Let's go out on a limb here and assume that most people don't automatically associate the ukulele with instrumental virtuosity. It's a good bet that when they think ukulele, they think Tiny Tim (pour a little liquor on the curb for my man). They think Don Ho. They think "My Little Grass Shack."The four-stringed acoustic Hawaiian instrument's diminutive size and largely novel role in pop music just don't engender connotations of amazing musical prowess. But like everything else on the planet capable of making a sound that might be considered remotely pleasing, it's got its own rich history, its own die-hard fans, its own masters and students. And its own visionaries, players inclined to take their chosen instrument somewhere beyond its traditional identity.
Twenty-seven-year-old Oahu native Jake Shimabukuro probably doesn't think of himself as a visionary. (That's usually how you can tell the real visionaries from the fake ones. Poser visionaries are often painfully conscious of their role as visionary.) He probably doesn't even think of himself as some sort of bespectacled human bridge spanning the chasm between a relatively small coterie of ukulele enthusiasts and a much wider audience.
He's surely aware, however, that that's the perception — I mean, come on, how many other ukulele players are playing the Tampa Bay Performing Arts Center this year?
Shimabukuro's rising profile owes much to his affinity for using the ukulele to explore musical genres that, while familiar, aren't readily associated with the instrument. It's a methodology that worked exceedingly well for one of his primary inspirations, fusion/jazz/jam banjo player Bela Fleck.
"[His] albums served as a major influence on my music," confirms Shimabukuro, via an e-mail interview conducted during the midst of a hectic tour of Japan.
At the same time, Shimabukuro embraces the sounds and signatures both aficionados and casual music fans recognize as intrinsic to Hawaiian-music heritage.
"I always try to keep a respectable balance between the traditional and not-so-traditional in my live performances, to honor the roots of the instrument," he says. "That's very important, in any art."
The result is a broad sonic palette that ranges from shimmering, evocative acoustic strumming through new takes on classic songs and light fusion to electric, Hendrix-influenced rock. Each of Shimabukuro's three albums takes pains to offer a little of everything, but his energetic, full-spectrum live sets are reportedly where things best mesh. Show reviews are often fawning; the gigs where he's backed by a rhythm section are characterized as having a frenzied rock 'n' roll energy, and solo appearances — like the one this Friday at TBPAC — run the gamut from engaging, comedic fun to soulful Gary Moore-esque blues.
Like most artists whose music stands decidedly outside easily marketed categories, Shimabukuro's fanbase is a widely disparate one. He doesn't attract all the members of one demographic, he draws a few adventurous members from all ages, races and walks of life.
"Not really," he answers when asked if there's anything approaching a "typical" Jake Shimabukuro fan. "I always see a variety of generations … that's one of the great charms of the ukulele. It can be appreciated by anyone."
Still, he says he's surprised "all the time" by the individuals who turn out to be fans of his music.
A wildly varied throng of supporters can be one of the big benefits of maverick music-making — such fans are often loyal over the course of an artist's career, as opposed to a big trendy crowd that may move on when the trend does. Of course, there are also downsides to working outside of mainstream styles, one of the biggest being that America is a notoriously tough nut for iconoclasts to crack. Though he's one of the biggest acts in his home state of Hawaii, and a marquee attraction in other corners of the world, Shimabukuro is still a comparatively unknown entity in much of the continental U.S., despite having performed with everyone from legendary bassist Victor Wooten to jam-poppers Blues Traveler.
To his credit, Shimabukuro seems less concerned about a big American breakthrough than he is about simply being given a chance to ply his trade.
"Honestly, I don't think about that stuff much," he writes. "I just want to play for anyone who wants to hear me. My favorite gigs are still coffee shops and small restaurants."
Than again, were he to feel insecure about his status in the States, Shimabukuro could always assuage himself by reviewing his list of successes in Japan, where he's very nearly a star. The ukulele player has appeared in that country more than 20 times over the last five years. He was named Hawaii's goodwill ambassador to the island nation for 2004, and received the Japanese Foreign Minister's Commendation, an award given to individuals whose work is deemed to have improved U.S.-Japanese relations.
This is the place in the story where one might expect the paragraph about how the young maestro's current U.S. tour, his biggest American solo jaunt to date, might be a step toward the kind of notoriety he enjoys in Japan. But one kind of gets the impression that Shimabukuro isn't as hungry for a higher profile — to be the ambassador from the ukulele people to the rest of us — as he's just excited to play, and connect with folks in the crowd. And one definitely gets the impression that he feels extremely lucky to do it.
"I never feel like I'm going to be a hit," he writes in response to a question about touring with acts whose fans might be completely unfamiliar with his work. "As long as I can make the audience laugh at least once during my performance, then it's a successful one."
scott.harrell@weeklyplanet.com.
This article appears in Aug 12-18, 2004.