Jake Shimabukuro

Tell me something. When was the last time you listened to someone perform music and you were genuinely excited by what you were hearing? I’m not talking about just loving the music or being nicely entertained -- that's common enough -- but being riveted by what you were experiencing. Enraptured, not merely attentive. Where you would stare unblinkingly and listen without the slightest distraction at what was unfolding before you, allowing yourself an occasional “wow” or “whoa” in a barely audible soft whisper. This is what we experienced the other night listening to Jake Shimabukuro.

And, if I were to tell you that Jake’s instrument is the ukulele, you would scoff just a bit, wouldn’t you? I know I would were I not familiar with his wizardry. In my life, the ukulele is one of those instruments I have always associated with cutesy island folk tunes, and, for those as old as dirt as I am, the insincere pawings of an old Arthur Godfrey in television’s early days. An instrument, fairly or unfairly, dismissed as not worthy in a conversation about serious music or serious musicians.

The setting for this musical magic was this year’s Spoleto festival here in Charleston. Jake was slated to appear at the cistern at the College of Charleston, as wonderful a venue as you are apt to find. The cistern is the college’s quadrangle, the outdoor space that is draped in the overhanging boughs of live oaks and that holds an ancient building at its head whose façade on performance nights is lit from below in colors arching skyward. On other days, the cistern hosts graduation ceremonies, on others it is a favorite gathering place for students who loll in the shade with friends or books. On this night, however, all this was in doubt as Lily and I took cover from a downpour that we were certain would lead to a cancellation, or, at a minimum, the relocation of this event to somewhere indoors. We wandered over to the cistern under a borrowed umbrella and were surprised to hear that expectations were that the show would go on with the storm front sliding to the east. Towels were handed out by event staff to dry the seats, and, as the rain subsided even further, the crew came out to sweep collected water off the stage, and to set up the lighting and sound equipment. The crowds drifted in, looking skyward, as amazed and delighted as we were to know that the show would, indeed, go on. The event’s master of ceremonies pointed to the emerging stars and the moon.

What followed for the next hour was a kind of brilliance that most of us are not often fortunate enough to witness. Jake Shimabukuro, alone on the stage, showed us that this reputedly modest and lighthearted instrument had some secrets of its own lurking behind those strings. Ambitions of greatness. The ukulele (or, as Jake pronounced it, the “ookelele”) looked tiny in his hands, just enhancing the image of this instrument as one not to be taken seriously. It appeared as a toy, perhaps a starter instrument for a 7 year old. But, then he began to play.

Whether he was performing Adele‘s “Set Fire to the Rain,” or Queen’s “Bohemian Rhapsody” or George Harrison’s “As My Guitar Gently Weeps” or the Japanese “Sakura, Sakura,” or bluegrass, Jake coaxed sounds out of this little instrument that defied not only expectation but logic. Alternatively, we heard beautifully rounded tones ridiculously deep in character, and soaring riffs that made you feel as if you were taking flight just as the music was. Jake’s fingers were a blur as they slid among, and up and down, the strings, sometimes sliding down inches from his right hand to produce impossibly high notes that surely would have cocked Mojo’s ears. In his rendition of “Sakura, Sakura,” the ukulele was once again transformed, this time into the Japanese koto, the traditional instrument used to play this song. Close your eyes and you just knew that was not the ukulele producing these notes. No way. In those numbers where the intensity of the music grew, Jake would slap at the instrument rhythmically while never losing the song, creating a percussive backdrop that -- once again, if your eyes were closed -- you’d swear was the product of more than one instrument. Amazing. Electric.

At the end, the crowd flew to its feet. Polite applause would simply not do. The crowd’s whistles, wild cheers, and unrestrained smiles said it all.