‘Living And Dying In 3/4 Time’…

Note: This is a diversion from my usual political analysis and a much more personal missive. So, if you don’t have the capacity to put the horrific state of our Republic aside for just a day, please return with the next piece of analysis. Thank you.

There are non-political events that happen each day in our world that hold a great amount of significance; they impact our lives on a very personal level and sometimes a transformative level. My introduction to and relationship with the entirety of the Jimmy Buffett experience is one of those significant and transformative events.

Over the years I have seen the man take the stage over sixty times, each “meeting of the minds” just as impactful as the last. For me – and the tens of millions of his hardcore fans, called Parrotheads – these precious hours were too few. Today, this truth is beyond self-evident.

I have met many a life-long friend from all over our Republic and, in fact, all over the world through my Buffett experience. Once I divine that a person with whom I am conversing is a Parrothead, the relationship simply changes. We both immediately know that there is common ground; a kinship that transverses politics and the culture wars. 

We understand the messages brought forth in Jimmy’s lyrics: the understanding of a deep-seated love or an equally painful loss; the seed of adventure that lives in all of us but that few ever honestly pursue; the possibilities of pursuing the unknown – both good and bad, and through it all the lust for living life in the now and to the fullest.

People who don’t understand the Buffett experience will most often be found to roll their eyes at the devotion Jimmy’s fans have for him – a devotion that will endure, by the by – but always with a smile on their faces. Why? Because Jimmy Buffett’s fans are happy people; they love life and adventure, and truly – truly – enjoy being thoughtful and kind. 

Today, one day on from Jimmy’s passing (September 1, 2023 – 76 years on) the entirety of the Parrothead community is trying very hard to muster that smile as we mourn the passing of someone who unlocked a unique door for each of us. So, that understood, please bear with me.

The Concerts

If you’ve ever passed a car choke full of people in Hawaiian garb blaring Jimmy Buffet music you have most likely passed a group of people with tickets on their way to a Jimmy Buffett concert.

That celebration – and that’s exactly what it was, first for scoring tickets to the concert and being on your way for a temporary Caribbean vacation but also for the oasis he provided from the mundane of everyday life – bled over into the concert venue parking lots. For hours before Jimmy would take the stage, people tailgated in the parking lot. Makeshift tiki bars, “cheeseburgers in paradise,” margaritas, truck beds turned into hot tubs, you name it, all shared freely with everyone and anyone at the event. The party had started and it wouldn’t be over until the need for B12 and aspirin the next morning.

I remember many moments from the over sixty concerts I attended, but, for the purpose of trying to explain the experience, two stick out in my mind. And make no mistake, there is a distinct difference in the experience depending on if you are watching from the seats or on the lawn.

The Concerts

One year early on when I had lawn seats, it rained hard just before the show. The lawn at the Poplar Creek Music Theater was wet and saturated. At any other concert, one would usually see the lawn empty leaving only the seated attendees. Not at a Buffett concert. Not by a long shot.

Making chicken salad out of chicken shit, the Parrotheads in the lawn turned one of the makeshift aisles into a mudslide. Everyone took a turn belly-flopping down the mudslide to the cheers of the other “lawn people.” Even Buffett himself acknowledged the attraction, then, he always knew that the lawn people, a bit crazy, were some of his most developed fans.

Then there was the time I was in a beer line (and you can imagine the length of a beer line at a Buffett concert) and collided with someone who had just purchased 8 large glasses of beer; four in each hand, fingers in the mix. The glasses went flying everywhere as did the beer. It was a hold-your-breath moment. Was he going to freak out? Be angry? Demand restitution?

My “penance” for dislodging about $64 of beer (in 1986 dollars) from his hands? I had to join him at the end of the line. That was it. He didn’t want me to pay to replace them (although I did, not taking no for an answer), he just wanted to know who I was, where I came from, what I did, and how I came to be a Buffett fan.

Those were the kinds of people who went to Buffett concerts. Those are the kinds of people Parrotheads are.

A Personal Journey

But, like very few performers today, the Buffett experience was two-fold. Yes, there was that kinship I spoke of that helps us to understand we all have more in common than we do in difference. But, at least for me and the people I know who understand, there is a unique personal experience as well.

At one of the lowest emotional times in my life – a time of lost love and personal uncertainty, after having gone to Paris to get engaged in a failed quest at marriage too young, I found the door to the rest of my life opened up wide for me to walk through, all through a Buffett song, Coast of Marseille, which offered me the cure of feeling the pain of letting go.

Thanks to Buffett and a grounded set of childhood Parrothead friends with a “boatload of wherewithal,” I bounced back, finding wisdom in the lyrics of Love & Luck.

I traveled the Caribbean to watch the stingrays play in the midnight’s full-moon waters of Chub Cay, mastered the Florida Keys (including Key West during Fantasyfest and The Meeting of the Minds), and even once found myself simultaneously laying down in the middle of a quiet A1A at 2AM on Marathon Key to look at the clear night’s stars with one of the boat’s crew after a stint at The Brass Monkey.

Through it all – and through several other tumultuous times in my life, I have found invitations in Buffett’s music to apply another perspective to my viewpoint. Those invitations have served me well to this day and, I am certain, will faithfully serve me for the rest of the days of my life.

How Do You Mourn In A Hawaiian Shirt?

My partner, Cj, looked at me with tears swelling in my eyes over the news of Jimmy Buffett’s passing and said, “We honor those who have touched our lives by celebrating theirs. He is in Heaven, looking down, and now has the capacity to see each and every heart of the people he has touched. Celebrate his life, don’t mouth your loss.”

Her words make sense to this old Parrothead and why wouldn’t they?

My friend Lesa – who joined me in the middle of A1A that starry night contacted me and thanked me for being in her life. My friend Nancy – who I went to countless Buffett concerts with, reached out to commiserate. And a true Parrothead, a woman of unbridled adventure – Lenise, called after almost 20 years just to once again have a meeting of the minds in our celebratory grieving.

My Parrothead childhood friends who facilitated my bounce back from heartbreak and old partners from my fire department days – including brothers of the badge like Bob, all telegraphed that the loss is felt, not only collectively as a community of fans, but individually as people who were touched and transformed by their personal relationships with the Buffett experience.

(Listen to Zac Brown Band’s excellent tribute to Jimmy)

In The End, It’s About The Music

In the song He Went to Paris, he ends with a refrain, “...some of it’s magic, some of it’s tragic, but I had a good life all the way.” Truer words have never been emoted, especially for Jimmy Buffett.

Yes, Buffett’s music is an “acquired taste.” But once you get that taste it is in your soul forever.

Thank you, Jimmy. You helped me see my life as a gift and yes, some of it is magic and some of it’s tragic, but for your gift of music and prose, I have had a good life all the way.

Godspeed, Jimmy. Sail on, Captain. You have arrived at that One Particular Harbor…

Son Of A Sailor (Lyrics)

As the son of a son of a sailor
I went out on the sea for adventure
Expanding the view of the captain and crew
Like a man just released from indenture

As a dreamer of dreams and a travelin' man
I have chalked up many a mile
Read dozens of books about heroes and crooks
And I learned much from both of their styles

Son of a son, son of a son
Son of a son of a sailor
Son of a gun, load the last ton
One step ahead of the jailer

Now away in the near future
Southeast of disorder
You can shake the hand of the mango man
As he greets you at the border

And the lady she hails from Trinidad
Island of the spices
Salt for your meat, and cinnamon sweet
And the rum is for all your good vices

Haul the sheet in as we ride on the wind
That our forefathers harnessed before us
Hear the bells ring as the tight rigging sings
It's a son of a gun of a chorus

Where it all ends I can't fathom my friends
If I knew I might toss out my anchor
So I cruise along always searchin' for songs
Not a lawyer a thief or a banker

But a son of a son, son of a son
Son of a son of a sailor
Son of a gun, load the last ton
One step ahead of the jailer

I'm just a son of a son, son of a son
Son of a son of a sailor
The sea's in my veins, my tradition remains
I'm just glad I don't live in a trailer

Post Script

It fails to capture the electricity of the moment, but perhaps this can provide an example of the reason why “you had to be there.” And to my Parrothead family – as the title of this video says – Hope this brings you joy in these hard times:

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