The man who’d rather die while he was living than live while he was dead
Jimmy Buffett might have been embarrassed to be called a legend, but if the flip-flop fits ... The man who gave us Margaritaville and helped us get there one grand and glorious night a year has played his last encore. Those of us who followed him across the country when he toured, those legions of loyal Parrotheads, have lost our mayor.
I became a Parrothead when my late wife and I attended our first Buffett concert in Mountain View, California, back in 1984. We knew nothing of Buffett except his signature song, Margaritaville, but we were intrigued by its Caribbean rhythms and the promise of a few hours of escape from the real world. We were hooked.
Summertime ritual
Jimmy Buffett and his Coral Reefers band immediately became a summertime ritual for us. When we planned a family vacation, we first made sure it wouldn’t conflict with Jimmy’s tour. Thirty-one times we made the pilgrimage to the Conch Republic. It saddens me that there will not a 32nd.
We made a return trip to California for Jimmy’s all-night millennium concert in Los Angeles on Dec. 31, 1999. If the “Y2K” scare was going to end the world as we knew it on January 1, 2000, we wanted to be with Buffett when it happened.
Half the fun of a Buffett concert was the party in the parking lot beforehand. Fans showed up hours early to set up, and there is no denying it got a little crazy.
People adorned themselves in wild garb, many of them in grass skirts and coconut bras— and that was just the men. Over here a pickup truck filled with sand and a real palm tree. Over there an old school bus outfitted with a rooftop bar.
The weirdest memory from 31 parking lot parties: a guy in a full parrot suit making margaritas in a bathtub and using a weed whacker to mix the ingredients. Loud but tasty.
The Parrotheads
Who were these people? They were investment bankers. They were corporate lawyers. They were even newspaper editors. I met a minister with a plastic flamingo taped to his head. He told me he prayed he didn’t run into a member of his congregation. I, on the other hand, prayed that he did.
Another guy wore a Styrofoam cooler as a hat. Scrawled on it was this message: “May cooler heads prevail.”
Parrotheads, in other words, were normal people who got to leave their inhibitions at the office and celebrate, if only for one evening, what it must be like to be Jimmy Buffett.
Buffett played all his classics because the crowd demanded them. Cheeseburger in Paradise (“heaven on earth with an onion slice”), Volcano, One Particular Harbor, A Pirate Looks at 40, Come Monday, Jolly Mon Sing, Boat Drinks, and many more.
One of my favorites was Fins. Imagine 20,000 Parrotheads on their feet, pressing their palms together over their heads and swaying to Jimmy’s instructions, “Fins to the left, fins to the right.”
Whimsical and frivolous
Music critics were never sure how to label Buffett’s style. Caribbean soul? “Trop” rock?
One thing for sure, he could be whimsical and frivolous — The Weather Is Here, Wish You Were Beautiful and Growing Older But Not Up — but he was also a philosopher, a pirate, a poet, and a lyricist whose songs often delivered a powerful message.
His music could offend some folks, and he wasn’t the greatest singer. At some of his last concerts, he reportedly began using a teleprompter to help him with the lyrics of his own songs. But the man was still out there at 76, performing barefoot on stage and kicking beach balls into the crowd. He believed what he wrote: “I’d rather die while I’m living than live while I’m dead.”
Despite his critics, his legacy as a world-class storyteller is secure. At my son’s wedding reception, Justin chose Son Of A Son Of A Sailor for the mother-son dance with his mom.
Balm for the soul
Many of Buffett’s songs were reminders that life isn’t always easy, songs like He Went To Paris and Changes In Latitudes, Changes In Attitudes. But hang in, he always seemed to be saying. Hang in, and let’s rock this boat. His music has always been a balm for the soul. When I’m down, Jolly Mon Sing lifts my spirits. Fins up!
When I lost my wife and fellow Parrothead to cancer, it was another Buffett song, written as a tribute to the victims of Hurricane Katrina, that helped me cope:
“According to my watch the time is now.
The past is dead and gone. Don’t try to explain it, just bow your head.
Breathe in, breathe out, move on.”