Parrotheads flocked en masse Tuesday night to the Moda Center, where Jimmy Buffett and his Coral Reefer Band provided some indoor tropical escapism as a welcome alternative to the dark, rainy alternative outside. At this point, Buffett’s fans are as much of the show as he is, bedecked in festive Hawaiian shirts, parrot hats, and the occasional pirate get-up. As it is throughout Buffett’s recorded catalog, good taste was never an issue.
Buffett and his very large band (I counted 13 musicians) opened with a pair of covers: Eddie Cochran’s “Summertime Blues” and Van Morrison’s “Brown Eyed Girl,” which gives you some idea of the level of nostalgia—not to mention musical adventurousness—that was at play. These were “oldies” by the time I was born; in 2014 they’re ancient artifacts that have ossified into stone—chipper, upbeat, uncontroversial tunes trucked out by the hotel bar band for families on vacation. It’s been said about countless other established musical acts that such and such is “the biggest bar band in the world” (Springsteen’s E Street Band comes to mind), Buffett’s Coral Reefer Band is exactly that. And judging by the reaction from the 15,000 or so diehard fans, that level of comfort was perfectly fine.
Because at this point, Buffett’s music is pretty much beside the point. As evidenced by his chain of Margaritaville restaurants, his $150 branded blender, his Landshark Lager beer (promotional foam “fins” sat atop many of the concertgoers’ domes), and his resorts and casinos, Jimmy Buffett is a lifestyle brand, and a bigger one than Goop or any other celebrity driven brand you’d care to mention. Again, the product is nostalgia—for those younger, wilder times when it was okay to get faded on cheap tequila and brown weed, before the kids and mortgages and second marriages. Buffett has pinpointed that strange but indelible subset of the American dream: that of Boomers snowbirding down to Florida for their retirement, where sun and sand (and humidity and giant insects and no actual fresh water) are as far as the eye can see. For a two-and-a-half-hour span at the Moda Center on Tuesday, everyone in the room was on vacation.
I guess I haven’t said too much about the music. It was very capably played, sometimes alright, sometimes terrible and hokey. Steel drums and chimes softened every rough edge. Favorites like “Margaritaville” and “Cheeseburger in Paradise” were trucked out to adoring fans who have probably heard Buffett play them dozens of times. Guitarist Mac McAnally proved himself to be just as much the center of the show as the frontman; Mac did a couple numbers of his own, and his comically booming voice and polite Alabama accent (not to mention an amazing head of hair) were a terrific foil to Buffett’s suntanned, perma-stoned, barefoot-and-retired dad routine. There were some nice customized touches for Tuesday night’s show, too. The big backdrop, which mostly showed footage and slide of beach scenes, also had some shots of Portland and Mt. Hood (and weirdly, for a moment, a bunch of weed). While it was probably color-by-numbers based on what city the band played in, at no point did it feel like a carbon copy of other shows on the tour—Buffett and his crew managed to personalize the show for the Oregon audience in a way I haven’t seen many other big rock performers do.
In his unpretentious, goofy way, Buffett is a surprisingly solid showman, beaming like the man who’s had a very charmed, very lucrative life. (And surely, he has.) He acknowledged that Dylan was also in town, told the simple story of “Volcano” (basically, he was stoned and looking at the volcano on Montserrat and wondered what would happen if it exploded—cool story, bro), covered a second Van Morrison song (“Into the Mystic”), and made a bunch of middle-aged white people very happy. Hopefully this doesn’t get too thorny or political, but it seemed obvious that Buffett’s oeuvre is one of capitalism rather than art. Here’s a man who’s made a very good living out of packaged escapism. Sure, he wrote some decent songs in the ’70s, but more importantly, he steadily built up a lot of good will over the years, and made sure that people always had fun. His devoted fans will continue to patronize his Margaritaville restaurants and buy those “It’s Five O’Clock Somewhere” T-shirts without reservation; in many ways Buffett’s fan base is behaviorally identical to that of KISS or Insane Clown Posse. That the product—and it is indeed a product—is the sensation of a warm, sunny vacation away from your workaday troubles and cares… well, it’s kind of genius, isn’t it? I never really liked Jimmy Buffett’s music all that much, but I had a lot of fun at his concert.
Two dozen albums (plus a ton of life stuff) over 30-plus years. I’ve listened to it all. He’s got some great music. His 1973 classic “A1A” is one of the best albums ever (my personal #1). He’s written about his kids, his father’s descent into Alzheimer’s, the loss of his friend Steve Goodman, the perils of growing older (but not up), and a whole bunch of stuff that isn’t about hamburgers or margaritas. The big shows like this are for both the hardcore Parrotheads & the once-a-year fans who come for the fun. I skip them because I’ve seen Jimmy play on the streets of Key West (1998; wow) and don’t need these shows. But I need his music because in the world we live in, we need to be connected to things that matter. And Jimmy’s music does that. “I can’t help but be part of my own philosophy, not unique just distantly in love”.
You don’t know what you’re missing.