A giant album cover for Jimmy Buffett’s “Take the Weather With You” inside Margaritaville in Key West, Fla. Photo by Steven Miller / Flickr
The Day My Music Died
That was the day my music died.
Jimmy Buffett, the Pied Piper of the Parrot Heads and the reigning Pirate King, passed away that day at the age of 76.
I woke up in a Fort Worth hotel room to the sad news, which actually sounds like the opening line from a Buffett song. The beach bum balladeer who sang about all those tourists covered in oil, basking in Margaritaville, lost his four-year fight with skin cancer.
His music remains the soundtrack to summer vacation. His concerts are the stuff of legend. Yet in 50 years of recording music, he only had two songs break into the top 20 on the Hot 100 chart. He had six in the top 20 on the Country chart, and six on the Adult chart.
Jimmy Buffett in concert Jan. 31, 2012, in Jacksonville, Fla. Bruce Tureen / Flickr
“Jimmy Buffett’s music is a state of mind, a certain vibe that benefits from being heard in concert or on an album with similar themed songs,” Vestal said. “You can put on a Buffett album and just sit back and chill.
“But isolated singles from his albums didn’t really mesh with what was popular on top 40 radio at the time. Songs like ‘Cheeseburger in Paradise’ or ‘Changes in Latitudes…’ didn’t ‘sound right’ next to Bee Gees songs. Such was the mind set of programmers in the day.”
Buffett never did fit the mold. He never tried. Heck, he never wanted to. If Jimmy Buffett taught us anything, he taught us you didn’t have to be commercially successful to be memorable or popular. You just need good stories.
And Buffett had some of the best. He was that one cool uncle you always hoped would make the family reunion. His tales were so full of excitement, drama and romance that you had to question if they were even real. But he told them with such passion, enthusiasm and conviction that you hoped they were… and still do.
As an aside, my “Cool Uncle Jimmy” on my dad’s side is named Mike, and he was at the University of Southern Mississippi when Greg “Fingers” Taylor was on campus in the early 1970s. Taylor went on to become the harmonica player in Jimmy’s Coral Reefers Band. That’s my “Kevin Bacon Six Degrees of Separation” story with Jimmy Buffett. Sadly, Fingers also died last year, about two months after Jimmy.
Greg “Fingers” Taylor plays harmonica on the campus of the University of Southern Mississippi during the 1970-71 school year. My Uncle Mike is in the background, in the white shirt. Photo courtesy of Mike Anderson
It seemed to be his calling growing up in South Mississippi. He studied history at USM and became a street musician in New Orleans. He honed his songwriting talent, and embraced the island life, when he moved to Key West with his friend Jerry Jeff Walker. It was there that the legend of The Jolly Mon was born.
He broke onto the national scene with “Come Monday” in 1974. “Margaritaville” came out in 1977 and spent 22 weeks on the charts, climbing to No. 8. But that song lives on as the anthem for his legions of devotees, and the inspiration for his laid-back beach-life brand.
His concerts were epic. Legions of Parrot Heads in grass skirts, coconut bras and Hawaiian shirts followed him everywhere for the perpetual beach party. From Camden Yards to Wrigley Field to his last show — a surprise appearance at his dear friend Mac McAnally’s show July 2, 2023, in Portsmouth, R.I. — fans brought the beach balls, and Jimmy brought the tunes.
My Top Five Playlist
Breathe In, Breathe Out, Move On
Bubbles Up
Love in the Library
Delaney Talks to Statues
Twelve Volt Man
My Five Favorite Standards
Pirate Looks at Forty
He Went to Paris
Son of a Son of a Sailor
Come Monday
Tin Cup Chalice
NOTE: These lists are based on nothing more scientific than what I am listening to right now. Ask me in six months, and both lists could be different.
Along the way, he reminded us that “We Are the People Our Parents Warned Us About.” He wrote odes to Biloxi, the FloriBama and that “One Particular Harbor” he loved so much.
He wrote a song called “Growing Older But Not Up.” Eventually, he did grow up, though. Over time, his songs, and even his voice, mellowed — maybe even softened — a bit. And in true Buffett fashion, he wrote us a song to help us face reaching 40, 50 and beyond. He wrote great ballads about love and parenting and life. He even wrote a beautiful tribute to his beloved New Orleans in the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina.
Jimmy once said, “Life is a journey that’s not measured in miles or years, but in experiences.” By that standard, he had one heck of a journey.
His death hit me hard. I guess I thought we’d always have him with us — that there would always be another album, another concert.
But here’s what I have realized in the past year. Americana is all about stories, and Jimmy Buffett was a generational storyteller. While the person Jimmy Buffett is gone, the legend of Jimmy Buffett, like the legend of Buddy Holly, will live on in the songs and the stories we know by heart.
