MMTT4S - English Teacher Edition

One thing I like about Jimmy Buffett is his clever use of words. We refer to that as "diction" in the biz. English teacher biz, that is. He's a songwriter, no doubt about it. Being able to manipulate words and connotations and symbolism and imagery and theme is a tall task. Doing that and making it rhyme makes the task even taller. Adding in music increases the height of this already tall task to Empire State Building proportions. Being insanely successful at it for decades - that's the Mt. Everest of tall tasks.

Today's tune, titled "If It All Falls Down" is a fun and retrospective glimpse into the aura of Jimmy Buffett, the tropical troubadour. The music is a real treat, starting off with a simple, light acoustic guitar-led melody that changes pace and volume as the horns introduce and accompany a carnival-like chorus, complete with steel drums and a whistle. We need more whistle! It's a fun song. Real shocker there, huh?

The words, though. The WORDS! The words are what sold me on it.

Let's examine this witty wordsmith's lyrics, shall we?

image: here

We start with Jimmy basically giving us the old Popeye line, "I yam what I yam," and throughout the song he continues this theme - "And that's all what I yam," though he echoes this sentiment with a little more sophistication and clarity than the spinach-loving sailor with bulging forearms. Jimmy Buffett has always been hard to categorize. That drives the music business nuts sometimes. Is he folk, pop, rock, country, island? Not only has he refused to stay in his lane, he never really hit a defined lane when he pulled out of his oyster shell driveway years ago (I don't know if he actually had an oyster shell driveway - it's part of a metaphor - stay with me here). Buffett's a shapeless peg that just won't fit into the industry's square hole. Because of that, he traditionally hasn't gotten the radio airtime common to singers of his stature. Nevertheless, he's defied music industry logic and expectations and built a fortune. Not necessarily on purpose. He's just been himself. According to the lyrics of this song, he didn't seek to have some mystique or to be historic. He's simply an "open book," a "beach bum," a "man for all seasides." In a clever fit of humorous self-deprecation, he lets us know that he's really only qualified to be a "hard-drinking calypso poet," an occupation that, according to Jimmy, was experiencing a "shortage" of qualified candidates. Since there are "plenty of doctors, lawyers, people to make us things, and people to sell us these things," why not fulfill your calling in a very obscure career and contribute to society as best you can?

In the chorus, we get the origin of the title, "If It All Falls Down." The "it" here is, of course, the Jimmy Buffet circus. Basically, he lets us know that if Margaritaville crumbles around him, if the powers that be discover that he's simply an entertaining snake-charmer who's good with words and a guitar, if his success disappears, he'll be ok. No matter what happens, Jimmy can still make music, make people dance, and have fun.

It's in the chorus that we are treated to a line that is rarely, if ever, found in music - "I can juggle verbs, adverbs, and nouns." English teachers rejoice! Even grammar has a place in Margaritaville.

An oversimplification of the true nature of Jimmy Buffett? Sure. He may be more businessman than beach bum, truth be told. Still, there's enough honesty in "If It All Falls Down" to thoroughly enjoy the song, enjoy the message, and celebrate not having to win the rat race or be something that everyone expects us to be. If our own houses of cards fall down, we still have our authentic, genuine selves to rely on...and we'll be fine.

"If It All Falls Down" can be found on Jimmy Buffett's Floridays album, which was released in 1986.

Image courtesy of Amazon.com

MMTT4S - Installment 4 - South of the Border (and not SC Pedro's Version)!

South of the Border

Unless you're a South Carolina native or a gullible tourist traveling through that state down I-95 (http://www.thesouthoftheborder.com/), that phrase once produced a sparkle of wanderlust - sleepy villages along the border or coast, cactus-dotted horizons framed by fiery sunsets, aromas of corn tortillas and spicy salsas. You just wanted to ride in on your trusty steed, be handed a plate of tamales and a crisp margarita by a pretty señorita, while a wholesome caballero kicked back beside you and played a haunting Spanish number on his 12-string gut guitar. Sounds of a fiesta a few blocks away. Maybe you'd join...maybe not. First, you'd simply desire to rest your dusty boots and turn the saddle sores over to the tequila.

...Under a vast blanket of stars. A few of which shoot across the deep navy vastness.

...With an occasional cry of a coyote in the distance. The nice kind of coyotes - not the dreaded nuisances we have today.

It conjured a flight to a rustic, simple place and time. Unlike today. No wall or cartel or 3 hour wait at the border crossing to worry about. No, this was an idealistic escape from the more modern rigors, glimmer, and speed of glitzy Hollywood, the Rat Pack Vegas Strip, and Madison Avenue.

I remember crossing into Juarez from El Paso with my wife and her parents and grandparents. We lived in Texas then and her grandmother wanted to go look for a piece of furniture, have a tasty meal, replenish her real vanilla extract, and just get away for a day. We actually drove in, though. I guess trusty steeds were not a viable option for the whole group. I don't recall hearing coyotes either. But the food was fabulous - probably TexMex for gringos like us. The margaritas were refreshing and strong. The smells and music were amazing. And I guess the furniture was good because we seldom left empty-handed. We did this more than once, and thoroughly enjoyed it.

Although, according to an Al Jazeera report that claims the city is trying to make a comeback, which prompts a few laughable retorts in my mind given the irony, this is not on most people's travel agenda today (see this).

All of this Margaritaville musing simply leads us into today's Jimmy Buffett tune for the summer of '19 - "Mexico."

Yes, I know it was originally James Taylor's hit and he does it so very well in his recognizable, unique, smooth way. Admittedly, while some songs are iconic and define a performer or group and should probably never be remade, this is not one of those. Certain performers sort-of earn the right to add their spin to a classic. James and Jimmy are buds and collaborate on a few songs even. Although Buffett makes the song his with a fuller band sound and steel pans to "tropicalize" it a little, he obviously respects Taylor's tune.

It's a great remake. It's also fabulous live. "Mexico" can be found on Buffett's album Barometer Soup, his 19th studio album, and on a number of live albums as well. It's a popular choice at concerts for good reason.

So, if you suddenly find yourself south of the border, enjoy the kinder, gentler, more imaginative version. And maybe pick up a side table.

Image courtesy of itunes.apple.com

If you'd like to continue with the Mexican vibe, check out Jimmy's numerous other songs that have a Spanish influence. You can also hear similar tunes from George Strait ("The Seashores of Old Mexico"), Kenny Chesney, Zac Brown, Marty Robbins, Tim McGraw, Asleep at the Wheel, and many, many others.

MMTS4S Part 3 - Adventure Awaits!

Part 3 of my Margaritaville Musings and Tropical Tunes for the Summer simply adds to this pursuit of getting away. If people cling to this idea of escaping to Margaritaville - that personal destination that may be found on a map or in our minds - then traveling to exotic places just seems to fall in line.

One of my unwavering dreams in life is to travel the world, to see our planet and all its wonders. It will be a regret of mine if, as I lay on my death bed, I realize I've not done this. I'm not planning on laying on a death bed, though. If I don't go out peacefully slumped over in a lawn chair next to a favorite fishing hole with a rod and reel in my hand and a smile on my face (thanks to David Lewis for that), then it better be spectacular.

85-Year Old Dies After Gnarly Nose-ride Through Tube Ends in Tragic Wipeout on Reef

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Missing Elderly Man Found Dead With Permanent Grin Frozen Atop Kilimanjaro

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Last Transmission From 110-Year Old Mars Inhabitant: "Food and Fuel Gone. Oxygen Quickly Depleting. Playing My Guitar While Gazing Into Space. What a Way To Go!"

Jimmy Buffett has been afforded the privilege of traveling the world. Luckily for those of us who have only been able to do that through him vicariously (so far), he is a willing and insightful tour guide. Many of his songs take us along as he travels "his song lines, obvious and not," and we learn that the Master of Escapism actually desires a flight from his own jobs, chores, questions, and twirling plates at times.

This is another version that is fantastic live, and much like yesterday's "One Particular Harbour," it is a real crowd-pleaser. This is another top-fiver for me. Travel with Jimmy to the "Far Side of the World" and enjoy the title track from his 33rd record, but his first from his own Mailboat Records label. I love the horns and, of course, Robert Greenidge on the steel pans. Mark Twain would approve of this song, I believe, but would ask for a little satire. Otherwise, it's a perfect example of a storyteller's travels.

The link takes you to a video from Richard McLaughlin that includes the song. Check out live versions from his many live albums. You can also catch it in the lineup on RadioMargaritaville.

Image courtesy of wikipedia

Margaritaville Musings and Tropical Tunage for the Summer

Summer officially starts for me today.  While I rather prefer the Memorial Day-to-Labor Day spread for this season, I must adhere to the dates set forth in my school district’s calendar, since I make my meager living in the field of education. At least I have a few weeks “off” to enjoy the stretch of longer days and more direct blasts from the sun’s rays.

Some may argue that summer is a state of mind, much like age (you’re only as old as you think you are), happiness (you decide whether you are happy or not), home (is where the heart is), and health (if I eat 6 doughnuts for breakfast, I can work them off during the day; besides, they’re mostly air and I am drinking milk).

I can concur.

For my purposes herein, however, let’s just go with 9 weeks. Starting today, June 10^th, 2019.

What are my purposes, you ask?

I am going to provide you a link to a tune from the King of Somewhere Hot himself, Jimmy Buffett, and include a brief, personal reflection upon that tune. What better way to bask in the wonder of summer than to feast your ears on a Buffett gem and feast your eyes on a commentary by me?

Throughout the next 9 weeks.

Maybe.

I’m here to serve.

Tropical Tune 1 is, of course, his most famous and most lucrative. Talk about a state of mind. This tune has taken on a life all its own, the likes of which very few, if any, songs have ever enjoyed. It’s Jimmy Buffet’s brand. It has spawned books, stores, restaurants, casinos, food and drink, an online radio station, resorts, footwear, resident communities, and more. The song is a summertime anthem that debuted in 1977 on the Changes in Latitudes, Changes in Attitudes album. You probably know the words by heart. Funny thing is, its lyrics don’t claim any type of summer celebration or party guidelines, like you would expect a summer staple to do. Instead, the words claim that the singer’s hangover-induced run of bad luck (flip flop blowout, pop top injury, lost shaker of salt) is possibly a woman’s fault, or nobody’s fault, but more likely his own damn fault. Not what you’d expect to be driving a beach bash of epic proportions. Yet, it resonated then and it resonates still today. It’s simple, and memorable, and clever, and fun. People seem to want to go there – Margaritaville, that is. And Jimmy Buffett has been transporting them there for over 40 years.

Penned by Buffett himself, the majority in about 5 minutes reportedly, here’s "Margaritaville." Cheers!

Image courtesy of https://www.margaritaville.com/about-jimmy

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