New Orleans, the city known for originating Jazz music, originally called either Jass or Jizm (this is true) is also known for its colorful Jazz funerals which involve a procession of jazz musicians through the narrow colonial streets of the French Quarter. Normally these funerals offer a light-jaunty accompaniment to the somberness of a funeral. This Thursday, however, a lengthy Free-Jazz Funeral took place. This funeral, in contrast to a normal Jazz funeral, featured thirty-five minute upright bass solos and some guy standing in on a street corner smoking a cigarette, snapping his finger and mumbling Alan Ginsberg’s Howl.
By the funeral’s fifteenth hour, a rogue trumpetist had started making repeated beeping noises and weeping onto an impressionist canvas, everyone having long forgotten who the funeral was for or why they were there.