Below is the unabridged Conclusion of my PhD thesis called A Celebration of the Underdog. After all, in the world of classical music the ukulele remains greatly underrated, undervalued and underestimated. I hope that in some small and unique way I have helped to demonstrate the potential of our beloved little instrument. Over the course of my studies I have come to embrace and celebrate the idea of the ukulele as musical outlier, a pirate and a rebel. I love how it defies musical conventions thanks to its re-entrant tuning and its peculiarities have made me change the way I think about and play music. I’m a far better musician now. A far better musician than when I studied at the Royal College of Music. Of course, I have grown through experience, guidance and research but the real power of the ukulele is that it has made me think outside the box (I feel this will be an ongoing topic in future blogs).

I love how ukulele events welcome all levels and styles. Everyone gets an opportunity to be heard – maybe not on the main stage but at one of the many open mic sessions. One of the most beautiful musical experiences of my life occurred just the other day at the Bracklesham Ukulele Weekend in Eastbourne. One of the performers at an open mic session was beset with nerves and had to stop a couple of times. They valiantly continued with shaking hands and trembling voice. I sensed the whole audience was leaning in, willing them on. We all knew how it felt to be alone on the stage. Exposed. And then very spontaneously, very quietly and very gently the entire audience joined in. I had tears in my eyes, just as I do now. This is what I love most about the ukulele – the community it inspires. It doesn’t require a PhD for the ukulele to be an amazing catalyst for love, sharing and community. The flea will jump where it will – classical, jazz, blues, punk, folk etc – and we’re all just enjoying the ride.

My entire thesis is now available to read online thanks to Open Access at the University of Surrey. You can read the full transcript by clicking this link. I would, however, like to share the Conclusion with you as part of this blog. Don’t worry! It’s less than 1000 words. I was particularly pleased with the Conclusion because it was not part of my initial submission. Tbh, I didn’t know how to conclude my research, and even felt a little sad that drawing a firm conclusion was, well, rather final. The thing is, when I started out on this PhD lark I had an image of myself standing on the edge of a great lake. It was the Great Lake of knowledge. That sounds rather cheesy and at times I was not, as Stevie Smith so poetically put it, waving but drowning. Nevertheless I did manage to reach the other side of the lake. My submission was finally ready to submit.

But how to finish? How to conclude? I felt a mixture of relief and regret. It was an amazing journey and I had learnt so much along the way. I could now stand on the edge of that great lake and look back with a sense of pride and achievement. But what to say? I turned towards the future. Where do I go from here? What do you hold for me? And that’s when I realised I had swum across a great lake only to find myself on the shore of a mighty ocean. There was still so much left to learn about the ukulele. And that felt pretty good because it meant the little flea had a lot more bounce in it and part of me watching on the sidelines. Watching the flea bounce high into the air. But how to sum up my small contribution? How to conclude my portfolio of new works and the accompanying thesis? So, I didn’t. Well, I did. Well, sort of… I decided to just write a summary of my contribution to knowledge and the findings of my research inquiry. Rather dry. Basically I just presented a series of lists. Job done! Um…not quite.

By the time I got to take my PhD viva (just those words are enough to make PGRs gulp and tremble!) I had managed to convince myself that I was not going to be able to successfully defend my PhD. The examiners were bound to ask some very tricky questions. I watched many YouTube videos on preparing for your PhD Viva (check out Tara Brabazon for some epic, often amusing advice). Nevertheless, I was sure those examiners were bound to hate the ukulele, my stupid compositions and the fact that I wrote boldly about the importance of using tab. Tab! That’s not for academics. Ha! They were going to reveal me as the imposter I really was…why had I even thought I could do a PhD, much less on the ukulele? Oh yes those dark horses of discontent were galloping.

The Viva itself was conducted over Zoom. I locked myself in my shed. Channelling my inner cave girl. The music cave was decorated with sticky note prompts designed to help with those brain freeze moments. The Viva started very formally. There was even a moderator (a moderator? Gulp!) making up our little quartet of virtual eggheads. The formalities ended and the two examiners were suddenly beaming at me. Really? What dark magic was at play now? I gulped. They began to speak. Did I sense a certain nervousness in their voices? Oh dear I better beam back. No more scary face Sam. Next thing we were all laughing and I had passed. Passed? What? I think they actually said they loved reading my thesis. Well, maybe that was liked. But their enthusiasm for the ukulele, my endorsement of tab, my historical explorations, my playing and my maybe not-so-stupid compositions put me at ease and the next thing I really had passed. Was there a question? The sticky notes fluttered down onto the desktop as we spent the next hour discussing various aspects of my project. It was all very jolly. But there was one BUT.

My contribution to knowledge was, they told me, very clear. As was the originality of my work. The only slightly disappointing thing was the Summary. It was, they said, a little…well….um… I jumped in, a little clinical. Yes! Would I like to add a more personal conclusion? Oh yes please! I really appreciated the fact that the examiners had read, listened to, and looked at, the entire contents of my portfolio (no small feat). Their enthusiasm rekindled mine (the final months of a PhD are draining!). They also ‘got it’. Phew!

Rewriting the Conclusion, from the heart, was my ideal coda. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Just before we get to that I’d like to say how much I am enjoying watching the ukulele flourish. While I was at the Bracklesham Ukulele Weekend in Eastbourne the 2nd Ukulele International Conference was taking place in Italy. While I felt sad that I couldn’t be there, I also felt a sense of joy and pride that I could step back and let others continue the journey.

A Celebration of the Underdog (Conclusion of my written thesis New Works for Classical Ukulele)

One of my favourite primary school memories is sitting under the shade of a big, old eucalyptus tree listening to my teacher recite the bush ballads of A.B. “Banjo” Patterson (1864-1941). Patterson, a much loved Australian poet, is best known as the author of Waltzing Matilda (1885) but my favourite poem has always been The Man From Snowy River (1890). It’s the classic tale of the underdog, or in this case the ‘stripling’ on the ‘small and weedy beast’, who surprises everyone when he and his weedy pony turn out to have unexpected and extraordinary abilities. Although I never specifically had this poem in mind when I applied to do a PhD on the ukulele, I’ve always been inspired by the idea that appearances can be deceptive. Small guitars, like small horses, should never be underestimated. 

In The Man from Snowy River the ‘stripling’ is initially told, ‘that horse will never do for a long and tiring gallop…those hills are far too rough for such as you.’ Eventually the lad and his ‘small and weedy beast’ are allowed to join the fray. They then go on to defy all expectations by single-handedly rounding up a herd of run-a-way horses in treacherous mountain terrain. Their moment comes when all the other riders, including the much lauded Clancy of the Overflow (‘no finer horseman ever held the reigns’), give up the chase when the going gets too tough. Just as all seems lost and the old man mutters fiercely ‘we may bid the mob good day, no man can hold them down the other side’, the man from Snowy River comes charging in. By the end of the poem the man is declared ‘a house-hold word today’ while the little pony is ‘blood from hip to shoulder from the spur’. 

I’ve always felt that the real hero of the story is the battered little horse. After all, it is the ‘small and weedy beast’ who gamely plunges down the mountain ‘like a torrent down its bed’ while the other riders ‘stood and watched in very fear’. It’s lump-in-the-throat stuff as ‘he sent the flint stones flying, but the pony kept his feet, he cleared the fallen timber in his stride.’ Weaving a way through ‘the stringy barks and saplings’ it is the courageous little pony (at the end he can scarcely raise a trot) who carries his rider to glory. I’ve always thought the pony should have had more credit. But, I suppose The Pony from Snowy River doesn’t quite have the same ring to it.

To be fair, at the critical moment it is the man who realises that his best tactic is to just sit tight and ‘let the pony have his head.’ The simple acknowledgement that the pony knows things that the rider doesn’t, is oddly reminiscent of De Souza’s idea that instruments know things for their users. The pony knows how to safely navigate a mountain descent and, looking back on this research project, I come to the conclusion that the ukulele has always known how to be a classical instrument. One only needs to look at the four course guitar works of Adrian Le Roy, or the machete pieces of Candido Drummond, to appreciate the long and distinguished presence of small four string guitar-shaped instruments throughout the history of Western music. Furthermore, most of the original compositions in this portfolio have been written with instrument-in-hand. The ukulele, like the pony, knows where I should place my fingers in order to find music that is both pleasing and idiomatic. The pony knows what is expected of him. Does the ukulele know? I’m not sure, but it often feels like the ukulele is trying to tell me things. 

When I play the ukulele is there some echo of the living tree that finds its voice in me? Talking trees may seem like the realm of fantasy but scientists, such as Suzanne Simard, are revealing how trees work and communicate with each other through complex underground systems. Science is giving us the knowledge and the terminology to understand and articulate many things that once seemed fantastic. Of course, the little pony did not have any magical powers, he simply knew where to put his feet because he was born and bred in the mountains. And the rider knew he could trust his steed. Perhaps the most important lesson here is believing in our instrument, be it pony or ukulele. It was belief in the ukulele that set this research project in motion and, to be honest, the ukulele never ceases to surprise me. The exploration into tintinnabuli technique and the resulting arrangements and compositions are a prime example. My early fears that there would be enough to fulfil the academic requirements of a PhD were quickly extinguished by the realisation that there were, and still are, many research avenues left to pursue. 

The new works for classical ukulele, many of which have been published, are helping to establish the ukulele as a contemporary classical instrument. The recording New Works for Classical Ukulele was deliberately labelled Volume 1 as other volumes will surely follow. I am mindful, however, that this portfolio is a microcosm of the ukulele’s true potential and that the insights presented here have focused exclusively on the classical ukulele style. While this is an exciting and ever growing area of study, it is one part of a much larger field; a field that is only now opening out to include further research into the ukulele. Nevertheless, it is exhilarating to have been the first to have plunged down the mountainside of academia with this ‘small and weedy beast’. Odd that it is only after years of study and practice that we finally arrive at a point where we are confident enough to ‘let the pony have his head’. Undoubtedly, the real hero of this story is, and will always be, the ukulele.

If you get this far THANK YOU! Here’s another scene that brings tears to my eyes (see video below)!