The birthplace of jazz
By Joachim E. Berendt. Excerpt from the book 'William Claxton. Jazzlife'.
Page 1 2
The barrier that separates blacks and whites is only as conspicuous as it is because the problems it gives rise to affect our entire civilization. But on the other side of that barrier, the Negroes separate among themselves behind barriers at least as high and at least as insurmountable, and those barriers will certainly still exist when the racial problem has long since been resolved. Schools and Boy Scout troops, boys' and girls' clubs, even the military dispatched its delegations to the parade. In the military's delegation, blacks and whites marched peacefully side by side. Otherwise only Negroes took part in the parade. The festive procession gathered near the intersection of North Claiborn and St. Bernard Avenues, and soon, after many groups in brilliantly colorful uniforms joined the contingent, it was six or seven hundred meters long. The police had to block off the entire neighborhood. Traffic was diverted. Everyone seemed to be involved in the street parade. People were dancing everywhere, alone, in couples, and in groups. Old people and children danced too. The most enthusiastic participants came marching and dancing immediately behind the band. They were the so-called "second line," which follows the "first line," that is, the musicians. One of the most popular accessories of the true "second liner" is an umbrella, although it almost never rains. You see them again and again, in every shape and color, at the street parades and, in general, everywhere that Negroes have fun. They are the symbol of a little sky, under whose friendly container there is safety and security. Outside this "sky" lies the hostile white world. (...)
At one time the ground of the city of New Orleans was so swampy that it was impossible to bury the dead underground. From this time comes the custom of interring the dead above ground in massive stone graves. As the urn was slid into the stone structure, the scenes in the cemetery were heartbreaking. Mrs. Pajaud wept and stammered and shouted, "Good-bye Willie," over and over. And the other women were hardly less demonstrative. Children had climbed over the cemetery wall from without and watched. Others were already waiting for the Eureka Brass Band at the exit, ready to form a "second line" immediately and dance along behind the band, whose strains now belonged to the living again, swinging and happy. But at this juncture too, music was a classic component of all New Orleans funerals: Just a Little While to Stay Here, the song about the short span of time that is all one has to linger on this earth. Originally it was a chorale, but here it was "swung" as if it were When the Saints Go Marchin' In. It goes without saying that the band played that song too.
Joachim E. Berendt
Page 1 2
Page 1 2
The barrier that separates blacks and whites is only as conspicuous as it is because the problems it gives rise to affect our entire civilization. But on the other side of that barrier, the Negroes separate among themselves behind barriers at least as high and at least as insurmountable, and those barriers will certainly still exist when the racial problem has long since been resolved. Schools and Boy Scout troops, boys' and girls' clubs, even the military dispatched its delegations to the parade. In the military's delegation, blacks and whites marched peacefully side by side. Otherwise only Negroes took part in the parade. The festive procession gathered near the intersection of North Claiborn and St. Bernard Avenues, and soon, after many groups in brilliantly colorful uniforms joined the contingent, it was six or seven hundred meters long. The police had to block off the entire neighborhood. Traffic was diverted. Everyone seemed to be involved in the street parade. People were dancing everywhere, alone, in couples, and in groups. Old people and children danced too. The most enthusiastic participants came marching and dancing immediately behind the band. They were the so-called "second line," which follows the "first line," that is, the musicians. One of the most popular accessories of the true "second liner" is an umbrella, although it almost never rains. You see them again and again, in every shape and color, at the street parades and, in general, everywhere that Negroes have fun. They are the symbol of a little sky, under whose friendly container there is safety and security. Outside this "sky" lies the hostile white world. (...)
At one time the ground of the city of New Orleans was so swampy that it was impossible to bury the dead underground. From this time comes the custom of interring the dead above ground in massive stone graves. As the urn was slid into the stone structure, the scenes in the cemetery were heartbreaking. Mrs. Pajaud wept and stammered and shouted, "Good-bye Willie," over and over. And the other women were hardly less demonstrative. Children had climbed over the cemetery wall from without and watched. Others were already waiting for the Eureka Brass Band at the exit, ready to form a "second line" immediately and dance along behind the band, whose strains now belonged to the living again, swinging and happy. But at this juncture too, music was a classic component of all New Orleans funerals: Just a Little While to Stay Here, the song about the short span of time that is all one has to linger on this earth. Originally it was a chorale, but here it was "swung" as if it were When the Saints Go Marchin' In. It goes without saying that the band played that song too.
Joachim E. Berendt
Page 1 2
