Late last night, it was announced that Jimmy Buffett, the singer-songwriter, entrepreneur and king of the Parrot Heads, had passed away.
Jimmy Buffett was one of those rare artists, like The Grateful Dead, who’s music birthed a community. Die-hard fans who would attend as many of his shows as possible. Buffet’s music was the world of Hawaiian shirts, cold drinks on a beach, lounging in boats and hammocks, and endless vacation. It’s a genre unto itself; a form of calypso country and saltwater Americana.
In college, a close friend was a big Buffett fan, having grown to love the artist from his father’s love of the music. Being a bit of a music snob, it was easy to tease my friend over this fandom – Buffet’s music was far, far from cool. There is a large amount of cheese that goes along with tracks like “Cheeseburger in Paradise”.
But in truth, I barely knew Buffett’s music outside of “Margaritaville”, and even that track I hadn’t really listened to. When I did start listening and paying close attention, I discovered that Buffet was an A-class storyteller, writing a song of denial, regret and growing acceptance disguised as a feel-good drinking song. And sure, he had plenty of those songs too, but he paired those with thoughtful tracks like “A Pirate Looks at Forty” or “Only Time Will Tell”. Even songs like “Jamaica Mistaica” transformed a near-death experience into a humorous, myth-making adventure.
And while Buffett’s massive amount of merchandising that stemmed from his popularity will always be tied to his memory, he should always be remembered as a songwriter, first and foremost, who’s music brought joy to millions of people across generations.
May his memory live on in the banana wind. If you’re like I used to be and more familiar with Buffett’s Parrot Head world and not so much his music, you can change that here.
The Indy Review 