Yesterday, I shared my ragged performance of “When I’m Cleaning Windows” at the George Formby Society convention in Blackpool, and promised that as a reward for enduring it, you’d get to see how the banjo uke is really meant to be played. And so here are eight performers I managed to record before the battery on my Flip camera decided it had done quite enough.

There were multiple concert sessions throughout the weekend, and these performances were all from the first on Saturday.

John Walley started us off in the ballroom of the Imperial Hotel with “Sitting on the Top of Blackpool Tower” and “Mr. Wu’s An Air Raid Warden Now.”

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I returned late Monday afternoon from a magical weekend at the Imperial Hotel in Blackpool, where I attended one of the George Formby Society’s quarterly conventions. I met in the flesh many friends I’d already made through Facebook and Twitter, made many new friends, sung with a group atop the famous Blackpool Tower, bought my first banjolele (which I’ll tell you more about another day), saw some of the best live ukulele performances of my life, and was generally filled with so much joy that my face hurt from smiling so much.

Oh, and I performed “When I’m Cleaning Windows” in public for the first time.

Those who’ve been following my brief ukulele career (it’s only been about 15 months, remember) will have seen my overwrought thrashing out of that song early last year. But playing in front of others was going to be a lot different, even though the folks in Blackpool were about the kindest, gentlest, least judgmental bunch you’ll ever meet.

I didn’t dare do it on the big stage—that will come in the future once I’ve gotten my brain and fingers around the Formby style of playing—but luckily, the convention holds what’s called an Up and Comers session so that those of us who are still trying to figure out what the heck we’re doing can perform just for each other, rather than in front of the uke masters, who can be intimidating even though they don’t mean to be.

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Irene was going to New York to catch two performances at the Metropolitan Opera last weekend, so I decided to head north with her. Not because I also wanted to see Parsifal, but because the NYC ukulele contingent gathers the second Friday of every month for an open mic and jam session, which meant I’d be able to join them. So I tagged along, not wanting to miss a chance to strum with others.

We met for four hours Friday night at the Sage Theater on Seventh Avenue between 47th and 48th Streets, where each of us was to be given a shot at performing one song, and if time permitted after everyone had a turn, a second.

I chose “Makin’ Whoopee” and “Happy Go Lucky Me,” because I’d committed both songs to memory and had played each several times a day for the past few weeks. (I already shared “Makin’ Whoopee” with you here.) But I soon discovered that there’s a big difference between performing a song under your own roof with an audience consisting of your spouse and performing it in a theater on a stage under a spotlight in front of rows of strangers.

When I got on stage, I suddenly found that my fingers were stiffer than they ever were at home, my voice betrayed my nervousness, and the chords and lyrics I thought I had memorized occasionally fled. Regardless of that, I’m going to share those performances with you.

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With the one-year anniversary of my purchase of a ukulele about a month behind me, and my attendance at the George Formby convention in Blackpool about a month ahead of me, I felt moved to share another song with you. And so, here I am having my way with “Makin’ Whoopee!,” made famous by Eddie Cantor in the 1928 musical Whoopee!

I’m improving slowly … but at least I’m improving. Still quite a ways to go, though, and still hoping I’ll find a local teacher someday.

Can’t wait to learn from my betters next month in Blackpool!

I got together with a few other ukulele players this afternoon for a rare jam. Which made me realize it’s been far too many months since I last shared a uke video with you.

As those who haven’t been recoiling from my irregular ukulele news know, I bought my first instrument on Black Friday 2012, so it’s now slightly more than twelve months since I took my first strum. I share this video to show how a year of plodding stubbornness can triumph over a complete lack of natural musical ability.

If there was a uke teacher in my area, I’d sign up for lessons immediately, but sadly, there is none. I’ve been mostly self-taught through YouTube videos, a month or two with a guitar teacher who tried to help me along, and two days at last summer’s Strathmore UkeFest.

Meanwhile, I’ve already signed up for next year’s Strathmore UkeFest, plus this week I committed to attending the March George Formby Society convention in Blackpool.

I have no idea how much more I can learn without one-on-one face-to-face teaching … but this brings me joy, and so, I continue.

When our fearless leader John Scalzi threatened to bring his ukulele to SFWA’s Nebula Awards weekend last month, I knew I had to do the same. (Bring, not threaten, that is.) And unindicted co-conspirator David Bartell, another science fictional uker, brought his along as well.

Saturday afternoon, in the lull between the end of programming and the beginning of the banquet, we found a quiet spot to jam. And luckily, Liza Groen Trombi happened by to snap this picture, which should appear in the next issue of Locus.

For those who don’t know what we all look like, those smiling faces belong to (from left to right), me, John, and Dave. (And don’t worry—I put on a tie, too, before the festivities began.)

I’m hoping that by the next incarnation of the science fiction merry-go-round, a few more of you secret SF ukulele players (you know who you are) will decide to join us.

A show of hands—which of you will be bringing your ukes along to the Chicago Worldcon?

As those of you who’ve been following my ukulele exploits know, not only did I fall in love with George Formby, but I actually went ahead and joined the George Formby Society, where it turned out I was only the 12th U.S. member.

Since we’re so spaced out across the country, we’ve yet to meet face-to-face, our only contact being via email, Facebook, and Skype. I’m sure we’ll meet someday. But you can meet them now, and by their wonderful playing see the long road I must travel before I’ll properly be able to play this four-string weapon which has captured my heart.

First up, Nashville’s Johnny Foodstamp, covering the George Formby classic, “Why Don’t Women Like Me?”

Next, Dan Breton from Springfield, Massachusetts, with a Formby signature song, “When I’m Cleaning Windows.” (more…)

Remember how miserable I was when I found myself ukulele-less in Salt Lake City? My withdrawal symptoms gave me the shakes. I was determined not to let that happen again, and yet, I didn’t want to lug my concert-sized uke to Peru.

Luckily, one of my new UK friends, found through George Formby fandom, recommended that I purchase a tiny Kala pocket ukulele, created just for that purpose.

Which I did!

And so if you were in Peru the first week of May, you’d have found me holding my uke aloft at Machu Picchu …

… along the Inca Trail, in front of a backdrop that seemed perfect for a performance of “When I’m Cleaning Windows” … (more…)

If you’ve wondered why I’ve been unusually silent for the past week and a half, I have a very good reason. I was on vacation.

In Machu Picchu!

And while I was there—and at the fortress at Ollantaytambo, and by Intipunku, the Sun Gate (from which you can, below, see Machu Picchu way off in the distance)—I oddly found myself thinking The Great Gatsby.

I’ll have more to share about the experience later, once I’ve recovered and had time to process it all, but for now, I just want to say—remember that passage a few paragraphs from the end of The Great Gatsby, the section that speaks of finally finding a thing “commensurate to his capacity for wonder”?

And as the moon rose higher the inessential houses began to melt away until gradually I became aware of the old island here that flowered once for Dutch sailors’ eyes—a fresh, green breast of the new world. Its vanished trees, the trees that had made way for Gatsby’s house, had once pandered in whispers to the last and greatest of all human dreams; for a transitory enchanted moment man must have held his breath in the presence of this continent, compelled into an aesthetic contemplation he neither understood nor desired, face to face for the last time in history with something commensurate to his capacity for wonder.

Though the analogy made there isn’t an exact match for what I felt as I clambered over the ancient stones and walked the Inca Trail, I was indeed feeling a sense of wonder, and also feeling that here was something truly worthy of that wonder. We so often say that things are awe-inspiring when they’re not really inspiring awe. But in this case, I was filled with awe, positively gobsmacked by it.

Didn’t expect to be thinking of Jay Gatsby as I fought off altitude sickness. But there you have it.

More thoughts and pics to follow later!

(And, yes, that is a ukulele in my hands.)

I bought a ukulele five months ago today, and to the dismay of some, I’ve been letting you all share in my progress (or lack thereof), checking in at three months (with “Teddy Bears Picnic“) and four months (with “Side by Side,” “Why Don’t Women Like Me?,” and “Five Foot Two, Eyes of Blue“).

For my five-month performance, I’ve decided to go with George Formby’s “When I’m Cleaning Windows,” even though I’m in no way ready for it, because a) I’ve fallen madly in love with Formby, and b) I’ve read that, “If you play the ukulele in England then everyone who sees you will ask if you can play ‘When I’m Cleaning Windows.'” So I’d better start figuring it out then, eh?

A word of warning for those familiar with Formby—there’s no attempt at a solo below, as I’m a long way off from taking a stab at that. But let this be a testament to how far a guy can get in his first five months … plus something to look back on and chart my progress with once I’ve really figured out what I’m doing.

And so, here’s my first ragged stab at a classic.