By Gary Bennett
Jimmy Buffett lived a life most of us can only dream of. By all accounts it was wacky, wild and wonderful.
We all know about his hugely successful music career. He recorded more than 30 albums, wrote and recorded a career-defining and endlessly entertaining song in “Margaritaville” and built a string of successful Margaritaville restaurants and resorts.
But did you know he was a best-selling author and a seaplane pilot?
He wrote three best-selling books: “Tales from Margaritaville,” “Where is Joe Merchant,” and “A Pirate Looks at Fifty.”
Piloting a seaplane was his way of escaping reality and inviting family and friends on his many adventures, fishing and otherwise, all around the Caribbean.
His early life wasn’t always easy, though.
He flunked out of college, flunked his draft physical and started a band in his 20s, but it got no traction, so it broke up soon after.
He was divorced twice, went broke once and survived not one, but two, devastating crashes: one by car and one by seaplane that he only survived due to some Navy training.
Later, he broke the same leg three times in one year, did a lot of dope and went into therapy.
But there’s no reason to focus on the negative stuff because Jimmy never did.
He spent his life looking optimistically for the next opportunity and he almost always found it. He was signed to a recording contract at ABC Records in 1973 to replace his recently deceased friend, Jim Croce.
Buffett died last year on Sept. 1 at age 76, from complications from Merkle cell carcinoma, a rare type of skin cancer.
Somehow, fittingly, he died on the last day of meteorological summer. If the “music died” when Buddy Holly died, could it be that summer died with Jimmy Buffett? We’ll have to wait and see this summer.
I was never a big Jimmy Buffett fan and certainly never a “parrothead”— the term reserved for his most loyal, diehard fans who could always be counted on to dress up in wild costumes at his concerts, perhaps with a parrot on their shoulder.
But I can appreciate the niche he carved out for himself in the music business, much to everyone’s surprise.
One can name no other artist (other than the Beach Boys) who so completely embodied a carefree, island-hopping, “strumming my six-string on my front porch swing,” summery persona.
Buffett may have described himself best when he said: “I’ve got a Caribbean soul I can barely control.” He and his Coral Reefer band toured the world for nearly 50 years, bringing joy wherever they set down.
My wife and I have been to a few of his concerts and always had a really good time.
Near the end, he wasn’t much of a singer. He was more like an affable host or a barefoot ringleader of one giant outdoor party.
Sometimes, you felt like he was phoning it in, not giving it much effort. But the more I thought about it, isn’t that the essence of Jimmy Buffett anyway, making it look easy and effortless?
Surprisingly, he started out as more of a country singer. His 1974 heartfelt ballad “Come Monday” was a big hit on both the country and pop charts. It has an unmistakable country feel to it.
But soon after, something changed. He was no longer country. He embraced what might be called tropical island or Caribbean music, with a strong influence of steel drums and simple melodies and lyrics. By all accounts, he went back to his roots.
When “Margaritaville” hit the airwaves in 1977, it was impossible not to like the song or the carefree-looking artist that penned and sang it. “Margaritaville” speaks not of a town, but of a state of mind when you use your favorite adult beverage to numb yourself to life and your inability to do much with it.
With exasperation but acceptance, Buffett sang “Don’t know the reason / stayed here all season / Nothin’ to show but this brand new tattoo. But it’s a real beauty / a Mexican cutie / how it got here I haven’t a clue.”
He then finished up plaintively “Wasted away again in Margaritaville, Searching for my lost shaker of salt. Some people say that there’s a woman to blame. But I know / it’s my own damn fault.”
To this day when I hear it, I can’t help but smile and sing along. Putting smiles on strangers’ faces — not a bad legacy to leave.
