The Soundtrack to a Life: Choosing Music for a Funeral or Celebration of Life

When we think about planning a funeral or celebration of life, we often think first about the words. The stories that will be shared. The memories that will raise smiles through tears. The photographs that capture moments in time. The tributes that speak of love, friendship and family.

All of these are deeply meaningful.

But then there is the music.

Music has an extraordinary ability to reach places that words sometimes cannot. A single piece can transport us to a particular afternoon decades ago, remind us of a favourite holiday, a kitchen filled with laughter, a dance floor shared with friends, or simply the feeling of being alongside someone we loved. It speaks of personality, passions and connection, often expressing something that would otherwise remain impossible to say.

For me, music is never simply something that fills the quieter moments of a ceremony. It is as much a part of telling someone’s story as the eulogy itself.

I have had the privilege of leading celebrations of life that have included an astonishing variety of musical choices. Some have featured pieces composed by family members. Others have included songs that instantly transported everyone present to a treasured memory. Some have been joyful, others reflective, and many have somehow managed to be both at once.

One celebration of life, for an enthusiastic West Ham supporter, simply had to include I’m Forever Blowing Bubbles. It would have felt incomplete without it. Yet football was only one thread in a rich life. There had also been years spent enjoying evenings with friends, often gathered around a karaoke machine, and so Robbie Williams’ Angels became another essential choice. It wasn’t selected because it was a “funeral song”; it was chosen because it belonged to that person’s story.

Another service celebrated someone for whom music had been a lifelong companion. They played several instruments, although the piano was always at the heart of their musical world. Their family chose Ludovico Einaudi’s Nightbook, with its compelling rhythm that almost echoes a heartbeat, alongside Rick Wakeman’s wonderfully expressive piano interpretation of David Bowie’s Life on Mars? The ceremony concluded with Ralph Vaughan Williams’ The Lark Ascending; a piece that somehow seemed to capture both freedom and peace, evoking the image of someone becoming part of the natural world once more. It was a sequence of music that revealed as much about that person’s character as any anecdote could.

Sometimes, however, the most fitting choices are the least obvious.

I once led a celebration of life for someone who simply wasn’t interested in music. Not everyone is, after all, and that in itself deserves to be reflected honestly. Their partner made inspired choices. The ceremony began with the gentle beauty of Purcell’s With Drooping Wings from Dido and Aeneas, before moving into the third movement of John Cage’s 4’33”.

This is, famously, a piece in which no instrument is played. Yet it is not really silence at all.

As I explained during the ceremony:

“It is entirely fitting that the music we will hear is John Cage’s 4’33”, specifically its third movement. When it was first performed, it caused quite a stir because the musicians sit at their instruments and play… absolutely nothing. The music is, in fact, the absence of sound.

But John Cage’s intention was never that there should be nothing to hear. Rather, he invited people to notice the sounds in and around them. And so, during these next few moments, perhaps we can do the same. In the quiet, let us reflect on their life, friendships, adventures, and the many happy memories left behind. Let us hear the silence, the sounds around us, and be present with our thoughts.”

It became one of the most moving moments of the service.

The final piece chosen was Jethro Tull’s Cheerio; an affectionate farewell that lasts just one minute and fifteen seconds. It was entirely fitting.

Other ceremonies have included Swing Low, Sweet Chariot for a lifelong rugby enthusiast; movements from Victorian Garden Suite, beautifully performed on clarinet by a family member for someone whose greatest happiness was found at home; Frank Sinatra’s That’s Life for an irrepressibly upbeat character; and a wonderfully eclectic selection including Michael Bolton, Tina Turner and Meat Loaf for someone whose greatest joy was attending live concerts.

Then there have been celebrations filled with country and western favourites: Jim Reeves’ Distant Drums, Adios Amigo, and Billy McFarland’s Il Silenzio. Each piece carried its own history, immediately recognised by family and friends, each one unlocking memories that no amount of explanation ever could.

These are only snippets from the many celebrations of life I have been honoured to lead.

What strikes me, every single time, is that no two soundtracks are ever remotely alike.

That is exactly as it should be.

Music is intensely personal. One family may choose classical works that create space for quiet reflection, while another fills the ceremony with rock anthems, jazz, folk music or songs from the musicals that everyone sang along to in the car. There are no right or wrong choices. There are only the choices that feel true.

As I listen to each carefully selected piece during a ceremony, I often find myself understanding the person more deeply. The music adds another layer to the portrait their family has painted through stories and memories. It reveals humour, adventure, gentleness, mischief, determination or contentment. Sometimes it reminds everyone present of a single treasured moment; sometimes it reflects an entire lifetime.

For those gathered together, it can also create something wonderfully shared. A smile of recognition. A tear prompted by a familiar melody. A quiet laugh as someone realises, “Yes… that was absolutely them.”

That, surely, is what a celebration of life is all about.

As an independent civil celebrant, it is a privilege to help families weave these musical threads into a ceremony that feels authentic to the person they are remembering. Alongside the stories, photographs, tributes and readings, music helps create something complete: a farewell that honours not simply the fact that someone has died, but the richness of how they lived.

Long after the final notes have faded, the music remains. Months or even years later, hearing that same piece unexpectedly on the radio or in a concert hall can bring everything flooding back: the laughter, the adventures, the conversations, the love. That is the magic of music. It never simply accompanies our memories. It becomes part of them.