I woke up this morning to the news that Jimmy Buffett had died at age 76. For me, Jimmy was part of the “Holy Trinity” of performers, along with John Prine and Steve Goodman, who inspired me to become a folk-singer back in the 1970s. While he started out as a folk and country singer, Buffett invented his own brand of music and became a business mogul who owned bars, hotels, restaurants, and resorts worth over a half-billion dollars by the time of his death.
I first saw him perform in 1974 at my second college, Western Illinois University—and I didn’t go to see him in particular. He was actually the opening act for a rowdy country-rock band called Heartsfield, one of my favorite bands in those days. I had barely heard of him before that, but he had had a minor hit with his song Come Monday, which received a small amount of airplay on the radio. That night, he sang with just his acoustic guitar and a barstool—no light show, no band, no back-up singers. The barstool held his capo, a few extra guitar picks, a glass of water, and a bottle of Chivas Regal, still unopened. He won me over that night with an assortment of songs that ranged from sweet, to thoughtful, to funny, to downright raunchy (Why Don’t We Get Drunk and Screw). Just before the last song of his 45-minute set, he twisted off the seal of the bottle of scotch, toasted the audience, and took a big swig. Two hours later, during Heartsfield’s encore song, he danced back onto the stage, waving an empty bottle of Chivas above his head.
After the show, I went home for the night (possibly), but Jimmy did not. First, he did a hilarious, drunken interview with the school radio station that I heard replayed numerous times after that night. Then someone invited him to an off-campus party, and he got lost searching for the address in the rolling cornfields near Macomb, Illinois. It was well after midnight, and he was badly in need of a nap. So, he took one, despite the fact that he was driving at the time. He was rudely awakened when his car smashed into a tree. When he regained consciousness, wondering if he was dead or alive, he saw a tire swing hanging from the tree and knew he’d be okay. He memorialized the incident in a metaphor-for-life song called, Life is Just a Tire Swing.
The next clear memory I have of a Buffett song came in 1977. Along with two of my college roommates, Bruce and Wheels, I joined about twenty of my closest friends for a camping and boating trip to Lake Shelbyville, in the southern part of Illinois. While others were out in fast boats, tubing and water-skiing, I opted for a more sedate trip on a pontoon that raced through the water at a bracing 3 miles an hour. The “sound system” we took with us consisted of a $10 cassette recorder upon which we played several Buffett albums, in keeping with the nautical theme of the day. After an afternoon on the lake, we pulled back alongside the dock with the sun setting in the background. As we were tying off the pontoon, the song It’s Been a Lovely Cruise came on the tape. My friend Kirk, another huge Buffett fan, looked at me and smiled, saying, “Perfect.”
Meanwhile Buffett’s career had taken off with the hit song Margaritaville in 1977. He played to sold-out arenas around the world, and his shows grew larger and more elaborate. Ultimately, he developed a new genre of music that combined, folk, country, reggae, calypso, and rock sounds. His devoted fans, known as “Parrotheads,” emulated his laid-back lifestyle, followed him around the country, and visited his favorite hangouts in the Caribbean and the Florida Keys. I myself saw him perform in Chicago, Milwaukee, Austin, Denver, and Gainesville, Florida.
Inspired by Buffett, my brother Dan and I went down to fish and camp in the Keys for the first time in 1981, and Dan went down there every year after that for several decades. I joined him when I could. The picture at the top of this post is me playing guitar on that first trip in 1981. While down there, it seemed sacrilegious to play any songs but those of Buffett, even my own. Judging by the morning hair and the bleary look in my eyes, I was singing Trying to Reason With Hurricane Season, a song Buffett wrote while dealing with a severe hangover. In my shows, I played lots of his songs, but three, in particular, became staples of my concerts. Tin Cup Chalice always evoked memories of the Keys for me. I started including Little Miss Magic in honor of two friends (Kirk and Kathy Hodul) who welcomed their first daughter into the world in those years. Finally, God’s Own Drunk, a long, narrative song about a man, a bear, and a moonshine still, was always a crowd pleaser.
I last saw Buffett perform in 1991 in Gainesville. It was great, but I was bothered by the fact that the show had become a massive production, with the crowd screaming out the lyrics to every song, often drowning out the actual performer. I guess I will always be an unapologetic folkie, and I actually preferred that 1974 show when it was just Jimmy, his guitar, and a barstool.
I’ll leave you with the lyrics to one of his songs that I mentioned earlier. Thanks Jimmy, for the fun, the music, the memories, and the inspiration.
So, drink it up; this one’s for you. It’s been a lovely cruise.
