Somehow my husband and I independently bought each other musical joke gifts. He got me a #trombone (I played one in middle school band) and I got him a #mandolin (it's just a weird #guitar, right?).
After a few hours, he's already figured out a #Ween song.
All I've managed is fart sounds and remembering how to use the spit valve.
I've got my granny's mandolin on a shelf in the living room, together with a photo of her, my dad and his brother all dressed up as gypsies at a street party in 1935 for a Royal Jubilee celebration.
Hint: make sure the bridge is in the right place so the pitch goes up an octave at the 12th fret. Granny's bridge somehow had been out of place the best part of 80 years and left a "witness mark" in the wrong place. Tho, I suppose if she only played simple chords it wouldn't matter much.
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