Bobble Tiki remembers when he picked up his first ukulele. He picked it up after cold-cocking Hawaiian Ken for trying to snake Bobble Tiki’s last Dos Equis. It was like cradling a child, and it made sounds that reminded him of home. Oh, and the uke bitches … all the uke bitches.

Bobble Tiki remembers the first time he played the ukulele in public. Well, sort of. Bobble Tiki definitely remembers drinking a bunch of Midori sours and being swarmed by saucy little numbers itching to see what Bobble Tiki’s magic fingers could do for them. It was like Jim Morrison stepped into one of those Axe Body Spray commercials, only hotter.

Imagine Bobble Tiki’s surprise when he heard that Weekly Volcano theater scribe Steve Dunkelberger was helping to start a ukulele revolution in the South Sound. On the leading edge of what the New York Times recently branded a ukulele resurgence, the Dunkelberger is one of a growing number of people coming from as far away as Shelton to jam on one of Bobble Tiki’s favorite instruments. The Washington Association of South Sound Ukulele Players — or WASSUP — has pulled an average 30 to 40 people at monthly meetings and is beginning to look like a phenomenon. The Dunkelberger says he likes the ukulele because it’s cheaper and easier to learn than a guitar, and because it’s so much fun. He didn’t say anything about being swarmed by uke bitches, but that sort of thing takes time outside of Seoul and Waikiki.

“You can literally play it after looking at it for 15 minutes,” says the Dunkelberger.

Maybe it’s the ease of learning. Maybe it’s the fact that you can pick one up for the cost of an old hand gun and start drawing ladies like flies to an Otter Pop. Maybe it’s the fact that most songs on the ukulele involve only three or four chords. Maybe it’s because we all secretly want to recreate the sudden peace we felt when we first heard Israel Kamakawiwo’ole play “Somewhere Over the Rainbow.” Whatever it is, people are into it, says the Dunkelberger.

Members of WASSUP are affiliated with SUPA, or the Seattle Ukulele Players Association. The Dunkelberger says people don’t want to drive all the way to Seattle, so they come to monthly meetings in Tacoma and thereabouts to jam with their friends. The Dunkelberger has been surprised and delighted by the turnout.

“We thought we were going to be a group of maybe a dozen, and we got 30,” says the Dunkelberger. “We get more people every time from word of mouth. We have 80 year-olds to 11-year-olds. We have fourth-generation uke players, and you’ve got people like me who are just learning.”

The Dunkelberger’s first ukulele was a baritone — one of four kinds. The others are soprano, tenor and concert, says the Dunkelberger. The ukulele is a chordophone, according to Wikipedia, and is officially classified as a plucked lute, a subset of the guitar family. If you want to be like Bobble Tiki, you can buy a ukulele for as little as $30. If you want to be a dork about it, you can buy one like the pros use, and spend $200. If you want to be a super-dork about it, you can buy one made out of Hawaiian koa wood by Kamaka, a 100-year-old company created by one of the first uke makers. Those cost about $600 and will get you extra uke bitches.

Once you have your ukulele, you can join the Dunkelberger and his friends at WASSUP. WASSUP members usually spend about 10 minutes on important administrative stuff, then they start picking their lutes. Song circles are full of laughs, and no one ever really feels like an amateur. Sometimes people bring in new songs and get suggestions from the more seasoned lute pluckers in the group. Members help each other polish their uke tunes by suggesting new or innovative ways to surf chords. It never gets all that complicated, says the Dunkelberger, which is part of what makes the ukulele such a nice instrument.

“You can’t play the blues on a ukulele,” says the Dunkelberger. “I mean, let’s be serious.”
The Washington Association of South Sound Ukulele Players meets the fourth Tuesday at A Rhapsody in Bloom Florist and Café Latte at 3709 Sixth Ave. in Tacoma.

As always, Bobble Tiki doesn’t care what you do this week because he doesn’t even know you.  And unless you’re the slob who sent Bobble Tiki this rhyme —

Eeny, meeny, miny, moe.
Pinot noir or Merlot?
Cultivate your taste in vain;
It won’t obscure your column strain.
Your-editor-told-you-to-pick-the-very-best-words-and-you-are-not-getting-the-Pulitzer.

— then Bobble Tiki doesn’t even want to know you.  Besides, it’s time for Bobble Tiki to blow this joint and submit poetry to Tacoma’s new poetry rag — Leave The Cannoli — although Bobble Tiki thinks it’s weird to have an editorial meeting at 4 a.m. down on Dock Street.