Parrot Head Phenomenon
I think this is a unique situation in that it started as a cult following, and now the "flock" has multiplied. People have a badge of Parrot Head-ism that they wear very proudly. They make me laugh when we're on tour; they're as much a part of our performance as anybody. Many Parrot Heads are very intense about the whole thing. THey know the punchline to all my jokes, so I have to keep updating my material to stay ahead of them. Not only do they want to hear the songs, they want to get into the lifestyle, even if it's only for a couple of hours.
I've never really instructed them in anything; I've just given them the lyrics. Parrot Heads are very creative in their dress code. They have taken it to the absolute limit of tastelessness.
Audience participation is one of the most important parts of a concert for me. Its what makes this job as much fun as it has been. To be honest, I didnt think I would be performing this much in the 90's, yet in the last couple of years it seems as if the flock has increased even more.
Regarding the lifestyles of Parrot Heads, they'll have to speack for themselves. My interpretation of Parrot Heads is that they're basically pretty normal people with a slight strain of insanity in their makeup. I'm sure they all have day jobs, and do them willinglt, but when Jimmy Buffett and the Coral Reefer Band come to town, these folks are there. They transform into Parrot Heads and become an essential part of the show. Just looking at the audience, from my point of view, is wonderfully humorous. There's an amazing conglomeration of people ranging from age 16 to 60, all wearing ridiculous costumes. Parrot Heads come to the show with their own personal Mardi Gras attached to them.
There is no official Parrot Head outfit. I feel that most Parrot Heads are non-conformists. I don't want them to have uniforms because I don't want my shoe to feel like a Catholic School. Parrot Heads go to the concerts and have a good time.
I see Parrot Head style as a symbol. Out of all the causes available, Parrot Head-ism seems to be one these people can affectionately embrace.
CLIFF RADEL
Feeding Frenzy
We are a circus. The members of our crew put up stage lights and work on the sound early in the morning, and they tear it all down after the Parrot Heads have had their "feeding frenzy" and have returned to normal life. People try to unravel the mystery of our longevity and our fanatical fans, but I choose to not tamper with it. In today's world of fax machines, cellular phones and call waiting, we nees to spend a little time with the fun part of ourselves, and that is what a Jimmy Buffett concert is all about. It's a tribal celebration-a rite of summer passage no different than the kinds of parties thrown by our primitive realitives in the cave days.
We are headed for the 21st century. I cant wait. Concerts on the moon, weekends on Mars, who knows what is going to happen. That is the fun of it, looking for those answers to questions that bother you so, and being able to play the court jester to such a loyal and dovated following. Palying for a living. You can't beat it with a stick.
A Place In The Shade
My fantasy has always been to find that perfect laid-back town by the ocean, the kind of place where the locals are all legendary characters who spend their days mixing margaritas, where the air is always warm, and where the sea is crystal clear-a real Margarativille of the mind.
There'd have to be a bar right on the beach complete with ceiling fans and cigarette smoke- a bar like the one in the movie To Have and Have Not. Hoagy Carmichael would play the piano while Lauren Bacall sang. Humphery Bogart would be sitting alone at the end of the bar, just taking it all in.
Ive been looking for a town like that, a real Margaritaville, for years now- maybe ever since I was a kid and my grandfather explained to me that you could trace a line on a map from our home near Mobile Bay, Alabama, across the ocean and wind up at some of the most exotic places on earth.
Later on U majored in History at the University of Southern Mississippi, and I became fascinated by the history of the Caribbean. By then my mental image of Margaritaville had grown more complex. I took elements from books like Herman Wouk's Don't Stop The Carnival, which is about a New York public relations man who buys a bar on a fictitious tropical island. Then there were movies like Donovan's Reef, and the TV series, "Adventures in Paradise," which really influnced me at a young age.
It all blended together like tequila, salt and limes; Margaritaville became a combination of the romance of the ocean, the romance of history, and my impression of a few of the places I'd been. There's a town down in Mexico, for istance, called Puerto Morales; it's a real Mexican fishing village located about 20 miles south of Cancun. And then there's a place called the Rosarito Beach Hotel, 45 minutes south of San Diego, where you can get good lobster with diablo sauce and a margarita. That hotle is the closest, nearest getaway I've found.
Back when I knew it in 1971, Key West used to be a lot like Margaritaville; it was a place designed for complete escapism. Around that time I was runnig from a bad marriage and bad weather, and I had to get back to the ocean. The line in my Volcano album- "I shot six holes in the freezer, I think I got cabin fever," -well, that's real life. I did that once: plugged my refrigerator. And then I thought, Jimmy, you better get yourself to the ocean, boy.
Well, I lived in Key West for three years, and mostly all I did was hang out at the bars. Then I got a boat, and that opened up another whole avenue, just like it did for my grandfather. Most of the people I knew in Key West seven or eight ago aren't there anymore. All that's left are the legends, so it's not that comfortable for me. But then Margaritaville is a place you have to keep looking for.
One of the worst investments I ever made was buying a bar, something like the one in To Have and Have Not. It's the only American bar on the Caribbean island of St. Barthelemy. I've done everything there from peeling onions to mixing drinks. Its the biggest damn financial nightmare- a great, dumb, stupid, wonderful thing to own- I've yet to see a dime come out of it, but I bought it truly for no other reason than to be able to sit on a stool and tell whoever Im yalking to that I won part of a bar in the Caribbean. Now, I try to explain to the accountants that the stories I'll get out of that place are worth more than any monetary gain. I doubt they understand.
The point is, I lived out a fantasy. It may be everyone's fantasy, but I'm sure glad not everyone lives it out. It wouldn't be quiet as exotic then. I love being the guy who gets to tell people about it.
I really love to tour the midwest in nasty weather, say in February and March. we set up palm trees on stage and project pictures of boats and ocean sceans. People show up in Bermuda shorts and Hawaiian shirts, and for a couple hours I try to take them to Margaritaville. And it's possible, because Margaritaville is as much a state of mind as it is a place.
Right now I'm working on a movie version of Margaritaville. It's great; I get to construct a perfect paradise. The island in the film is a cross section of all the neat old places I've visited, and the inhabitants are the characters in my songs. I'm even using the guy with the solar panels- the 12-volt man. It'll be a ner genre: the coconut musical comedy.
Maybe it'll be the ultimate place to go for spring break. Maybe the movie will affect people the way "Adventures in Paradise" affected me. That series changed my life. It made me want to get the hell away from Mobile, Alabama; it got me started on my search for Margaritaville.
