JAZZ FUNERAL

Considered a great honor, this is one of the most distinguished aspects of New Orleans culture. Its roots lie in the customs of the Dahomeans and Yoruba people, and is a celebration of both the person’s life and the beauty and solemnity of their death.

The procession is lead by the Grand Marshal, resplendent in his black tuxedo, white gloves and black hat in hand; almost a vision of the great Baron Samedi himself. The music begins with solemn, tolling dirges, moves into hymns of sorrow, loss and redemption.

When the burial site is reached, a two-note preparatory riff is sounded, and the drummers start the second-line beat, heralding the switch in music to joyous, upbeat songs, dancing, and the unfurling of richly decorated umbrellas by the ‘second line’ friends, family, loved ones and stray celebrants. Strutting, bouncing, and festive dance accompanies the upbeat ragtime music that sends the departed soul onto its next journey.

Didn’t he ramble … he rambled Rambled all around … in and out of town Didn’t he ramble … didn’t he ramble He rambled till the butcher cut him down.

His feet was in the market place his head was in the street Lady pass him by, said look at the market meat He grabbed her pocket book and said I wish you well She pulled out a forty-five said I’m head of personnel.

Didn’t he ramble … he rambled Rambled all around … in and out of town Didn’t he ramble … didn’t he ramble He rambled till the butcher cut him down.

He slipped into the cat house made love to the stable Madam caught him cold said I’ll pay you when I be able Six months had passed and she stood all she could stand She said buddy when I’m through with you Ole groundhog gonna be shakin yo’ hand.

Didn’t he ramble … he rambled Rambled all around … in and out of town Didn’t he ramble … didn’t he ramble He rambled till the butcher cut him down.

I said he rambled lord … ’till the butcher shot him down.

Bittersweet bay rum, bourbon, and a host of funeral flowers with a touch of graveyard dirt, magnolia and Spanish Moss.