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Ukelele strikes a major chord among all ages
Norman Nichols plays his part at Weston’s Council on Aging class.
By Steve MaasGLOBE CORRESPONDENT FEBRUARY 22, 2015
Outside on this particular Tuesday afternoon, the temperature was stuck in the 20s. But inside, it was a different story.
“Summer camp for old people,” said Arthur Goldstein, before quickly correcting himself. “Older people.”
It was the weekly ukulele class in the Weston Council on Aging’s quarters on Alphabet Lane, where up to 15 or so enthusiastic pluckers polished renditions of songs ranging from “Amazing Grace” to “Yes Sir, That’s My Baby.”
Outside on this particular Tuesday afternoon, the temperature was stuck in the 20s. But inside, it was a different story.
“Summer camp for old people,” said Arthur Goldstein, before quickly correcting himself. “Older people.”
It was the weekly ukulele class in the Weston Council on Aging’s quarters on Alphabet Lane, where up to 15 or so enthusiastic pluckers polished renditions of songs ranging from “Amazing Grace” to “Yes Sir, That’s My Baby.”
Goldstein and his wife, Vida, have been regulars since classes began a year and a half ago. The Weston program was so successful that the councils on aging in Wayland and Wellesley have started offering the program, too.
“It’s just phenomenal how it spread,” Weston resident Pat Fitzsimmons, a retired flight attendant, said of the enthusiasm for this “very happy instrument.”
It’s not just the silver set catching ukulele fever.
Danno Sullivan helped organize the Ukulele Union of Boston through the Meetup website five years ago. From 20 people, the group’s e-mail roster — “the number we could communicate with in a ukulele emergency” — has grown to more than 700, said Sullivan, who lives in Harvard.
‘We walk out of here singing. We have such a good time.’ -- Pat Fitzsimmons, Weston resident, on the ukulele classes held by her town’s Council on Aging
The ukulele boom offers another example of the Internet’s bringing together people who had not realized “there are others like me out there,” he said. “People are excited and delighted to get to be ukulele nerds with each other.”
Sullivan also credits the resurgence to fading memories of Tiny (“Tiptoe Through the Tulips”) Tim, the falsetto-singing, clownlike character who became an overnight sensation in the 1960s on “Rowan and Martin’s Laugh In.” “He single-handedly turned this lovely little instrument into a joke,” Sullivan said. “I think that lasted for decades.”
The union’s twice-monthly ukulele meetups draw teens to octogenarians at sites ranging from pubs to libraries to the banks of the Charles River, he said. They play everything from today’s tunes to Tin Pan Alley. Everyone is welcome.
Theresa Levinson planted the seeds for the Weston Senior Center class after hearing her brother-in-law rave about his ukulele group in San Diego. Levinson, a nurse at the Council on Aging, saw the ukulele lessons as a good memory tool. “There is science that playing an instrument or learning a language can strengthen brain neurons,” she said.
Pat Fitzsimmons played a ukulele at a class at the Weston community center.
A music teacher from a local grade school taught the first Weston class in fall 2013. Forced to bow out because of a scheduling problem, she left the class in the hands of one of the students, a retired Canadian grain dealer.
Daniel Métraux, who learned the ukulele at summer camp in his native Switzerland, said the class — and practicing an hour a day — has made him a much better player.
The instrument is fairly simple to learn. Basically, you just need a sense of rhythm and the ability to carry a tune (but don’t worry, you don’t need to sound like Judy Collins). Learn three chords, Métraux says, and you can play hundreds of songs. Students play from song sheets with lyrics and picture boxes indicating chords.
A 93-year-old woman who was in his class last year told him, “I don’t play country, I don’t sing, and I don’t hear too well, but I enjoy it.’’
Métraux runs the class with a light, but not lax, touch. If a relatively new song gets off to a rough start, he will not hesitate to break in and offer some strumming tips. If the students do not like a selection, he won’t argue. When “Those Were the Days,” from the sitcom “All in the Family,” got shouted down, he crumpled up the score sheet and tossed it over his shoulder.
Although the one-hour sessions are filled as much with laughter as with song, the students — some of whom are experienced musicians — do take their playing seriously. They were quick to focus on tricky passages in “Over the Rainbow,” noting where Métraux’s song sheet left out key words and thus threw off the rhythm.
When they performed “Leaving on a Jet Plane,” you could almost see in their eyes the music stirring memories. Perhaps the John Denver tune — a hit for Peter, Paul, and Mary in the late 1960s — recalled their own experiences with love and separation.
The class wrapped up with an energetic performance of “When the Saints Go Marching In,” for the benefit of the mahjong group that had been meeting next door.
“We do it together because we’re married,” said Bill Katz as he packed up with his wife of 53 years, Martha. The couple were longtime friends with the Goldsteins (the two men worked at Ionics Inc., where Goldstein had been CEO), but had not expected to see each other when they arrived at the ukulele class last year.
Besides drawing several married couples, the class also stands out for its large number of men, Levinson said. The only Council on Aging activity that draws more men is the monthly current events group at the Senior Center. But the passion of politics is nothing like the joy of music.
“We walk out of here singing,” said Fitzsimmons, the former flight attendant. “We have such a good time.”
Steve Maas can be reached at stevenmaas@comcast.net.
“It’s just phenomenal how it spread,” Weston resident Pat Fitzsimmons, a retired flight attendant, said of the enthusiasm for this “very happy instrument.”
It’s not just the silver set catching ukulele fever.
Danno Sullivan helped organize the Ukulele Union of Boston through the Meetup website five years ago. From 20 people, the group’s e-mail roster — “the number we could communicate with in a ukulele emergency” — has grown to more than 700, said Sullivan, who lives in Harvard.
‘We walk out of here singing. We have such a good time.’ -- Pat Fitzsimmons, Weston resident, on the ukulele classes held by her town’s Council on Aging
The ukulele boom offers another example of the Internet’s bringing together people who had not realized “there are others like me out there,” he said. “People are excited and delighted to get to be ukulele nerds with each other.”
Sullivan also credits the resurgence to fading memories of Tiny (“Tiptoe Through the Tulips”) Tim, the falsetto-singing, clownlike character who became an overnight sensation in the 1960s on “Rowan and Martin’s Laugh In.” “He single-handedly turned this lovely little instrument into a joke,” Sullivan said. “I think that lasted for decades.”
The union’s twice-monthly ukulele meetups draw teens to octogenarians at sites ranging from pubs to libraries to the banks of the Charles River, he said. They play everything from today’s tunes to Tin Pan Alley. Everyone is welcome.
Theresa Levinson planted the seeds for the Weston Senior Center class after hearing her brother-in-law rave about his ukulele group in San Diego. Levinson, a nurse at the Council on Aging, saw the ukulele lessons as a good memory tool. “There is science that playing an instrument or learning a language can strengthen brain neurons,” she said.
Pat Fitzsimmons played a ukulele at a class at the Weston community center.
A music teacher from a local grade school taught the first Weston class in fall 2013. Forced to bow out because of a scheduling problem, she left the class in the hands of one of the students, a retired Canadian grain dealer.
Daniel Métraux, who learned the ukulele at summer camp in his native Switzerland, said the class — and practicing an hour a day — has made him a much better player.
The instrument is fairly simple to learn. Basically, you just need a sense of rhythm and the ability to carry a tune (but don’t worry, you don’t need to sound like Judy Collins). Learn three chords, Métraux says, and you can play hundreds of songs. Students play from song sheets with lyrics and picture boxes indicating chords.
A 93-year-old woman who was in his class last year told him, “I don’t play country, I don’t sing, and I don’t hear too well, but I enjoy it.’’
Métraux runs the class with a light, but not lax, touch. If a relatively new song gets off to a rough start, he will not hesitate to break in and offer some strumming tips. If the students do not like a selection, he won’t argue. When “Those Were the Days,” from the sitcom “All in the Family,” got shouted down, he crumpled up the score sheet and tossed it over his shoulder.
Although the one-hour sessions are filled as much with laughter as with song, the students — some of whom are experienced musicians — do take their playing seriously. They were quick to focus on tricky passages in “Over the Rainbow,” noting where Métraux’s song sheet left out key words and thus threw off the rhythm.
When they performed “Leaving on a Jet Plane,” you could almost see in their eyes the music stirring memories. Perhaps the John Denver tune — a hit for Peter, Paul, and Mary in the late 1960s — recalled their own experiences with love and separation.
The class wrapped up with an energetic performance of “When the Saints Go Marching In,” for the benefit of the mahjong group that had been meeting next door.
“We do it together because we’re married,” said Bill Katz as he packed up with his wife of 53 years, Martha. The couple were longtime friends with the Goldsteins (the two men worked at Ionics Inc., where Goldstein had been CEO), but had not expected to see each other when they arrived at the ukulele class last year.
Besides drawing several married couples, the class also stands out for its large number of men, Levinson said. The only Council on Aging activity that draws more men is the monthly current events group at the Senior Center. But the passion of politics is nothing like the joy of music.
“We walk out of here singing,” said Fitzsimmons, the former flight attendant. “We have such a good time.”
Steve Maas can be reached at stevenmaas@comcast.net.
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