My funky fresh gal pal Jacqui, with whom I happen to work, has talked me into documenting our attempts to become competent, failing perhaps complete virtuosic mastery, with god's instrument - the ukulele. Several months ago, I'd talked her into talking and smiling her way into inexpesive baritone ukulele ownership, based on a promise that I teach her everything I know about playing it. Things were going swimmingly until a few days ago, when her beloved uke "snap popped into dust." She let me know that she had finally found the limits of how cold a ukulele can get before it gives up. The neck blew off, the tension of the strings pitched it forward like a dinghy in an angry sea. Hearts were broken. Lower lips were gnawed. Fingers were crossed and recrossed.
Luckily, though, Jacqui and I work in a string instrument repair shop, so we are in with all the right people for a situation like this.
She figured that while she was regluing the neck, she might as well make some other adjustments as well. A bridge plate was added, the bridge was adjusted, the neck and fretboard reglued, and in a matter of hours, a bariuke was reborn.
Some photos of this magnificent operation are en route. I'll post them soon.
Delaying my wardrobe... - I was going to try to get this month's wardrobe challenge completed by the end of February, but I don't think that it will get done. Evaluating and shrink...
2 years ago