I went down to St. James Infirmary
To see my baby there,
She was lyin' on a long white table,
So sweet, so cool, so fair.
Went up to see the doctor,
"She's very low," he said;
Went back to see my baby
Good God! She's lying there dead.
Traditional.
For decades I've had issues with that song. Who would write something so depressing? But of course it was the perfect opener for the Winnipeg Jazz Orchestra's May 16th concert at Bardal Funeral Centre in Winnipeg. Actually, it was the liveliest rendition of Infirmary I've ever heard, setting the tone for a toe tapping evening of New Orleans jazz. Guests were Ron Paley, Winnipeg's own big band leader (piano), Bjorn Thoroddsen (guitar), and Helen White (vocals). It was a lively, glorious evening though I found myself especially appreciating Helen White's numbers. Closing my eyes, I felt like I could float on her silky voice back to a 1940s ballroom.
Following the concert, I noticed a couple of inscribed stones in the mortuary floor. "Ask not for whom the bell tolls," said one. "It tolls for thee," said the other. It will soon enough, I thought, but not tonight. Not on this glorious night. Exiting to the parking lot, some men in black were leaning on a limo. "Can we drive you across the street to the cemetery?" I smiled recalling the ferryman on the river Styx. Of course this ride was just to the overflow parking.
To see my baby there,
She was lyin' on a long white table,
So sweet, so cool, so fair.
Went up to see the doctor,
"She's very low," he said;
Went back to see my baby
Good God! She's lying there dead.
Traditional.
For decades I've had issues with that song. Who would write something so depressing? But of course it was the perfect opener for the Winnipeg Jazz Orchestra's May 16th concert at Bardal Funeral Centre in Winnipeg. Actually, it was the liveliest rendition of Infirmary I've ever heard, setting the tone for a toe tapping evening of New Orleans jazz. Guests were Ron Paley, Winnipeg's own big band leader (piano), Bjorn Thoroddsen (guitar), and Helen White (vocals). It was a lively, glorious evening though I found myself especially appreciating Helen White's numbers. Closing my eyes, I felt like I could float on her silky voice back to a 1940s ballroom.
Following the concert, I noticed a couple of inscribed stones in the mortuary floor. "Ask not for whom the bell tolls," said one. "It tolls for thee," said the other. It will soon enough, I thought, but not tonight. Not on this glorious night. Exiting to the parking lot, some men in black were leaning on a limo. "Can we drive you across the street to the cemetery?" I smiled recalling the ferryman on the river Styx. Of course this ride was just to the overflow parking.
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