Perfect Pairing: Del Rey’s Singular Sound and Deep Connection to her Ron Phillips Resonator Uke

BY AARON KEIM | FROM THE WINTER 2025 ISSUE OF UKULELE

Some musicians move fluidly between instruments, content to play whatever happens to be in their hands that night. Others are deeply committed to a single instrument, returning to it night after night, year after year—imagine Willie Nelson without his guitar, Trigger! In the ukulele world, Del Rey exemplifies the latter: inseparable from her Ron Phillips resonator ukulele—a polished silver musical cannon that fires off blues, rags, and obscure strands of American pop. I recently performed some maintenance on this instrument, which led to conversations with both Del Rey and Phillips. What emerged was a compelling sense that the relationship between builder, player, and repertoire forms a uniquely powerful and enduring bond.

Blues and Beyond

Del Rey was born in 1959 into a bohemian, itinerant lifestyle. Eventually settling in San Diego, California, she began playing guitar at age four, learning the basics from a PBS program broadcast on the trailer park rec room television. As a teenager, she was drawn to old-time blues and was mentored by Delta bluesman Sam Chatmon. After a brief stint at college in Santa Cruz, she left to pursue music full-time.

In the early 1980s, she acquired a 1932 National Style-O metal-bodied resonator guitar, which allowed her to project with both volume and the desired old-time sound. Resonator instruments, developed in the 1920s by the National company to amplify sound before the advent of electronic amplification, use a bridge (or “biscuit”) mounted on a thin aluminum cone that acts similarly to a speaker diaphragm, naturally amplifying the vibration of the strings. Resonators were not just for guitars, however; National made many great ukuleles at this time as well. 

Del Rey’s first album, Café Society (1985), offered a dazzling mix of American musical styles, shaped by her artful yet approachable touch. It caught the attention of machinist Ron Phillips, who worked in mechanical engineering at the UC Berkeley Space Sciences Lab. He was captivated by how her resonator guitar playing extended beyond bottleneck blues, connecting to a broader spectrum of American music.

Inspired Design

At the lab, Phillips routinely fabricated custom parts for scientific research, giving him expertise in materials science, precision engineering, and experimental design. “Someone came in with a broken metal guitar and asked if we could fix it. We said, ‘Fix it? We could build it,’” he recalls. (One of his colleagues, John Morton, would also go on to build resonator guitars and ukuleles.)

Inspired by the sounds of early resonator guitars and equipped with top-tier tools, Phillips began experimenting with alloys, spinning his own aluminum cones, and using CAD software to design in metal and wood. His instruments reflect a deep influence from the Art Deco movement, with its stylized geometry and bold aesthetic. “I always admired Art Deco designs from a distance, but making guitars sent me into a fever pitch on the subject,” he says.

By 1991, Del Rey was performing with the late bluesman Steve James, blending American roots traditions with her distinctive syncopated fingerpicking. In 1994, both were invited to teach at the Puget Sound Guitar Workshop, where she met Phillips. “He came to my blues fingerpicking class and showed me a guitar he’d made . . . out of galvanized steel, like a trash can!” she says. “I liked it and asked him to make one for me. I wanted a parlor-sized guitar that was lighter and more playable than my old National, with 12 frets to the body and a cutaway for access to the high notes.” Phillips designed an instrument with a compact body, Art Deco styling, and a voice that was loud, sweet, and slightly gritty—perfectly suited to Del Rey’s style. It has remained her primary guitar model ever since.

Now Make it a Uke

In 1999, Del Rey found an old pineapple ukulele at a Seattle flea market and was immediately drawn to its portability—and the musical possibilities of its re-entrant tuning. She began arranging music for ukulele and formed the Yes Yes Boys in 2000, a group featuring upright bass, clarinet, and percussion accompanying her uke. “I made a conscious choice not to play guitar in that band. It was the ukulele band. Plus, we liked to ride our bicycles to the gig, so it made sense.”

Around the same time, Phillips and his son had taken up the ukulele, which led him to build a pair of them. When Del Rey needed a louder instrument, she asked Phillips to make one, and in 2001 he delivered her first resonator uke. With it, she could match a clarinet’s volume and fill out the harmonic textures needed in the band. The instrument’s durability and compatibility with metal fingerpicks (thanks to Guadalupe wound strings) made it especially functional for her. “The fingerpicks add crispness—not just volume—and the wound strings last longer with the picks,” says Del Rey. “We used Guadalupe until they went out of business. Now a company called Magma makes them.”

This instrument has become inseparable from her musical identity. Its body is made of nickel silver (an alloy used in band instruments) and features stylized Art Deco floral cutouts.  “It’s a great-sounding metal. I like it much better than brass or steel,” Del Rey says.

Her uke is soprano sized with a 13-inch scale length, which she tunes up to A D F# B for a brighter tone. “I find that most soprano or concert ukes prefer either D or C tuning. This one needs the extra pressure of D tuning to make the cone speak properly,” she says. The neck is padauk, a dense red hardwood, and the fretboard is made from iridescent plastic often called “mother of toilet seat” by guitar collectors. The result is a flashy, stylish, but sturdy instrument—just like Del Rey herself.

Inseparable Companions

I first met Del Rey in 2006 at the Portland Ukulele Festival. I watched her class from the back and caught her performance, and we shared a couple of martinis and jammed together on the forested campus of Reed College. I was drawn to her no-nonsense demeanor, vintage aesthetic, and, of course, her fingerpicking. We’ve since shared stages and classrooms many times—Del Rey with her Ron Phillips uke as a faithful companion.

This spring, backstage before a concert, she asked me to look at her ukulele, which was playing slightly out of tune. I saw that the cone had rotated, misaligning the biscuit. The next day, she brought it to my bench. I realigned the cone, changed the strings, repaired a tuning machine, and polished the frets. That was all it needed—ready for another 100,000 miles.

When I looked at the case, I was struck by the many stickers, reflecting Del Rey’s travels and her outlook on the world. A setlist is taped to the upper bout of the uke, featuring some of my favorite of her songs. The neck’s finish is completely worn—evidence of two decades of daily play. As I tuned it up with her signature wound strings, I was struck by how deeply connected this instrument is to her. I can’t imagine anyone else playing it—and certainly not like her, with that cascade of syncopated glory erupting from its metal body.

Phillips is now retired from UC Berkeley and makes about ten instruments a year while pursuing other design projects. “After many years and hundreds of instruments, I’m still completely absorbed in building,” he says. “Every time I string up a new one, there’s excitement and anticipation. Making these is just plain fun. I’m now in a place where I can develop lots of new designs and features.” His ukuleles come in soprano, concert, and cutaway tenor sizes. In addition to his Art Deco flourishes and intricate grillwork, he often etches the bodies with tropical designs that nod to the Hawaiian origins of the ukulele.

Watching Del Rey perform earlier this year, I was suddenly struck by a full-body realization: I was witnessing something utterly singular; the moment made possible by the connection between the artist performing onstage and the uke in her hands had never happened before and would never happen again. It was a true act of musical creation, springing from a confident heart and an ever-curious mind. It made me ache, but also filled me with joy to witness. She was doing the musical work we didn’t know we needed—with her Ron Phillips uke in hand.

You’ll find albums and more from Del Rey at hobemianrecords.com.