Words to make you happy and words to make you cry
— Jimmy Buffett, Death Of An Unpopular Poet
And then one day the poet suddenly did die.
Margaritas. Volcanoes. Cheeseburgers. Sharks. And plenty of Boat Drinks. The legacy of Jimmy Buffett is painted in sunshine and smiles. Growing up in Florida, Jimmy Buffett music was in the air even when you didn’t notice it, like the slight hint of salt that the ocean breeze brings ashore. It would stick to your skin if you wanted it to and once I heard “A Pirate Looks At 40” on a yellow greatest hits cassette, I knew it was sticking to me. In 1989, listening to Jimmy Buffett was totally uncool as a teenager but I grew up loving Duran Duran so being considered uncool was a label I wore with pride as a clumsy basketball player at Pope John Paul II regional high school in West Palm Beach, FL.
My first Jimmy concert in 1990 turned out to be a political benefit show for Florida candidate Lawton Chiles at the Sunrise Musical Theater – which has since been converted into a megachurch the last I heard. That seems appropriate because that night felt like a baptism into a counter-culture I didn’t know existed. The lower seats were occupied by penguins (rich donors in black-tie, actually, but I was three sheets to the wind) and the fans were in the balcony dressed in a cacophony of colorful shirts. At some point, I remember Jimmy bringing a dog on stage. The rest is just cobwebs in my ever-shrinking room where I shelve memories. I was hooked. Over the next three decades, every Jimmy Buffett concert I attended felt like a tropical Mardi Gras, until one day it didn’t. More on that later.
After crashing and burning his way out of Nashville, Jimmy ended up driving to Key West with Jerry Jeff Walker in 1971. Back then, it was the sort of place where you needed lawyers, guns, and money. Inspired by the characters, Buffett started writing. His first hit single (“Come Monday”) came in 1974 and then “Margaritaville” arrived in 1977. It has become the sort of anthem that either sounds profound or annoying depending on your state of mind. For many Parrotheads, it’s appreciated for the lifestyle it inspired but despised for the corporate brand which eventually overshadowed the music. Speaking of which, my own path crossed that corporate brand in 2008.
Living in Hawaii at the time, a lifestyle choice clearly inspired by the Buffett albums I consumed as a teenager, I found myself opening Jimmy’s new restaurant in Waikiki, Hawaii. During my training, in Las Vegas of all places, I found my calling as I talked to customers who had the same mindset as me. I dazzled (or annoyed) the hosts by telling them which song each painted hieroglyphic meant on the walls (“My Head Hurts, My Feet Stink, And I Don’t Love Jesus” was one they had never solved). Returning to Hawaii, we worked day and night to get the venue open and I spent two years trying to do Jimmy proud with how I treated each fan visiting his newest restaurant.
I know what you’re thinking.
The dude opened restaurants. And sold tons of merchandise. There are hotels! And he even has a retirement community! I hear you. It’s all so cheesy. I can only speak as a long-time fan who crossed paths with my hero more than once. It was never about making money, it was always about the music. You can hear it on the albums if you listen beyond the hits. His compass was always pointing towards a new adventure and living life like a song. Other artists might be more subtle about their income streams (how is that Bon Dylan whiskey?) but that makes me appreciate Jimmy even more. As long as it was fun for his fans and he could do some good in this world, he went for it.
The 27 studio albums have some ridiculous songs upon which you can build a case that Jimmy Buffett represents nothing more than escapism for the suburban middle-class too trapped in boring lives to ever live their own lives like a song. Fair enough. But I can only speak from my own experiences. Songs like “Last Mango In Paris” inspired me to follow my own path around this globe and I do not own khaki shorts or a cornhole game. Hell, I don’t even own a car. In recent years, the ratio definitely shifted towards the suburban fans at live shows and there was a lot of clamoring about the pot-smoking folk-singer who always raised money to protect the manatees supporting “liberal” causes. Bless your hearts, who saw that coming?! I drifted away from the phlock as a result but the music has never gone away.
My favorite memory of Jimmy Buffett was in Hawaii after a concert at Waikiki Shell where i finished off a bottle of rum. I was at my desk the next morning painfully nursing a Starbucks when Jimmy walked in unannounced. He was headed across the street to catch a few waves on his surfboard. We had a short conversation about surf rock and the guitar tone he used the night before on a new song titled “Surfing In A Hurricane” which led to a chat about Dick Dale. For those of us who get lost talking about music and pulling the threads that connect each artist, Jimmy Buffett was one of us.
I’ll spare you a list of the must-hear Buffett songs that aren’t on the greatest hits album and I won’t rank his best albums. Depending on how high the waves are in your personal life, there is a different album that will carry you back to that one particular harbor. What is important is that you find the music that takes you there. For more years than I can remember, Jimmy Buffett was a soundtrack to many of my best adventures. For that, thank you, Jimmy.