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 rambledRambled all around… in and out of townDidn’t he ramble… didn’t he rambleHe rambled till the butcher cut him down. His feet was in the market placehis head was in the streetLady pass him by, saidlook at the market meatHe grabbed her pocket bookand said I wish you wellShe pulled out a forty-fivesaid I’m head of personnel. Didn’t he ramble… he rambledRambled all around… in and out of townDidn’t he ramble… didn’t he rambleHe rambled till the butcher cut him down. He slipped into the cat housemade love to the stableMadam caught him coldsaid I’ll pay you when I be ableSix months had passedand she stood all she could standShe said buddy when I’m through with youOle groundhog gonna be shakin yo’ hand. Didn’t he ramble… he rambledRambled all around… in and out of townDidn’t he ramble… didn’t he rambleHe rambled till the butcher cut him down. I said he rambledlord… ’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.
