A single ukulele can sound puny. But 40 or so ukuleles crammed into a suburban pizza restaurant and played simultaneously create a BIG sound. It’s still a gentle sound because it’s unquestionably Hawaiian, evoking images of the Hawaiian flowers and fish and breezes that are the subjects of so many of the ukeleles songs. But it’s big enough to make you shake your head and wonder: how in the world did this gathering come about?
Last night I put that question to Mike Corbin, who’s owned Today’s Pizza for 6 years. It’s a landmark as you come into Encinitas on Santa Fe Drive off the 5. Set in the corner of the big shopping center that also holds a Vons, a CVS Pharmacy, and a 24-Hour Fitness center, it’s one of the bigger dining rooms in town. Years ago, it became a place for bluegrass musicians to gather on Thursday nights. Corbin says one of them also happened to play ukulele. About four years ago, he asked if he could organize a regular Wednesday night kanikapila in the restaurant. Corbin says they started with about ten people. Now a crowd of 70 isn’t uncommon.
Last night Steve and I had a tough time finding a space in the huge parking lot when we arrived a little after 6. Our friend Geoff, who had tipped us off to the kanikapila, had already
grabbed some seats for us, which was fortunate, as few remained unoccupied. I was impressed by the heterogeneity of the crowd. Although many looked to be retirees, their numbers were mixed with folks from a range of other ages. Geoff says sometimes school-age kids join in the strumming.
I spotted a few Hawaiian shirts and leis and puka shells, but it seemed clear this crowd wasn’t focused on costuming but rather playing music. That started about 6:20. Many participants had downloaded chords and lyrics from the Moonlight Beach Ukulele Strummers website maintained by Frank Leong, the informal leader of the jam sessions and teacher of ukulele at venues such as MiraCosta College. Leong was absent last night but another leader called out the names of classics such as “Puamana” and “Little Grass Shack” (most from ukulele’s Golden Age in the 20s and 30s). People sang along as they played, and a dozen or so women got up to dance to every hula (Geoff says only certain Hawaiian songs fall into that category). I learned that a nurse named Loretta teaches a class in the sinuous moves (donation: $5) in the 4 to 5:30 p.m. slot that precedes the ukulele jam session. “I lived in Hawaii for 17 years, and I never experienced as much aloha as I have with this group,” one of the regular dancers confided to me.
A little later in the evening, a man known as Cowboy Earl strode in and crooned a version of “Blue Hawaii” into a microphone at the front of the room (where other instruments also were set up, including a xylophone, drum, bass, and various guitars.) Another guy, who identified himself as Uncle Henry, a ukulele teacher from Huntington Beach, also played a few solo numbers, giving me insight into how a single ukulele, in the hands of a master, can be commanding.
Mike Corbin says the regular participants sometimes yield the evening to visiting ukulele professionals, who give concerts. Either way Corbin makes no money directly from the musicians. (Leong does charge two bucks a ukulele player, but visitors attend for free.) Although Steve and I greatly enjoyed our whole-wheat barbecued chicken pizza, many players were neither eating nor drinking; too intent on the music-making, it seemed. Corbin just shrugged. Wednesdays otherwise would be a slow night. Plus he liked the idea of his place being a community center.
The kanikapila certainly engenders that, in a sweetly wacky way. (One song was dedicated to the visiting Swedish relatives of one of the regulars.) I know those hula lessons are calling me back. (Click here for a view of the dancers .)
