That classic song has been part of this year’s background hum, ever since the slender one, realized that more than three quarters of life, as measured by statistical expectancy had passed, pardon the bad pun, by in a flash. Perhaps that is why the obits, either in English or in Estonian as surmakuulutused catch the eye so often. Old friends in both, far too often. The better half suggests that this practice is akin to whistling past the graveyard, which is an idiom for pretending to be relaxed while in actuality being fearful. Even as we know that our life is finite… Ahh, death, where is thy sting? As John Donne wrote, that sting is sin, one that we all try to avoid.
‘Twas in English in the local rag that the aging peepers espied a wonderful farewell to a gentleman, the name has already slipped into the abyss of old timer memory syndrome. But not that of Roger Miller. For the dearly departed was remembered by his loved ones as not only knowing all the words to that classic song about impermanent, quotidian existence, but also singing them at every opportunity. (Dollars to donuts they played the number at the final farewell.)
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At the time the slimster thought so what. He can do that too. But yet another otic nematode had emerged with that hobo song, hovering in the subconscious until the mind was placed in neutral only to storm bravely onto the stage, yielding ground to nothing. Yup, distraction was required, and found.That being achieved by pondering one’s own possible obit. Life is finite. And what Estonian song would (by those who cared, of course, if found) be mentioned in reminiscence or played in memory of a failed musical wannabe? For Estonians have the tradition of tried and true hymns sung at funeral services and belonging to a fraternity means singing the threnody of a brother has left us. How Germanic and somewhat void of genuine feeling. Although the hymn Jumal Sul ligemal, Nearer my God to Thee is moving. Would it not be nicer to have a rocker or a true folk song, if a song must be heard by, sorry, not to offend, deaf and dumb ears? The expression is far from politically correct these days.
For Canuck cronies the choice is obvious, having lived and passed away in the congested Big Smoke. Gotta be James Taylor’s “Traffic Jam.” Suitable last verse: “Now when I die I don’t want no coffin, thought ’bout it all too often. Just strap me in behind the wheel and bury me with my automobile.”
After great deliberation, considering truly morbid music the splinter decided, should druthers be granted, on a classic Estonian number. To be played loud enough to shake not only the rafters but also to wake the dead, as the expression goes. And it would have to be the blues. Hence, Kolumbus Kris is the only possible Estonian choice, for it would not be a weeper but a philosophical adieu. A true lament, a real dirge. Considering our day and age, the fact that every day is so unpredictable one has to go with the song about our harsh and brutal world, Brutaalne maailm. KK admits metaphorically that life is dark and tomorrow is never guaranteed. But, hey, the bills are all paid, and in cash, as a real man does. So sings the gravelly-voiced Urmas Vare. Crash them cymbals Andres Oja, pull off that last guitar lick for me Aivar Oja and let the slender one leave this mortal coil with style and suitable negative ceremony. (But not yet, still have some concerts to go to, beers to be had...)
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OTEPÄÄ SLIM
