Somewhere Over the Rainbow

In 1988, studio owner Milan Bertosa was closing Audio Resource Honolulu when his phone rang. On the line was someone asking him to stay open for "this guy named Israel" who had "a good idea."

Bertosa gave him a strict window: "You have 15 minutes to get here."

When Israel Kamakawiwo'ole arrived, his physical presence created an immediate logistical challenge. IZ weighed approximately 500 pounds. Building security was dispatched to find a steel chair that could support him. The audible breathing on the track—often called a "flaw"—is a direct result of this physicality. In funeral context, this sound of labored breath serves as a powerful memento mori.

IZ performed the medley in a single, uninterrupted take. No corrections, no second pass. The entire performance was captured exactly as it happened. For a funeral song, this lack of artifice is essential—mourners crave something that feels true.

Israel Kamakawiwo'ole's life was defined by a public struggle with severe obesity. At his heaviest, he weighed over 700 pounds. There's profound poignancy in the contrast between his massive, earth-bound form and the ethereal, weightless quality of his tenor voice.

The lyrics take on literal meaning when sung by a man for whom every breath was labor. He was singing about a liberation he personally craved. "Wake up where the clouds are far behind me"—the song becomes a testament to the resilience of the spirit against the failings of the flesh.

In Hawaii, IZ was also a fierce advocate for Hawaiian sovereignty. When he sings of "trees of green" and "skies of blue," he's invoking the sacred geography of the islands he fought to protect. Death becomes not departure to abstract heaven, but return to the land.

Israel Kamakawiwo'ole died on June 26, 1997, at only 38 years old. What followed set the template for how the song would be used for decades.

The Governor ordered the Hawaiian flag flown at half-staff. IZ's koa wood casket lay in state in the Capitol rotunda—an honor reserved for heads of state. He was only the third person in Hawaiian history to receive this privilege, and the only non-government official. 10,000 people filed past.

On July 12, his ashes were scattered at Mākua Beach. Thousands gathered. A flotilla of canoes and surfboards filled the water. As the urn was emptied into the Pacific, the crowd didn't stand in silence—they cheered, splashed, threw leis. Drivers on the highway honked.

This scene—the physical return to the ocean, surrounded by community celebration—became the definitive image of the "Aloha" funeral. It's why the song is so often chosen for ash scatterings worldwide.

The "Jawaiian" pulse: Unlike the original ballad with its flexible tempo, IZ's version has a steady reggae rhythm. This strumming pattern emphasizes the off-beat, creating a gentle, rocking sensation—like a heartbeat or cradle. Unlike a dirge, this rhythm implies forward motion. Life continues; the cycle goes on.

The ukulele: Western funeral music is dominated by instruments with long sustain—organs, strings—that create a "wash" of sound. The ukulele's sharp, plucky attack leaves plenty of space for silence and vocals. It feels intimate, personal, as if the singer is sitting next to the mourner rather than performing from a choir loft.

The vocal technique: IZ uses a high tenor frequently flirting with falsetto. His attack on notes is soft—he slides into pitches with gentle glissando. This voice sounds "safe." It doesn't demand emotional labor; it offers a space to rest.

By merging "Over the Rainbow" with "What a Wonderful World," IZ created a complete theological arc that neither song has alone:

"Over the Rainbow": Represents the departure. The soul is leaving the physical plane, going "way up high." It acknowledges pain ("clouds") and hope for something better.

"What a Wonderful World": Represents the legacy. It turns the gaze back to earth. It validates the beauty of the life lived—the friends shaking hands, the babies crying, the red roses.

In a funeral, this combination is potent. It allows mourners to grieve the loss (Rainbow) while celebrating the life (Wonderful World). It balances sorrow of goodbye with gratitude for what remains.

The ER Episode (2002): The most critical moment in the song's rise occurred when beloved character Dr. Mark Greene died of a brain tumor in the episode "On the Beach." He spends his final days in Hawaii as IZ's song plays.

Millions watched a "good death"—peaceful, pain-free, surrounded by family, in a beautiful setting—soundtracked by IZ's voice. This forged an unbreakable link between this song and the concept of peaceful passing. Countless families cite this episode as why they chose the song.

The music video: With over 1 billion views, the official video features IZ's actual funeral—the ash scattering, the celebration, the flotilla. When people search for funeral songs, they see that kind of funeral and want it. The video functions as a how-to guide for modern mourning.

Best placements:

• Processional: The gentle "Ooh" intro settles the room, lowering heart rates before the coffin enters
• Photo slideshow: The full 5:08 medley is ideal for 50-60 photos. The lyrical shift mirrors tribute videos that start with childhood and end with legacy
• Recessional: The reggae rhythm provides "uplift" as mourners exit, transitioning from heavy sadness to light
• Ash scattering: The cinematic quality matches outdoor services, especially near water

The cliché debate: The song consistently appears on "most overplayed" lists. Funeral directors report hearing it multiple times per week. Critics argue it makes services feel generic.

The counter-argument: Grief experts argue ubiquity is actually a strength. When families are in acute grief, the brain craves familiarity. A known song acts as a psychological anchor—mourners instinctively know how to react. The shared cultural meaning facilitates collective emotional experience.