Parrothead fandom

I wasn’t a Parrothead, but I was a fan of the great Jimmy Buffett. And unlike most folks who later discovered him through frozen margaritas and beach bars, I was there pretty early on.

In 1974, Mike Openshaw and I drove to Macon to see The Doobie Brothers in concert on December 8. Two high school juniors getting permission to drive 100 miles, attend a rock concert, spend the night in a hotel, and return the next day? We were good kids, but still — what were our parents thinking?

The opening act was a scruffy singer-songwriter named Jimmy Buffett. At the time, he was known for songs like “Come Monday,” “Pencil Thin Mustache,” and “A Pirate Looks at Forty.” Good stuff, but nobody there thought the opening act would someday become a cultural phenomenon. The Doobie Brothers were clearly the main event.

Then, in 1976, a high school friend invited us to hear his brother play harmonica for Buffett’s Coral Reefer Band. His brother was Greg “Fingers” Taylor. During that show, Jimmy played two unreleased songs he said would be on his next album: “Margaritaville” and “Changes in Latitudes, Changes in Attitudes.” We had no idea we were hearing the soundtrack to half the beach bars in America for the next fifty years.

Over the next four decades, I probably saw Jimmy 10 times in concert—more than any other artist by far—though I never approached true Parrothead status like Judge Larry Lee or my sister Kathy Burke.

Being a Parrothead is more than fandom. It’s a lifestyle. It means embracing a laid-back tropical state of mind, even if you live a long way from the ocean. Parrotheads wear flip-flops — which I have avoided my entire life — Hawaiian shirts, and enough beads and parrots to decorate a small tiki bar. Some even wear Crocs. I firmly believe Charles Bond would wear Crocs to court if the bailiffs would let him through security.

The funny thing is, Buffett’s music still works exactly the same way it always did. Put it on during warm weather, with a cold drink nearby, and suddenly life slows down a notch. SiriusXM still runs his Margaritaville channel nonstop, replaying concerts and interviews. Years after his death, the Parrothead empire rolls on.

And every now and then, I smile, knowing I saw Jimmy Buffett back when he was still just the opening act.

Kelly Burke was born in Knoxville where he spent his younger years, followed by high school years in Atlanta where he graduated from Georgia Tech, and Mercer Law School. He has been in private practice, a magistrate judge, and an elected district attorney. He writes about the law, politics, music, and Ireland. He and his wife enjoy gardening, playing with their Lagotto Ramanolo named George Harrison, and spending time with their grandchildren. To see this column or Kelly’s archives, visit www.kellyrburke.com. You can email Kelly at dakellyburke@gmail.com.