Railroad Jerk's "Forty Minutes"
A firm grasp of irony is a standard-fit feature within the brain-sacks of contemporary hipsters the globe over, and this grimly funny suicide-note is a perfectly sardonic send-off to the living, breathing world. Just picture it: all those sobbing face-screens, the running eyeliner of weepily drunken aunts, the coffin being lowered (or surrounded by fire, according to taste), then suddenly Marcellus Hall's dark intonation guffs from the morgue loudspeaker: "In forty minutes or so I'll be dead, so long to all my beloved friends, my records go to my former lovers, my boa constrictor goes to my ex-wife..." What better way to cackle yourself into the ground than by perpetrating such a darkly comic send-off? Also, a wondrous song with which to piss off those annoying, far-from-hip relatives who made your passing that much more comfortable. A worthy epitaph to indie-rock suicides into the bargain.

Shuggie Otis's "Aht Uh Mi Hed"
If dark, self-loathing humor isn't your bag of spanners, why not try adding this little gem to the funereal hiplist? A dreamily funky, coolly summery meditation from one of the high priests of obscure hipness, this will send you or your loved one off in a barrage of hazy, psychedelic color. Not only that, but as eulogies go, this trendy little musi-pellet actually helps to project life, somewhat optimistically, as a dreamy, limitless playground of the imagination. There may be a few lyrical hurdles to overcome if the snuffer in question's passing were due to an over-indulgence of spazz-needles or drug-pipes, but other than that, highly recommended for mournsome get-togethers of all but the most snootily depressive moribund clique-hound.

Johnny Cash's "Folsom Prison Blues"
While the murderous gun-toting prison jams of much gangsta-rap are, of course, out of bounds to the vast majority of cool kids, this murderous criminal meditation on the futility of life is all any self-dissecting hipster needs to fill that particular thematic void. There are few better ways to encapsulate the minor irritations of being alive than by portraying life as the dank cell of grim hopelessness that it is, and few musical selections are likely to get that across better than this. All human emotion is here, not least in the terrifying, yet humorous jeers that follow the lyric "I shot a man in Reno just to watch him die". Only those not hip shall weep to this one.

Nina Simone's "Please Don't Let Me Be Misunderstood"
Remember, music by dead people always makes for the most empathetic pay-off in terms of funeral music selections. John Lennon, Nick Drake, Notorious B.I.G., Edith Piaf, etcetera, are all marked territory in terms of deathly relevant final-song choices. Nina Simone, as the most recent addition to the ever-hip "dead musician" canon (at time of writing, anyway), is surely most ripe for the picking, so why not get in while the going's good, n'est ce pas? This morbidly soulful slow jam will help reiterate any hipster's disfranchisement or "outsider" status within the modern world; its achingly empathetic chorus has "redemption" written all over it. A good choice with which to cast regret aside in greeting the bleak-as-fuck ever-after.

Kraftwerk's "The Robots"
Believe it or not, Kraftwerk are actually an incredibly popular choice on funeral parlor jukeboxes the world over, with "The Model" being the most-playlisted funeral tune of their catalogue. This particular ditty isn't the most popular, and therefore far hipper, helping to frame the dead hipster's view of the world as a dehumanized den of automated, machine-like longing. A perfect selection if the hipster in question was either stuck in a dead-end job (no pun intended) prior to their mortal see-ya, or if the deadster were partial to the odd whisper of electroclash/retro-IDM chic. Either way, a killer (again, no pun intended) choice.

Henryk Górecki's "Symphony no.3: Symphony Of Sorrowful Songs (Sostenuto Tranquillo Ma Cantabille)"
If hipsters can't show off their all-encompassing musical pretentiousness in death, when can they do it? This 28-minute precursor to all crescendo-happy "post-rock" ever will surely seal the memory of the decomposing cool-hound as a paragon of ahead-of-his-time musical contextualisation, while gluing the bladder-strained mourners to their seats for the full duration. More importantly, the emotive devastation that comes from hearing this symphony in its entirety is sure to elevate the decaying cred-monkey's status to near-immortal levels of intellect and virtue. Perfect for adding a much-needed air of meaningful, transcendent tragedy to what is, in essence, a statistical daily occurrence.

Talking Heads' "(Nothing But) Flowers"
If Górecki's emotive grinding is too much to handle, or if the hipster in question was an amiable, uppity sort, this optimistic meditation on a post-everything society is a worthy addition to the dead one's CD-R mix of choice (though hardcore hipsters may want to plan ahead and fork out for a special one-off pressing on ten-inch vinyl). The payoff line, "And as things fell apart, nobody paid much attention", strikes a nice balance between banality and meaning, making for something of a wickedly funky, coolly ironic goodbye to existence. Indeed, though the Brazilian stylistic inflections might seem contrived as fuck to the more jaded members of the global hipster fraternity, there's no debating Talking Heads' eternally ample quotient of nerdy cool. And that's the point.

Plaid's "Ralome"
As any 21st century hipster is glaringly aware, instrumentals speak far more truth than the lyric-based songs of last year, especially those with IDM / glitch-techno inflections ("What, you've never been to Sonar?"). After all, aren't "songs" with lyrics and "real" instruments little more than a bid for boring old mainstream acceptance? Cast the beliefs of the old-school, song-loving living into doubt with this delightfully obscure gem; it paints a soundscape of skittering ambient yearning that's not only timeless, but juicily obscure and even a little mischievous in its headfuckiness. Ailing, near-dead hipsters may want to ensure beforehand that the in-morgue/funeral parlor PA has surround-sound specifications, so as to accentuate the subtle, glitchy drum'n'bass inflections in full stereo. Also, the unproven fact that clean-guitar laments are very much the musical template through which death is most often honoured, help make this a welcome addition to the goodbye-cruel-world musi-musings of pretty much any hipster (barring the near-extinct sub-species of electro-skeptics, however).

Can's "Halleluwah"
Honor the funky, hip-as-hell swagger of the deceased with a 19-minute groove that's bound to rip the place apart in a flurry of swaying, nihilistically cool head-nods. Perfect for putting those sultry sneers back on the sobbing chins of attendant cohorts of cool, while at the same time transforming your ceremony into the swingingest harlem of party-hearty, all-knowing hip in town. Fun for any hipster whose life's work can only be celebrated via undulating, broody grooves that stretch out into seeming infinity. Funeralize this jam, and mourning will definitely have broken.

Mark Hollis's "The Colour Of Spring"
By the time you read this, there's every chance that Mark Hollis may have come out the other side of "hip" -- but by then, of course, referencing him as a last-wish musical choice will be a decidedly "retro" act. This skeletal meditation is an ideal funeral inclusion for hipsters whose "artistic" temperaments dictate their hip cachet, or to those broody introspective clique-drones to whom Franz Kafka's Metamorphosis was a light-hearted romp. A near-perfect accentuation of the unending loneliness of being, an implosively reclusive study of the human condition, whispered via a bleakly emotive, decidedly hushed piano refrain that's soooo the essence of less-is-more. What burning/burial/memorial of any moody hipster would be complete without it?