and I, being the geeky keeners that we are, decided to attend the morning lesson–get a head-start on our path to ukulele proficiency and eventual musical fame.

The lesson was due to begin at eleven AM so we figured if we waltzed into the room at ten-thirty we’d have our choice of the best seats in the lounge and maybe even the best ukuleles. Didn’t work out that way.

By ten-thirty the lounge where the lessons were going to be held was packed–who knew there would be other geeky keeners on board this ship with us?

We couldn’t find a good seat so we decided to eat again instead (because it had been an hour and a half since our last meal and lunch was still an hour away), and return to the lounge for the afternoon session, scheduled for two PM.

This time we were one of the first keeners there and we plunked ourselves into two comfy armchairs to wait for the instructor to arrive and work his magic.

Me with my shipboard ukulele

I wasn’t sure I’d like receiving instructions as part of a group, but I did. For one thing, there was no pressure on me this way–I was simply one of about fifty people plucking away at ukulele strings, trying to make musical sounds. For another thing, even if I was one of the pluckers hitting the wrong strings the instructor was very experienced at teaching adults; he knew not to single anyone out of the group but instead made generalized comments and suggestions when he noticed one or more of us doing something incorrectly. We knew who we were and were able to modify our fingering or strumming accordingly. And for the third thing, I at least had started learning to play a ukulele last summer–some of the students in the class had never even held one before, so I knew I wasn’t the worst player (or at least I hoped I wasn’t).

At the end of the first lesson we had to sign up if we wanted to continue learning ukulele the next day; if you didn’t sign the sheet you didn’t go back. Faye and I bowled over a couple of elderly women on our rush to the sign-up sheet, but they weren’t hurt other than a couple of bruised bums and one auburn wig gone slightly askew. We apologized to them after we signed our names to the sheet but added that they shouldn’t have been standing between us and our dreams in the first place.

We attended classes on six of our sea days, and on one of those days Faye and I went to two classes–the morning progressive beginner class number four and an afternoon intermediate class for players who thought they were ready for more intense ukulele instruction. I knew I wasn’t really ready but Faye was going and I certainly didn’t want to be left behind, so I gathered my courage and tagged along.

In the intermediate class the instructor showed us different strumming patterns and new chord progressions and a few other technical things–none of which I understood or would be able to recreate for you now, but I enjoyed the lesson anyway and did my best to keep up with the others.

In the progressive beginners classes I had no trouble keeping up. Dave, our instructor, only asked that we all began and ended together; he said that was all that really mattered in the long run. And I do think he was right about that. Who cared if the middle part sucked as long as the plunking sounds started in rhythm and ended in rhythm. Dave always made a great show of signalling to us when it was time to stop playing–counting down–four, three, two, one and STOP! He’d wave his arms above his head and pump his fists in jubilation when we ended correctly and when we didn’t, he’d say, “Good try…now one more time…” and we’d do the song again and again until we did see the waving arms and the pumping fists.

After the first day of class we knew there was going to be a concert on the final evening of the cruise and all students were invited to take part in it. Faye and I were excited; how many passengers get the opportunity to entertain other people on a cruise ship? Not too many, I think, other than karaoke singers or impromptu stand-up comedians in the bars. But we had the chance and we weren’t going to miss it for the world. Fame and fortune here we come!

During each lesson we practiced our songs and built up our repertoire. We learned quite a few chords and a couple of basic strumming techniques and we learned how to smile while we played. In the beginning Dave told us that we all looked like we were writing a difficult exam when we strummed our ukes and placed our fingers just so on the bars to make a chord. He told us we had to at least try to look like we were enjoying ourselves, for his reputation’s sake if nothing else. He had an image to maintain, he said, and what would people think if his students all looked like they had guns to their heads at the concert…so for Dave’s sake, we learned to smile during our playing, even when we plunked a wrong chord. We were like puppies, wanting to please our master and get a pat on the head or at least a fist pump in the air for our good behavior. And Dave deserved the best as far as we were concerned; he was really great.

Dave said that we would play two songs at the concert: “Tiny Bubbles” and “Aloha Oe”. We would play “Tiny Bubbles” alone as just the incredibly wonderful Princess Ukulele Masters and would play “Aloha Oe” while the silly talented Princess Hula Dancers stood in front of us (I think to try to keep us out of our rightful place in the spotlight), and performed their stupid graceful hula dance to the song.

On the second last day at sea we attended a dress rehearsal and found our spots on the stage. Luckily Faye and I are on the shorter side of tall, so we got to stand on a platform one level above the poor suckers taller ukulele players who stood on the floor directly behind the overly dramatic energetic hula dancers. We could see and be seen; “All right, Mr. DeMille, I’m ready for my close-up”.

Can you pick out Faye and me? Hint: we're holding ukuleles.

Faye and I spent our final day at sea relaxing and enjoying the ship’s meals twelve or thirteen more times. We needed our strength to perform that night and everybody knows that food is fuel for the body, so we filled up our tanks. Later in the evening we took our borrowed ukuleles and our sheet music to the lounge where our talents would be showcased. The Princess Ukulele Masters and the Princess Hula Dancers were slated to entertain the audience at ‘Who Wants to Be a Princess Star’ while the ballots of the contest were being tabulated to determine the winner. So we had a captive audience of at least every Pop Star performer’s traveling buddies, because they couldn’t find out the contest results until we finished performing and left the stage and I was determined I wasn’t going to leave the stage until the audience clapped for us…clapped really hard and really long. It could have been a long night.

Soon it was time for us to take our places again on the stage. Faye and I positioned our bodies just so, trying to catch the best angle of light, and we turned on our smiles. We were ready to play.

Dave lifted his arms and we struck the first few notes of “Tiny Bubbles” in unison and we smiled and did our best to sing along with Dave while we played. I’m not sure how the middle of the song sounded, but we ended in unison and received a wonderful ‘raised arms and pumped fists’ for our efforts. Then it was the hula dancers turn again. We played “Aloha Oe”  while they performed, and even though they gyrated and wiggled around the stage I’m pretty certain all eyes in the audience were on the ukulele players, and more specifically, on Faye and me, and most specifically, on me. I made sure I smiled as if I had just won the lottery…

Before I could say, “But I don’t want to stop playing,” it was time to stop playing. Our jobs were done. The audience had the good sense to clap for us immediately and we filed off the stage in an orderly fashion. My fifteen minutes of fame ended up being more like seven and a half minutes, so I’m thinking I have another seven and a half minutes of fame owed to me yet.

Faye and I celebrated our success with one last huge meal before we crawled into our beds for the night. The next morning we would dock in Los Angeles and fly back to Canada to resume our dreary normal lives. Our ukulele-playing days on a cruise ship were over, probably forever.

But I’m going to keep looking for my next opportunity to experience the seven and a half minutes of fame still owed to me. Any suggestions?

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