A Note from Loki:
My Ukulele Obsession and the Joy of Sad Songs

The day I decided to become a ukulele player was in the summer of 2000. I saw a photo of a ukulele and was gripped by a fervor. That day, I made phone calls to every music store in town until I found one. It was a "Hilo," a total piece of garbage, but I scooped it up for $40 and joyously began strumming. I played like a fiend for 7 hours a day, everyday. I carried it with me everywhere: to the grocery store; to work (I was a DJ at an internet radio station at the time); I carried it up and down the street; I carried it to the bar! In the car, I kept it on my passenger seat to strum at red lights (and ocassionally I strummed it while driving on empty stretches of straight roads!) The incredible thing is; no one asked me to stop playing despite the fact that I was awful and the thing was untuneable. Such is the delightful power of the ukulele. Well, actually there was one person who asked me to stop: my girlfriend at the time. She was from Hawaii and had complicated rules about who could enjoy which aspects of life. She had a big sad love for life and for beauty, but most of her rules ended in the conclusion that people should spend their time being miserable. I had a different philosophy. It was clear that it was her or the uke. It wan't long before I chose. At night, my ukulele rested on my pillow. That's when I began trying to achieve the impossible: creating sad songs for the ukulele. I've been told that these sad songs mostly end up sounding charmingly nostalgic. But I enjoy the combination. It brings me happiness--the sort of happiness one gets from listening to The Smiths.

I also wear the manicure of the ukulele player. I was a lifelong nail biter and the uke cured me of that habbit (at least on my right hand; I still keep my left nails nibbled to the quick).

-- Loki