I’ve spent much of today compiling a playlist for the funeral of a member of my extended family who died suddenly on Sunday night.
I wanted songs like I did it my way by the Sex Pistols.
Give over, they said.
So next I thought of Amazing Grace by the Dropkick Murphys
For god’s sake, they said.
Hey, you get off of my cloud I suggested.
I’m coming up soon, get the party started. Pink’s version? I asked tentatively.
Another one bites the dust. Queen?
We’re sacking you as musical director, they threatened. I never asked to be anyway, I retorted, stung.
So they went with:
You raise me up. Il Divo.
I first and last heard this at very loved one’s wedding. The bride’s mum asked for it. The officiating priest was drunk as. The quartet, dependent on his erratic cues, got themselves right out of sync. The bride docked the priest ten dollars from his fee for every mistake he made, and twenty dollars for asking the groom if he wanted to marry himself.
At the reception the good father spent much of his time on his mobile, betting on the horses. Then he danced with me and said, Jennifer, I’m a better drinker than dancer, and I was forced to agree. There are photos of me holding him up. It was the best wedding any of us have ever attended.
Bridge over troubled waters. Johnny Cash
Come Healing. Leonard Cohen. (If they refused Leonard Cohen I was done with them. Forever.)
Thank you for the music. Abba. A good metaphorical note to go out on, I think.
As for the Sex Pistols, and the Dropkick Murphys – they’re on my funeral playlist.
And this one:
Vaya Con Dios, R.N.
No Place For Sheep 
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