Funeral bands - music to die for!

Fame, that guerdon of high genius is an objective they will never achieve. But in the spirit of characteristic bohemians they don’t give a damn or rather a toot on their blaring brass tubas, trumpets, trombones or tenor saxophones.

They appear to be a diminishing but not exactly extinct species, these unique bands of musical men, many of them grizzled and down at the heel, and the closest one could get to a quaint ragtime band.

Their very enthusiasm and ability to adapt resourcefully in any given situation particularly in the sphere of ‘covering up’ their melodic faux pas have astonished even the most discriminating music lovers. Indeed, their aptitude for innovation would have made the legendary Satchmo stare, gasp in bewilderment and would unquestionably have made that celebrated satchel-mouth split into a huge, hearty grin.

All around the world there is nothing which so fires the imagination and enthusiasm as a good parade. While not everyone can become intimately involved in such grand events, the childhood dream of most to march at the head of an ostentatious parade is within reach through the brass band movement.

So they are always at hand performing mostly for the lower middle-class income groups, playing with dashing endurance for occasions of both grief and joy. It was once a commonplace sight to observe these bandsmen preceding funeral processions with a fairly good imitation of the glide step or roll step of smart military bands.

Unlike most martial marching bands whose music is produced at a constant tempo in order to provide an unvarying beat for other military units, the rag-timers are basically raggedy clusters. Usually with prearranged purpose, military bands march forward only and in straight lines. But the ragtime oldsters, given their fondness for the cup that cheers, often make staggering curves in both their musical repertoire as well as their stride.

Typically, each member tries to stay within his given rank and file to maintain even spacing with neighboring musicians. But on one occasion a snare drummer had bounced into the sax player consequently producing an unstable ear-splitting squeak that had neither musical pulse nor sax appeal.

The upshot of it all was that the latter began spewing out a barrage of slanderous expletives against the offender’s ancestry. Along with copious sprays of excess spittle he clearly intoned during the funeral march that he would with different strokes, which could decidedly have not been drumbeats, produce a unique colony of hybrid siblings to add to the percussionist’s family.

Respect for human vanity is the orchestra’s official outfit. Their white costumes are remarkably similar to the uniforms worn by the Salvation Army bandsmen. But instead of the tunic-styled buttoned downed tops of the former, they fancy quaint black bow-ties to provide themselves a more formal sartorial appearance.

Peaked white caps adjusted at a rakish tilt complete the ensemble. Yet there will always be at least three of them who are unable to find a uniform that fits. Besides, many of their nether garments are sustained by a suspensory belt or an old black necktie girded around their loins.

The favourite waterhole for many of the capital’s and suburbarban northern-based bands was the toddy tavern under the Old Kelani Bridge where they would imbibe profuse quantities of the ‘white champagne’ while watching the sand barges come to anchor while amusing themselves as well as fellow tipplers with dirty ditties and their own Alcoholic Bandsman’s Prayer which goes:

‘Our Lager,

Which art in barrels,

Hallowed by thy drink.

Thy Swill be drunk, (I will be drunk),

At home as it is in the pub.

Give us this day our foamy head,

And forgive those who spill against us.

And lead us not to incarceration,

But deliver us from hangovers.

For thine is the beer, the toddy, the Lager.

BARMEN.’

Everyone is aware that Sri Lankans love festivals. So parts of the city become a glittering showcase set up during the season of goodwill and into the New Year and well into the next years as well. Colombo has always been a city ready to celebrate anything from funerals to weddings and fund-raising fairs which are all charged with the excitement of a carnival atmosphere.

That is where these middle-aged minstrels are much sought after to perform the ‘tootooing’ on their horns accompanied by the tattooing drum beats with no flagging or sense of fatigue.

Playing on the merry-go-rounds at carnivals they appear at their dizzying, delirious peak filled with a wild exhilaration and an immense sense of triumph. Theirs has always been an unmatched musical style filled with full-flavoured vigour and originality. There suddenly emerges the type of interplay between somewhat discordant Western harmony and the ‘thammathattama’ percussion beat similar to ‘bera’ drums that seemed to dovetail perfectly with the mourners’ head-banging interspersed by loud sobbing and wailing.

A friend treasures an advertising leaflet compiled by one such legendary bandleader which reads: “Dear Sir, I Fonny Fontaine Pingho and band is willing to play for any occasion including carnivals, dancing balls, and house parties. We are never late for any engagement, because our punctuation is good. Our music is beyond your apprehension. We are also playing for dead funerals, married weddings, at-homes, attainment parties, marry-going-round etc.’

Still, Fonny and his merry musicians or their like could have given the Dutch Swing College boys a run for their money on instant improvisation bordering on the genius. For instance, when their selection of dirges are exhausted during funeral processions, the leader with positive daring blows out the evergreen ‘The Battle Hymn of the Republic’ on a far slower than usual beat giving it a reverential cadence. Such down to earth common sense has always been a feature of these bandsmen.

The band’s kettle drummer, Percival Patrick sometimes doubled as vocalist during this particular musical interpretation. Whenever he came to the chorus he would mischievously substitute the lyrics ‘Glory, Glory Allelulia’ to ‘Glory, Glory Allapang-Loola’ in a burst of sonorous glee to the huge amusement of bystanders.

Percival (aptly nicknamed Percy-Vul and Vul Percy), also amended other lyrics of the traditional hymn , ‘Gladly The Cross I’d Bear.’ to “Gladly, the cross-eyed bear,” and Bob Dylan’s classic ballad ‘The answer my friend is blowin’ in the wind’ to ‘Dead ants are in my pants; they’re blowin’ in the wind.’

It was the sort of funeral pageant that gave one a tickle as well as goose bumps. Their mournful melodies were certainly the type of music to die for.

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