My friend Scott is Canadian. This gives him a secret power: he’s nice. It is therefore impossible to refuse him, because it would be like having a slapdown with a kitten. So, when Scott asked if my husband and I would go with him to a Jimmy Buffett concert at Fenway, of course we said yes.
I’d heard of Jimmy Buffett. It’s pretty hard to grow up in the U.S. without knowing some of the words to “Margaritaville,” Buffett’s trademark anthem. But I’d never had any desire to see the guy–I’m more of a World Music fan—and I had no idea what to expect.
Scott drove down from Quebec prepared with appropriate concert attire for all of us: giant Hawaiian shirts and, for himself, a hat with an actual stuffed parrot on it.
“Are you sure this looks okay?” my husband asked, modeling his shirt for me.
He looked like a cruise ship refugee. “Scott’s Canadian, honey,” I reminded him. “We have to do whatever he says.”
In my case, the Hawaiian shirt hung down to my knees, so I thought I could beg off looking like a Parrothead, which is what you call a Buffett groupie. But Scott had thoughtfully brought a backup: my very own Margaritaville t-shirt. I dug a bird purse out of somewhere deep in my closet and off we went.
Apparently the highlight of Parrothead life is tailgating, but since tailgating isn’t permitted at Fenway Park, Scott suggested that we pre-game at one of the bars offering a Jimmy Buffett party before the show. “Really?” I said. “They do that?”
They do. We ended up at The Summer Shack, which had gone all-out with blow-up tropical accessories like parrots and palm trees, and offered special deals on—what else?–margaritas and cheeseburgers. There was even a Jimmy Buffett imitator. The place was packed with people in Hawaiian shirts and leis; the guy next to me at the bar cheerfully confessed that this was his ninth Parrothead experience.
The music didn’t stop when we left the Shack, either. Walking to Fenway with small herds of other people in Hawaiian shirts, grass skirts, and coconut bras—yes, even the men–we were passed by dozens of pedicabs blaring Buffett tunes as fit college kids pedaled Parrotheads to the concert, many of them hefty from too many cheeseburgers in paradise.
Fenway Park was solidly booked. We were funneled up the stairs to our seats with all of the other Parrotheads, many of whom were guys in their twenties and thirties—Buffett must play big in frat houses and at spring break parties—and I began noticing shark hats as a feisty alternative to parrot hats, though I had no idea why. The Fenway crowd was warmed up by the always energetic, entertaining Peter Wolf and the Midnight Travelers, and then it was time for “Sweet Caroline” and the crowd shouting “So good! So good!”
Finally, Buffett took the stage with his Coral Reefer Band. The crowd went wild, with beach balls and blow-up sharks and parrots being tossed around as the backdrop screens showed beach scenes with guys surfing, hula girls, hammocks, and sailboats. Buffett appeared, barefoot and in shorts, and my first thought was that he looked a lot like my dad, with his monk’s fringe of white hair. My second thought was, “Wow. Nice tan.”
The meaning of the shark hats became clear halfway through the night, when Buffett played “Fins,” a song I’d never heard, and one that has lyrics that probably wouldn’t fly in this #MeToo day and age. The crowd didn’t care. They embraced the opportunity to joyfully dance like sharks, putting their outstretched arms over their heads and clasping their hands in a move we do in yoga, though less vigorously.
In fact, the crowd embraced everything: Buffett’s songs, his dad jokes, his cheesy backdrops of sailboats and beaches. It was like being at an adult Disney park, a separate, candy-colored universe where everyone just wants to hang out on the beach and eat cheeseburgers, get drunk, and screw after finding that long lost shaker of salt. Buffett himself is like Disney, with his own $550 million empire of restaurants, merchandise, retirement condos, and now a Broadway show.
I should have hated the concert. I am not a wannabe beach bum. But, as we walked back to the car from Fenway with our nice Canadian, I felt oddly peaceful in the humid dark. It was almost as if I’d spent the day at the beach.
14 Comments
I am a HUGE Parrothead. I have the parrot hat, my hubby has the cheeseburger hat. We have seen him in concert many times, and it’s always great. I think I have every album he ever produced. And come to think of it, I am wearing a Margaritaville T-shirt I picked up in Key West a few months ago right now. Did you he also wrote books? I have “Jimmy Buffet A Pirate Looks at Fifty.” He is funny and heart-warming. My hubby always says – what a great life. He wants to be Jimmy Buffet when he grows up. Gets to perform in bare feet and shorts and nobody cares what he looks like. The older he gets (and us) the bigger Parrothead I become. Glad you enjoyed the concert.
I never knew that about you, Joanne! Nor did I know he writes books–though I shouldn’t be surprised. There doesn’t seem to be anything he hasn’t tried–reason enough to admire the guy. Thank you for stopping by the blog.
I love the way you write…and I love Jummy Buffett. His music is an escape from all the ails you…just like going to the beach!
Thanks, Patti. You’re so right about the escapism factor!
Wow! You nailed it again my friend! Reading this I relived the experience! “I’m growing older…not up!” And thanks for coming with me!!!! xo Scott
I couldn’t have experienced Buffettworld with a better friend, Scott. Thank you so much for introducing me to Parrothead culture!
Love it! Our Scott IS as nice as Canadians come, and any experience with him is worthwhile. Come visit us in Quebec, Holly. Scott tells me about you all the time.
Thank you so much, Mary-Anne. I couldn’t agree more. And I hope I’ll get to meet you one day!
Hi Holly, Not sure you remember me but I was Karen Coulthard a million years ago. My sister Debby knew you wrote books and told me about your blog and I have started following it. Congrats on so much success! We have a few things in common, both with very happy second marriages (though my husband is deceased now) and five kids each. Anyway just wanted to say hi, I went to a few Jimmy Buffet concerts in my prime but not for the last fifteen years and you brought me back to some very good memories. Thanks!
Karen, I absolutely remember you, and I’m so delighted to hear from you. Wow! I’m going to try to email you so that we can carry on our conversation in private. I am really thrilled to see you here. Thank you for getting in touch!
Funny, how when we attend to a concert, watch a show/movie, listen to a person we’re not sure we like so much, and end of having a great time, we almost feel embarrassed about ourselves. But in the end if something is warm and likable and sweet, no matter how old-fashioned or inappropriate it may be, it’s fine for just that moment.
I confess, I’m not a Jimmy Buffet fan. But every time his music comes on the radio, I smile and my feet bounce at the beat. 🙂
I feel exactly the same, Pam!
Hi Holly,
I’ve never been a Buffet fan even though he does an event here in Cincinnati every year. The whole city goes crazy for Buffet and age doesn’t play into the frenzy. People who have never heard a Buffet song become instant Parrotheads. I think he is part sorcerer. I’m so glad you had such a wonderful time and that you shared your story. I may have to break down and attend his concert next year.
Yes, it’s really something to see an entire city go into a frenzy for a musician. Hat’s off to Buffett, I say, for finding a way to do what he loves and make a good living at it–never easy for an artist, as we know!