Hear that music in the air? Or more likely on the air waves? For more than a year now, National Public Radio has been presenting the favorite songs of the Covid-19 deceased. As the songs play family and friends talk about their loved one who died from this specific disease. One group talked about their friend whose funeral song was My Way and how once they all had intended to tour Latin America. After the friend’s departure, the friends took a group vacation to the locale, and during a night of dining and celebration the familiar music of My Way was played through the sound system with the words sang in Spanish. They took it as a sign their friend was enjoying herself right along with them.
And now … the favorite songs of the deceased children in Uvalde are being presented as brief well-intentioned uplifting features by reporters. The premise is that remembering the favorite songs of these children will somehow put a smile on the face of grieving families and friends—as if hearing a song somebody liked in life creates a positive way to honor the deceased.
These are kids around the age 10. I’d sure hate for someone to bring up my favorite song at that age had my life been cut short. Everyone knew mine was We’re an American Band by Grand Funk Railroad. Talk about inappropriate. I couldn’t understand most of the words, just liked the beat and the noise. I got the 45 for my birthday and played it all the time. The disc was yellow. Cool, huh?
The next year my favorite song was Nothing from Nothing by Billy Preston. My mother liked it, too, because of Preston’s upbeat piano style. For my birthday, she got me his album The Kids & Me featuring that song. I played the album all the time. In the next couple years, I was awestruck with two two-album masterworks produced by the legendary Stevie Wonder. That was a great musical era … of and for songs.
Sing, sing a song
When I was a kid, there were soft rock songs about just singing (how happy it makes you feel to sing songs), even about songwriting like Barry Manilow’s I Write the Songs. Songs are my favorite art form, too. I’ve been an amateur songwriter since age 10, my first song a hard rocker called Whirlpool of Love.
And because the selected songs performed at funerals are something I’ve paid a lot of attention to, I chose a couple for my own memorial service, ahem, many years from now. Ready? I don’t think you are. I think you’re rolling your eyes. OK, OK. Remember: I’m intense. And keep in mind the era of which I came, greatly influenced by the eclectic music of the 1970s. Here goes:
The preamble will be Time by Pink Floyd. I’ve always loved this song and the band, their music a notch above the Beatles, and I’m a huge Beatles’ fan. However, in deeply contemplating the songs for my eventual memorial—songs I’d like to leave loved ones by which to remember little ol’ me—not one is a Beatle song, not even In My Life. Never liked that song all that much though it is quite a lovely sentiment. I prefer the edginess of Time because of that last line “Thought I’d something more to say.” Whatever disease or event that ends my life, I imagine I won’t be ready for The End. Like those school children. One in the classroom even said, “I don’t want to die.”
For the conclusion of my life’s memorial, my selection is …
Carry On by Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young!
God, I love that song. I dig the whole folk-rock, guitar strumming, picking, vocal harmonies, bouncy tempo, psychedelic organ—the whole groovy hippie vibe. Great song. My message through that song choice, of course, is that survivors carry on with living! Dig in! Travel! Enjoy! Live!
And when I die
Hmm. I love that song, too. I guess I should plug it into my memorial set. The song’s refrain “And when I die, there’ll be one child born in a world to carry on,” just gets me in the pit of my soul. Really makes you think, doesn’t it? How brave songwriter Laura Nyro was to pen the entire song and all the acts who recorded it from Peter, Paul & Mary to Blood, Sweat & Tears to Sammy Davis Jr. This song I only remember vaguely in childhood. As a kid the lyrics stunned and shocked me. It seemed blasphemous, like a song atheists would want at their funerals.
But the song acknowledges a new generation follows us and makes us realize our lives aren’t permanent. We just hope our dreams for the world and all people—world peace, good will, niceness, understanding, helpfulness and empathy—will prevail. It all will be left to people who follow us. God only knows what they’ll say and think about our own time spent on the planet.
The line “one child born in a world to carry on” implies life, perhaps human life, continues elsewhere maybe not only on Earth. Maybe the songwriter was saying humanity won’t be destroyed but continues elsewhere if our planet is doomed by nuclear war or pollution or something unknown.
Songs are mystical. They have the power to mesmerize us into calmness, fury, acceptance, depression—every human emotion from love to hate but mostly love. The melody stays with us, an enchanting ear worm, as we ponder poetic lyrics for a message from here to eternity … and vice versa.