The Funeral

No, nobody died. Not yet, anyway. I haven't written all week because I've been sick. Actually, I'm terribly sick right now. To say I'm typing this feverishly would be entirely accurate. I should just lay back and go to bed, but I wanted to put my thoughts out there, however delirious they might seem when I'm back in the pink of health.

To escape from the pain of my sickbed, I grabbed my laptop and viewed the finale of Gossip Girl. Yes, it is this generation's Dynasty, but they do make some good musical choices. I happened to hear a cover of my favorite Band of Horses song, "The Funeral."

It's an amazing song, though it's a simple one. I saw Band of Horses not too long ago at their free "secret" show at Grand Central, and hearing them play this song live made an hour of standing there trying to see the band through a grandstand and a camera crew worthwhile. I started to think about what it meant to be "ready for the funeral" at any occasion. On a surface level, it could mean always wearing black, which I pretty much do anyway. But I like to interpret this lyric as one symbolizing an awareness of our own mortality. At any occasion, I'll be ready for my own funeral. Essentially, it means I've made my peace with the fact that I'm going to die at some point.

Pop music tends to project the opposite message in general ("Forever Young"). Radio hits are driven by infectious melodies and rallying beats that lift us up from the drudgery of life and appeal to our inner teenager (the one who doesn't care about anything and believes that she is immortal). There are exceptions, of course, but generally morbid music makes its appeal to brooding outsiders.

What I love about "The Funeral" is that it makes the eventuality of death a beautiful thing. It's the essence of folk music; the constant mourning juxtaposed with the sense that life is truly dear. I have in my music collection a compilation entitled People Take Warning! Murder Ballads and Disaster Songs, 1913-1938. It's a rare chance to connect with history. There are train wrecks, epidemics, high-profile killings, and even the sinking of the Titanic chronicled in this rather depressing box set. These tragedies often end with a hopeful note, however- perhaps the deceased looking down from heaven, or a vindictive glimpse of the murderer as he ascends the scaffold. This is the musical world I dwell in.

Sure, I'll join in for a chorus of "Don't Stop Believin'" on karaoke night. In fact, 80s hair metal is sometimes the only thing that gets me through a slow day at work. But when I'm in the mood to really listen, I seek songs that tell a story, songs that tell the truth. The truth is, we should always be ready for the funeral. We'll go to enough of them in our lives. To constantly think about our eventual death may seem morbid to some, but I think it makes life all the more precious and worth living. My cousin and I were discussing the issue of mortality this weekend on our drive back from the Poconos, and I mentioned an article I had read about a scientist who claims to be working on cellular research with an eye to ultimately conquering death. My cousin, a physician, was not impressed. "It would be one thing to cure cancer," she said, "but I don't know that I would have anything to live for if I knew I would never die."

So a dreamy indie-rock ballad has become my motivator. I think of my short time on Earth and am thankful that I have the chance to experience it yet. I think of my family, of my husband, of my badly-behaved little cat, and the sentiments wash over me. I think of how grand my story will sound in future reiterations- a young writer moving to New York City and living on instant mashed potatoes and ramen, communing with cockroaches in a college dorm that was formerly the cheap hotel where Kerouac wrote of his interracial love affair. And I have to admit, I do have some amazing stories. So yes, I'd say I'm ready. Just please give me the chance to write up the playlist for my funeral before I go.

-B.S.