A Baritone ukulele and dreams

I get asked this question a lot:
How did you get started?
Over the years, my answer always comes back to the same place. The same room. The same sounds. The same feeling.

My mom had a baritone ukulele, an Epiphone acoustic six-string guitar, and we had a piano in the living room of our home. We had an AM/FM stereo receiver with a turntable and an 8-track player. The main speakers sat in the same room, with wall-mounted speakers in the family room on the other end of the first floor. The record player lived on an entertainment stand with two shelves underneath, where LPs were stacked like books on a bookshelf.

And my mom loved ♥️Neil Diamond.

She had several of his albums, and they were always spinning. But the one that changed everything for me was Hot August Night, recorded live at the Greek Theatre in 1972.
I must have first heard it around 1977 or 1978. I was six or seven years old. Even now, I can remember the feeling of listening to that record as clearly as if I heard it yesterday.

The album fades in as the audience settles, the hum of conversation slowly quieting. The first track--“Prologue”—begins with quiet strings. As the track unfolds, the full orchestra joins in, the tempo increases, and everything begins to build. The music swells, growing more intense, more alive, until it finally explodes into “Crunchy Granola Suite.”

The crowd erupts. I can hear them screaming in unison, and in my imagination, I see Neil Diamond walking out onto the stage as the band drives the song forward, loud and relentless, filling the Greek Theatre with this beautiful noise.

I was completely captivated.

In that moment, I didn’t just fall in love with the music—I fell in love with the idea of being part of it. I wanted to be the person walking onto that stage, sharing something powerful with the crowd. Even then, I think what drew me in most wasn’t the spotlight, but the connection—the shared energy in the room, the way music brings people together and makes them feel something together. Looking back now, I realize that my passion for music has always lived in that exchange—in the giving and receiving, in the way music invites people into a shared experience.

I listened to all the albums my mom owned, along with the records my older siblings kept in those stacks. Somewhere along the way, I picked up my mom’s baritone ukulele and started plucking those nylon strings.

I didn’t know it then, but a baritone uke is tuned the same as the bottom four strings of a guitar (D–G–B–E). My mom also had a Neil Diamond songbook, and one of the songs in it was, of course, “Crunchy Granola Suite.”

I would sit on the piano bench with that baritone uke in my lap, studying that music. The book had the melody notes, some bass clef chords for piano, and guitar chord diagrams printed above the grand staff. Using those chord diagrams, I taught myself how to play the song on the uke.

It was simple. But there was one problem. It didn’t sound like that live recording.

That disappointment, wanting it to sound fuller, bigger, closer to what I heard in my head, became my motivation. It pushed me to keep practicing. To try more songs. It pushed me to pick up my mom’s Epiphone acoustic guitar to chase that richer sound and to learn more chords.

That small moment of frustration didn’t stop me. It carried me forward. And it has led me all the way to where I am today.

I still have that baritone ukulele sitting in our shop. I still have the Epiphone acoustic guitar at home. Those instruments are more than just objects to me, they’re reminders of where it all started for me.

My musical roots trace back to my mom’s love for Neil Diamond, her patience and grace in letting me play her instruments, and her encouragement to sing and play. They trace back to a child sitting on a piano bench, imagining a stage, a crowd, and a moment worth sharing.

And that’s still what music is to me today. 

That’s the heart behind JP’s Six-String Studio: a place where curiosity is encouraged, beginnings are honored, and confidence is built one note at a time. What began with a baritone ukulele, a stack of vinyl, and a patient mother is now a studio built on the same values, listening closely, trying bravely, and growing through music.

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