music is as much a part of death as it is of life

kid ory creole's orchestra
oh didn't he ramble

kid ory
oh didn't he ramble

paleo : forgetness

"J'ai un pied et demi dans la fosse, mais je suis tranquille et résigné comme un malade en qui va s'éteignant la passion en même temps que la vie. Si je n'ai pas le traité de l'immortalité de l'âme sous mon oreiller, je l'ai là, dans mon coeur..." (Aloysius Bertrand)

Me souviens que pourrait dire
qu'entendant "the carny" - oui encore Nick Cave - un rapprochement se fit dans mon esprit avec "un cheval mort", texte d'Aloysius Bertrand figurant en annexe dans "Gaspard de la Nuit";
que, voici quelques jours, entendant la musique jouée et chantée par Rohan Kriwaczek m'être dit que cette chanson pourrait figurer au répertoire de son Rohan Theatre Band;
qu'il serait facile de dire, par paresse, parce que leurs voix ont de troublantes intonations jumelles : "tiens on dirait Tom Waits";
qu'à la Nouvelle Orléans, "Oh didn't he ramble" est un morceau joué au retour du cimetière, après l'enterrement;
que Rohan Kriwaczek perpétue, au sein de la Guild of Funerary Violonists, une tradition, née à l'époque élizabethaine, oubliée après la première guerre mondiale, l'art du violon funéraire...

(englikhtonian version)
I have a foot and a half in the pit, but quiet I am and resigned as a patient in whom passion goes dying out at the same time as the life. If I do not have the treaty of the immortality of the heart under my pillow, I have it there, in my heart...(Aloysius Bertrand)

Remember I could say
that hearing "the carny" - yes still Nick Cave in my favorite
record of him - an association was done in my brain with "a dead horse", an Aloysius Bertrand text appearing in "Gaspard of the Night";
a few days ago, hearing the music played and sung by Rohan Kriwaczek, I told myself this song could appear in the repertory of his Rohan Theatre Band;
that it would be easy to say, by idleness, because their voices have disconcerting twin intonations : "come on ! wouldn't we say it's Tomwaitsalike";
that in New Orleans, "Oh didn't he ramble" is a piece
played at the return of the cemetery, after the burial;
that Rohan Kriwaczek
perpetuates, within Guild of Funerary Violonists, a tradition, born elizabethan time and forgotten after the first world war, the art of funerary violin...

kid ory
kid ory's creole orch.
rohan theatre band
guild of funerary violinists
mick mercer's review
listen and buy Rohan Theatre band's records
listen and buy "the art of funerary violin"
acheter/buy Kid Ory's "favorites !"
dirty dozen brass band keeps jazz funeral alive (Tavis Smiley show on npr)
acheter buy Dirty dozen brass band "funeral for a friend"
aloysius bertrand
le cheval mort (texte)***
acheter/buy gaspard de la nuit

***a dead horse translation attempt

THE GRAVE-DIGGER. - I will sell bones to you to manufacture buttons.
THE PIALEY. - I will sell bones to you to furnish the handle with your daggers.
(The Shop of the Arms manufacturer.)

The roadway ! on the left, under a grass of clover and alfalfa, burials of a cemetery; on the right, a suspended gibet which, of the passers-by, requires alms as from a one-armed.

That one, killed yesterday, the wolves shredded the flesh to him on the collar in so long needles that one would say it still dressed for the cavalcade of a tuft of red ribbons.

Each night, as soon as the moon turns pale the sky, this carcass will fly away, mounted by a witch who will spur it with the pointed bone of her heel, the north wind blowing in the organ of its cavernous sides.

And if it were at this silent hour a sleepless eye, open in some pit of the field of rest, it would be closed suddenly, by fear, seeing a spectrum in stars.

Soon the moon itself, blinking one eye, from the other only shines to light like a floating candle this skinny wandering dog, which laps the water of a pond.

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