Full disclosure: I know, OK? I’m making a ukulele. Yes, I know how unacceptable that is. At this stage, ukuleles are basically the devil’s tool. They’re irritatingly popular at the moment and the curse that currently plagues 90% of twee advertising jingles. I know, OK? I know.
And yet, I’m still making a ukulele. I’m making it so that I can give it to my son, in the vain hope that he’ll come to love music and write an international number-one hit and use the proceeds to look after me in my old age because I’m jiggered if I’ve got a pension yet. So, yes, I’m making a ukulele this month. Suck it up.
About £37 will buy you a box containing all the main ukulele parts – the body, the neck, the saddle, the bridge – that you have to assemble yourself. You might argue that I can’t truly call this my own handiwork because I haven’t painstakingly hand-carved each individual component from a tree that I’d nurtured from seed. But it still counts, because ukuleles sound horrible at the best of times and if I’d been given any more responsibility over the construction, there’s a very good chance that it’d sound like 15 geese flinging themselves through a malfunctioning wood-chipper at a cursed harp. Trust me, this way is best.
It’s basically a case of gluing all the wooden parts together, then screwing the tuning keys in. It’s trickier to attach the bridge, because if you get your measurements wrong, every song you play will more or less sound like evil clown music.
Once you’ve cobbled up a ukulele shape, you paint it. I bought a set of acrylic paints and walked home dreaming about an elaborate brightly-coloured pattern that would best appeal to a nine-month-old baby. Once home, I remembered that I have as much artistic ability as a radish and daubed on some rudimentary swirls. In its own way, it actually looks kind of charming. It’s a one-of-a-kind piece, which I suppose is good because if you ever walked past a full display of them, you’d immediately keel over with a cluster migraine.
Finally, I thread the strings. This was the hardest part. The diagrams in the kit were useless. Fortunately, YouTube is my friend. It’s positively rammed with videos showing you how to string a ukulele. Admittedly they’re all hosted by jolly people who look like they’d tell you to “take a chill pill” without irony but, look, needs must.
And that’s it. My very own ukulele. Once complete, I handed it to my son with great ceremony. “Here,” I thought. “With my own bare hands I’ve crafted your first step towards a lifetime of music.”
He took it, looked at it for three seconds, then dropped it in favour of slamming his hand against a radiator. Maybe he’s more of a drummer.
You can buy the ukulele building kit online at presentsformen.co.uk
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