Chances are, Jimmy Buffett won't take home any Grammys this year. It's a shame that he won't be able to add any to his previous total-none. It seems that there is no room for a middle-aged man singing about burgers, beer and island life in today's music world.
But don't cry for this 54-year-old son of a son of a sailor. If the true measure of musical success lies in an artist's fan base, then Jimmy Buffett is doing just fine. In fact, judging from the thousands of wild, screaming, costumed music lovers that showed up for his Feb. 17 concert in Greensboro Coliseum, few have ever done it better.
For over thirty years, Jimmy Buffett has amassed a legion of supporters that are undoubtedly some of the most insane on the planet. These hard-core Buffett followers are affectionately known as "parrotheads" for their island attire that includes Hawaiian shirts, grass skirts and quite often-you guessed it-parrots on their heads (think Caribbean Cameron Crazies). Parrotheads, fueled by Buffett's tunes and various illegal substances, are steadfast in their devotion to the man they see as a living legend and they are serious about adhering to Buffett's advice to not take anything seriously.
With the all-too-limited knowledge of a virgin parrothead, I traveled to Greensboro to experience Buffett culture firsthand-to discover the true meaning of life according to the Parrotheads.
What did I find? Alcohol-and plenty of it. The parking lot reeked of rum, every other guy in a coconut bra was
And party they did, as I wandered around trying to achieve Buffett enlightenment one person at a time. I asked anyone who seemed halfway coherent what a true parrothead was-and what made Jimmy so darn special. What I discovered was that Parrotheads truly are a new breed of human-one that eats, sleeps and drinks (and drinks and drinks) Jimmy Buffett.
I like to consider myself a Jimmy Buffett fan. I jumped on the bandwagon long enough ago to have learned quite a few songs-I even bought his 1973 major-label debut, A White Sport Coat and a Pink Crustacean, to be old-school. But these fans were far beyond me-much like their counterpart Deadheads and Phish phans, they were ridiculous. These folks drove from New Jersey, Wisconsin, Indiana and Massachusetts. Some had even driven all the way from California with shark fins atop their cars to see this show. Asking people if it was their first show was a stupid question; most answers went something like: "Well, it's my first Buffett show this week." or "No, this makes a baker's dozen" or the real kicker, "Try 38."
Along with their unwavering allegiance to Buffett, his fans have definitely picked up on some of his homespun wisdom. Nearly everyone had a piece of parrothead advice, and was more than willing to share it-except the one gentlemen I accidentally approached while he was peeing on a parked car. He wasn't pleased.
That incident not included, most Parrotheads turned out to be typical open, friendly, intoxicated people. Sometimes too open: One girl admitted to me that her attraction to Buffett was inborn since she was conceived to a Jimmy Buffett song. I was too scared to ask if the song was "Why Don't We Get Drunk and Screw?"
The show itself proved to be an enthusiastic effort by Buffett and his Coral Reefer Band. Jimmy, barefoot and in shorts, seemed like the biggest Parrothead of all, having a hell of a good time while singing a well-rounded mix of his hits. The culmination came when Buffett came down into the audience to sing "Cheeseburger in Paradise" with his fans-probably some of the most memorable karaoke many of those people had ever done.
Amid the beach balls, hula dancers and dread-locked stilt-walkers, the simple fact remained that three decades of fans came together to enjoy some awesome music. And to Jimmy, their coming back again and again means much more than any award.
So what did I learn? Well, the Parrotheads are excellent teachers. As one advised, "Enjoy life. Sit back, relax and just enjoy the world." But the most memorable words of the night came from another: "What is the secret of life? Be crazy, be hammered, love Buffett."
Get The Chronicle straight to your inbox
Signup for our weekly newsletter. Cancel at any time.