Tropical Chris

I had a ukulele gig Friday night at my kids’ school. The theme was “Sweets ‘n’ Sounds from Around the World.” I—or, rather, my uke—represented Hawaii. A couple of musicians from the Yale Symphony Orchestra (who were testing a new model for school outreach by sending individual musicians rather than an ensemble) covered Flamenco and other Spanish or Mexican musical and dance traditions. Another performer staged a Jewish courtship ritual. Of course the concluding African drumming and dancing was the biggest hit of the night.

I was introduced in the accustomed manner for non-professionals—as a member of the school’s “community.” “I am not from Hawaii,” I pastily declared. “I am from the school community. This ukulele has relatives in Hawaii.” Then I played “Aloha Oe,” the music hall ditty “Yaaka Hula Hickey Dula” and a medley of American turn-of-the-century Tin Pan Alley immigrant classics: “Bye Bye Blues,” “Whispering” and “Yes, We Have No Bananas.”
Sweet enough sounds, you think?