Jimmy Buffett continues to be one of the most popular touring acts in America.
I haven’t seen him, despite several invitations. I have no desire to do so.
With no disrespect intended toward Parrotheads – hey, you can turn around and deride me as a Deadhead – I’ve had my fill of Mr. Buffett. I had my fill of him before many Parrotheads were born.
In 1979, I went to work making sandwiches at a bar called Mother’s at the Harrisburg (PA) East Mall. Don’t look for it. Last I knew, it was a Swatara Township Police substation. And the mall is called simply Harrisburg Mall now. And it was under reconstruction at one point, so the police substation probably is gone, too.
Anyway, a couple of guys worked there who were big Jimmy Buffett fans. I didn’t know much about him except for “Margaritaville,” so I listened.
They’d hijack the record player whenever possible and put on such albums as “A White Sport Coat and a Pink Crustacean,” “A1A” and “Living and Dying in 3/4 Time.” Then Jimmy released “Volcano,” featuring such fare as the title song and “Fins.” That got a considerable amount of turntable play.
The following summer, I lived with the same guys at the beach in Wildwood, N.J. Hearing Jimmy Buffett a lot at work was one thing. Hearing him nearly 24/7 was another.
The guys did play some other stuff on occasion, including the Grateful Dead’s “Wake of the Flood,” thank goodness. And George Thorogood’s first album. But most of the time, it was Jimmy Buffett.
I don’t know if even a Parrothead could live through that and still want to listen to JB.
Again, no offense. But if I never hear “Cheeseburger in Paradise” again, I’ll be a happy man.