Claire Black: 'My fingers feel like they've been rubbed against a cheese grater. Then broiled'

Published on Saturday 17 October 2009 19:51

WRITING isn't usually painful. Not physically anyway. But bashing this out is agony.

Probably because the fingertips of my left hand feel like they've been rubbed against a cheese grater. Then broiled. Every s, e, a, r and w (I haven't needed a z yet, so my pinky's been spared) is making me wince.

What has caused this injury? It was The Girl From Ipanema what did it.

I'm trying to learn how to play it on my ukulele. It's hard. And it hurts. The stretch for F#maj is possibly the hardest physical activity I've done since I thought it was a good idea to give indoor climbing a whirl. It gives me cramp, and the effort of keeping those little nylon strings pressed tightly to the fretboard brings tears to my eyes. But as my (I now realise) dry-witted childhood music teacher used to say: "Practice makes that noise you're making a bit more bearable. Or it's supposed to."

Just wait until I've got the hang of it though – some time in early 2011 if current progress is anything to go by – it's going to be great. I can think of few things – actually I can't think of anything– that would make me happier than being able to get from the chord that goes with "Ah" to the one that accompanies "when…" (as in "she walks, she's like a samba…") without pausing for so long that people think I've finished and walk away.

I love my ukulele. It was a Christmas gift, but I don't think anyone really believed that I'd be sitting up late into the night trying to master diminished chords nearly two years on. But such is the power of the uke.

When three men from the island of Madeira took their little chordophone to Hawaii (on a British ship called the Ravenscrag – please let that come up in a pub quiz), the name ukulele was born. According to Queen Lili'uokalani, the last monarch of the island, that was because it means "the gift that came here". I grant you it's not the smoothest of translations perhaps, but mine is certainly the gift that keeps on giving.

I've taken it on holiday twice. Every night with friends now ends with a rendition of By The Light Of The Silvery Moon – they seem to like it – and I'm hoping eventually to master I Will Survive. I've got to aim high.

"What do you think?" I asked my stunned-looking audience after my final (and best ever) Ipanema the other night.

"You're definitely getting there," one sensitive soul said, looking slightly pained but definitely encouraging I thought.

For here's the best thing about ukuleles: unless you've got a heart made of the hardest stone, you can't play/hear or even just see one without smiling. They're too cute. It's the perfect beginner's instrument because even when you're bad it sounds good, and when you're half-decent it makes Hendrix sound mediocre. There's a video online of a girl in an anorak playing Britney Spears' Toxic that makes me squeal with excitement ( http://tiny.cc/rV8Lj)

I know I might never reach the heights of the Ukulele Orchestra of Great Britain ( www.ukuleleorchestra.com) but I think I'm nearly ready for the Monday Ukearist (ukearist.wordpress.com), Edinburgh's gathering of uke players.

Just as long as The Girl From Ipanema is on their playlist.