Only Human with Joan Axelrod-Contrada: ‘When the Saints’: Finding beauty in a personalized celebration of life
Louis Armstrong knew how to turn a slow and solemn hymn into a toe-tapping, heart-thumping anthem.
He infused “When the Saints Go Marching In” with an undeniable swing that had crowds swaying to the rhythm. It’s like he took out his trumpet and said, “Let’s show everyone how we do things in New Orleans.”
New Orleans gave birth to the jazz funeral, a procession that starts out slow but then picks up its pace. On the way back from the cemetery, the brass band cuts loose. Onlookers hop in, waving handkerchiefs and parasols, and dance down the street in what’s known as the second line.
Because my late husband, Fred, loved the Crescent City, we gave him a New Orleans-style parade for his memorial in 2018, complete with a procession led by the Expandable Brass Band, from the Forbes Library to the Hotel Northampton. My Renaissance man of a husband – a mountain-climbing, karate-kicking fiction writer and journalist – was the kind of guy who deserved to have traffic stopped in his honor.
While the idea of planning a memorial for a loved one might sound as appealing as getting a root canal, I can vouch for it as time well spent. The best part? It brought back the old, healthy Fred from the dead and let me share him with the community.
As a baby boomer, I grew up with funerals so stiff and somber they felt like the equivalent of a corpse. Fortunately, they’ve come a long way since then. The grim, one-size-fits all ceremonies of yesteryear have increasingly given way to the more upbeat and personalized celebrations of life.
Still, maybe you’d rather do anything but plan a memorial. Let’s face it: Losing someone you love is hard enough, but organizing an event without the guest of honor can feel like hosting a magic show without the magician. At some point, though, it might be up to you to give that special someone the sendoff they deserve – one that truly reflects their personality.
Granted, fresh grief can make you want to curl up in a fetal ball rather than deal with anything outside your own muddled headspace. Believe me, I know. But here’s where time and a support system can work wonders. I didn’t schedule our memorial for Fred until after my own private mope-fest.
Everyone puts their own spin on a memorial, and, for my kids and me, music played a huge role. Fred and I had grooved to the Expandable Brass Band at events around town, and their spirit – self-described as “loud, raucous, and full of fun” – brought back memories of New Orleans, with its Bourbon Street and gumbo.
Like a rich and smoky gumbo, the city’s brass bands combine a variety of flavors – jazz, blues, funk, and soul – to create their own trademark sound. The brass instruments provide the bold, rich meat while the drums are like the roux, forming the foundation and rhythm that brings everything together.
Of course, New Orleans jazz is just one of myriad possibilities for a memorable event. The beauty of modern memorials? Their custom-ability. Gone are the days of having to stick to funeral homes or houses of worship. Gone, too: Those old sad cucumber sandwiches and bland hors d’oeuvres. Ditto for those formal eulogies. These days, participants can pass around a mic, telling stories about what made someone a legend in their own time. Organizers can book a public park, library, or civic center – perhaps even treat guests to tacos or burritos.
Granted, the idea of turning a funeral into a fiesta might feel a bit off – like wearing jeans to a wedding. No one’s saying you can’t hold on to old traditions. Also, a small, quiet gathering might work best for those who lived their lives that way. People are as unique as snowflakes. And, when all your effort captures the essence of that special someone? Well, that’s the ultimate tribute.
No one knew better than Satchmo how to blend the old with the new. Of course, some naysayers found his version of the traditional hymn “irreverent.” But here’s the kicker: It’s the one that’s stood the test of time.
So, the next time you hear “When the Saints Go Marching In,” feel free to do a little second-line around your kitchen. The man with the horn and gravelly voice proved that, even in death, there’s room for a little jazz. And if that’s not heavenly intervention, I don’t know what is.
Joan Axelrod-Contrada is a writer who lives in Florence and is working on a collection of essays, “Rock On: A Baby Boomer’s Playlist for Life after Loss.” Reach her at [email protected].
Daily Hampshire Gazette
