MMTT4S - Fruitcake City

So, we've discussed Jimmy Buffett (MMTT4S - Teacher Edition) and his escapist carnival (the original MMTT4S). Today let's take a brief look at his fans.

Parrot Heads.

Legend has it that the moniker was born from the stage in Cincinnati in 1985 by Timothy B. Schmit, a member of Jimmy's band - the Coral Reefers - at that time. Buffett made notice of the crowd, decked out in grass skirts, aloha shirts, leis, and parrot hats, and how they followed him on tour around the country, much like Dead Heads followed The Grateful Dead. Schmit put 2 and 2 together - Dead Heads in parrot hats - and came up with Parrot Heads, and it stuck.

Parrot Heads come from all walks of life - all ages, backgrounds, beliefs, socio-economic levels, races, heights, weights, countries of origin, planets of origin, types of sailing experience, favorite combinations of Oreos. You'll even find Parrot Heads who prefer waffles arm-in-arm with diehard pancake fanatics. There are Parrot Head clubs all over the world, most of which combine a love of fellowship (and tequila) with civic service - "Party With a Purpose." It may well be the happiest, most diverse group on Earth.

Parrot Heads consider Jimmy Buffett concerts as a summer rite of passage. They flock to their home venues every year and commence to putting on the ultimate tailgate experience. Buffett tailgates are legendary. They shouldn't even be considered tailgates. "Tailgate" is way too tame a word for the insanity and camaraderie found in the parking lots before Buffett concerts. What was a peaceful, white-striped blacktop or grassy field or gravel flat morphs into a tropical island steeped in the frenzy of a carnival and inhabited by a million circus acts and revelers from around the world. Maybe it should be called a Parrotgate. Some venues obviously boast bigger, crazier tailgates than others and rightfully so. I've seen too many Buffett shows to remember, from Los Angeles to Columbia, SC, but I haven't seen him in every venue. Every place has its own vibe - from the tribal togetherness of Atlanta to the...well, Vegas is Vegas. True to the saying "Everything is bigger in Texas," Frisco's tailgate scene was enormous and as wild as it was large. No matter the size or level of insanity, you'll always find happy folks willing to share a beer, a plate of boiled crawfish, and an exaggerated story that will contain a reference to Jimmy Buffett at some point.

You can find plenty of photos and descriptions of Buffett parking lot parties online. Suffice it to say that fun is had, food and drink is shared and consumed, music is played and heard, engagements are launched, marriages are consummated, babies are made, lifelong friends are established, memories are created (and sometimes lost) - all in heaping helpings.

Today's song, "Fruitcakes," celebrates Parrot Heads and those who may be Parrot Heads and don't realize it, and really just about anybody living on this planet. Jimmy calls these people "fruitcakes" - half-baked, crazy humans, struttin' naked through the crosswalks of life toward eternity. And we've all got a little bit (or a lot) of fruitcake in us. He sings his argument with proof from outrageous cinema prices ("I want Junior Mints!") to California (paradise?) to our government ("universal laughter ringing out among the stars") to religion ("there's a thin line between Saturday night and Sunday morning") to relationships ("the difference between lightning and a harmless lightning bug") to the future ("Stanley Kubrick and...HAL don't look that abstract"). To deal with the madness of living in a world full of fruitcakes, Buffett suggests staying in touch with our insanity, to "use the right word at the right time" and "practice what [we] preach," and to simply "have a very fruitful day" as we navigate the "jungle out there."

The song itself is catchy and clever and features a full Coral Reefer band sound, which you'll find often on the album by the same name. Great tune.

So, as you watch the news, look at social media, gather at your favorite watering hole, or gaze at beachcombers on the coast this summer, do so with the somewhat comforting thought that we are all fruitcakes, that "the cosmic bakers took us out of the oven a little too early and that's the reason we're as crazy as we are." Listen to today's tune to help, if necessary. A dose of Buffett can do wonders sometimes.

And keep an eye on those crosswalks...

Image courtesy of Amazon.com

Fruitcakes Anniversary Spurs West Texas Memories

This weekend, RadioMargaritaville is celebrating the 20th anniversary of the release of Jimmy Buffett's platinum-selling album, Fruitcakes. This album is possibly my favorite of the trop-rock singer-songwriter's collection, which numbers around 50 now. For me, though, I think it's all about the timing.

May, 1994 places me in Abilene, Texas - a snapshot of the West Texas of old. Imagine a barbecue joint, scuffed plank floors, hardwood walls infused with mesquite smoke, a large board up on the wall that displays the menu - from brisket to steaks, which are ordered by thickness, and a long counter directly below, which multitasks as a buffet, check-out station and massive cutting board. Inside are ranchers, bankers, oil people, college kids, golfers, and actual cowboys, discussing the weather, prices, scores, and parties in between savory bites of smoked meat or pinto beans or homemade bread. It was into this world of Stetsons, Justins, longhorns and extended cabs that I brought Jimmy Buffett.

I became a Parrothead during college in the late 80's. But, having grown up in sunny South Carolina and spending my childhood summers at Surfside Beach on the Carolina Coast, I started unconsciously cultivating a coastal gypsy soul at an early age. So, Jimmy's stories of adventure and messages about enjoying life fit perfectly with my blossoming escapist dreamer's mentality. Armed with an arsenal of tunage, parrot-phernalia and ideologies to match, I rolled into Abilene in 1992, reunited with my brothers, who found Buffett with the same ease as I, and set out, peacefully making converts of their friends and my new acquaintances, including this cute co-worker who would become my wife in October of '94. 

Soon, as is customary of the Phlock, we held a party to celebrate life as it is seen through the salt-rimmed sunglasses of Margaritaville. My soon-to-be wife's family had a great remote West Texas spot out in Buffalo Gap, complete with pool, house, scrub brush, and the perfect sunset viewing mesa. We began an annual gathering here, away from the everyday two-step. The event grew exponentially, garnering the status associated with highly anticipated let-your-big-hair-down events.  It was around this time when Fruitcakes was released, providing the perfect accompaniment to the revelries of our ever-growing throng of newly tropicalized Texans. We found our inner fruitcakes as we quietly made noise with Miami cousins and Frenchmen, listening to Uncle John's six-string music on sunny afternoons with visions of lone palms, vampires, and mummies, Apocalypso on the near horizon (confused? see the song list from Fruitcakes). 

Jimmy Buffett had finally arrived in Abilene, Texas. Before, Margaritaville was a vaguely familiar tune, heard on rare occasions on the local country and western stations. Now, it had become a state of mind, an island reachable simply by imagination - not some far off South Pacific paradise that landlocked West Texans vacantly thought of after watching John Wayne in Donovan's Reef. For a few decadent days, boots became bare feet, starched white shirts gave way to leis, but we still wore our cowboy hats, even in the pool (rumors abound that those hats were all that some of us wore). Tiki torches blazed as we danced like natives about the base of a volcano. Pirates and parrots, sailors and surfers all joined this carnival, the likes of which had rarely, if ever, been seen in the heart of West Texas. Fruitcake city. 

The Buffalo Gap parties became too large to somewhat reasonably manage. So, we discontinued the official gatherings, leaving them to the ageless stories of legends. I returned to South Carolina, wife in tow. Some friends remained in Abilene; others scattered to other ports, both near and distant. Families naturally grew. Careers emerged. The movements of life shifted. The property in Buffalo Gap was sold. 

Those of us who can wrangle the cost and scheduling still gather annually in Frisco, Texas for the Jimmy Buffett concert and tailgate extravaganza, where we watch the parade of fruitcakes, indulge in our own brands of craziness (to prevent insanity), and reminisce about those few summers in Buffalo Gap when Jimmy Buffett's Fruitcake album accompanied a realization of the wonderful and wacky ways of life among friends old and new. Our kindred spirits rejuvenate. Our perspectives realign. 

We discovered back in 1994 and continue to discover still today that there was and is, indeed, "...a little bit fruitcake left in every one of us."

Tour shirt from the Fruitcakes tour - Saw the Dallas show