Rest In Paradise, Jimmy
I was raised a Parrothead.
If there was such a thing as a soundtrack to a family, then ours would be the album Songs You Know by Heart.
I may not know every Jimmy Buffett song, but I know damn well each of those songs by heart, as they played on loop for years.
My family spent a lot of time together growing up, for the first ten years, the four of us, and after that the five of us. We moved mostly as a unit, mostly in the car, and mostly headed toward water.
When I think about my formative years I think about water.
I think about going to Sea Isle to Ray’s beach house.
I think about South Shore Harbor.
I think about the pool with the swim up bar where Spencer and I would order virgin strawberry daiquiris.
I think about spending time at the dock, learning how to tape, cut and burn a line to keep it from fraying.
I think about the urgency and satisfaction of slipping a spliced rope through the center of a boat cleat, opening the rope to loop it around each side and then yanking on the rope itself to confirm the boat wouldn’t float away.
I think of the time Dad lost his Mickey Mouse hat and when Spencer lost his fishing pole in Clear Lake and when we got stuck up a channel trying to look at houses and had to get pulled out by the patrol team.
I remember every turn to get from home to South Shore and how the anticipation built as we turned onto Marina Bay and the gas station with the roadrunner on the sign where we would get snacks.
I think of the little icebox with the blue lid and having to pack it and carry it to and from.
I think of how Spencer would order and eat two big macs when he was in Elementary school at the McDonalds just at the entrance of South Shore Harbor.
I think about the Classic Cafe and the almond battered shrimp.
I think about Kemah before it was a boardwalk and the giant Toucan in a sombrero painting looked at you as you came over the bridge on 146.
I think of the time spent at Jamaica Beach.
I think about all of the times that we would walk around the marinas just to look at boats and to dream.
I think about the first time that I had a Cheeseburger - which was when I was 16 and we were in Hawaii and thinking - well this seems like paradise, so I might as well eat a Cheeseburger.
When I think about Jimmy Buffett, I think about water, and I think about family.
Songs I Love by Heart
I don’t keep a discrete list, but two of his songs are some of my all time favorites, and at this point in life, I imagine that won’t change - article to back this up.
My other two favorites are more so my favorites of his as they are associated with the memory of singing, dancing/pantomiming along to them growing up.
My Two Favorites:
He Went to Paris
It’s reflective, emotive and nostalgic, incredibly beautiful and multi-generational - everything I could ask for in a story. Beautiful imagery.
the lyrics I like the most:
And Summers and Winters
Scattered like splinters
…
He's writing his memoirs and losing his hearing
But he don't care what most people say
Through 86 years of perpetual motion
If he likes you he'll smile then he'll say
Jimmy, some of it's magic, some of it's tragic
But I had a good life all the way
I’ve earmarked “some of it’s magic, some of it’s tragic” for my headstone. He also passed away at 76 - 76 years of perpetual motion - Jimmy we like you and we smiled.
A Pirate Looks at 40
There are two themes which stand out for me in this song, the guttural call of the ocean and the feeling of having existed too late.
the lyrics I like the most:
Mother, mother ocean, I have heard you call
Wanted to sail upon your waters since I was three feet tall
You've seen it all, you've seen it all
Watched the men who rode you, switch from sails to steam
And in your belly, you hold the treasures few have ever seen
Most of 'em dream, most of 'em dream
Yes, I am a pirate, two hundred years too late
The cannons don't thunder, there's nothin' to plunder
I'm an over-forty victim of fate
Arriving too late, arriving too late
There is a specific pull that some people feel to the ocean, especially those who grew up near it and I think this captures a good slice of that feeling. He also captures the universal but not everlasting feeling of “being born at the wrong time”.
Family Favorites:
Volcano - It’s the most tropical, vibey song about a natural disaster and impending travel. It’s light hearted, super staccato and good for a little bop. Mr Utley!
Fins - Hard to not make hand fins above your head and swim to the left and to the right? Can’t you feel ‘em circling honey?
He also writes - the only thing I have read is A Pirate Looks at Fifty - a memoir of sorts recounting a long trip to celebrate his fiftieth spliced with memories of his youth. I’d say it’s an aspirational version of “The 4-Hour Work Week” for beach people.
Live Experiences
I’ve seen him live twice - the first show was my favorite. It was less than 3 weeks before I turned 17. He played at Minute Maid Park - here is the set list.
I remember a stadium filled with energy, smiles, and beach balls.
He played for a long time - but there is only one song that I remember clearly.
I have to sidebar here to state that we also listened to a lot of Beach Boys growing up, mostly greatest hits on repeat, so I definitely wasn’t familiar with their full discography at the time.
He played a slow, smooth song that I had never heard before.
“There’s a world where I can go and tell my secrets to…..”
I just remember looking at my dad asking, “what is this?” to which he answered - “The Beach Boys”.
It’s such a beautiful and special song to me - and I think a lot of that is driven by my very first listening experience.
Likely it wasn’t the first time I heard it, but the first time I registered it. Apparently he also played Southern Cross, which is another of my favorite songs of all time - and I have no recollection of even knowing that song until years later, but if I know anything, it’s that memory is fallible.
My friend Steve Cowan recently published a book of personal essays, and I am putting my old (new to me) typewriter to work and sharing my thoughts with him on his book. In my response I recounted this same story about In My Room and Southern Cross to him. Timing is funny.
Sailing Home
My mom texted me this morning, her morning, my afternoon, and said “Jimmy Buffett sailed on last night.”
We’ve been texting back and forth a combination of lyrics and memories of how tightly he was threaded through the fabric of our family’s sails.
I don’t get home sick often, but if I could be anywhere, it would be Clear Lake with my family, sitting on the boat, listening to a little Jimmy.
