The Inimitable Southernness of Jimmy Buffett

I woke up Saturday morning ready for a day of editing and writing — and UGA football, of course — to the shocking and heartbreaking news that Jimmy Buffett had passed away overnight.

His death affected me so much that I wrote two pieces about it at PJ Media. I wrote about what he meant to my family:

I’ve been to more of his shows than I can remember, and naturally, we would tailgate in the parking lot of the legendary Lakewood Amphitheater south of Atlanta. My aunt was married to the cousin of Buffett’s longtime harmonica player Greg “Fingers” Taylor, which meant that my brother got to go backstage at one show.

For one wintertime show at Philips Arena in Atlanta — indoor Buffett shows aren’t quite as fun — we got to arrive in a limousine thanks to the generosity of a friend. At least one of my nieces’ experienced her first concert at a Buffett show, so three generations of my family have enjoyed the Parrothead life.

One of the most significant things about Jimmy Buffett and his music is that it’s unapologetically Southern. Naturally, it’s a reflection of his Mississippi birth, his Alabama upbringing, and his Key West career incubation.

But he didn’t allow international fame to change him. He may have brought the music of other cultures into the mix, but other styles rarely overshadowed the Southernness of his music.

In what might be my favorite song of his, “School Boy Heart,” Buffett sings, “I’ve got a native tongue from way down South.” That’s part of what made his music so laid back, so appealing, and so unique.

I wrote in Neon Crosses about Buffett’s ability to make you identify with his songs even if you haven’t experienced those specific circumstances:

Take his biggest hit, “Margaritaville,” for example. A friend of mine called it “perhaps the best story-arc song ever written,” and it’s easy to see why. Not all of us can identify with a mystery tattoo, a misplaced salt shaker, or a heel destroyed by a beer can, but we’ve all been in a situation where we try to place the blame for our troubles on someone or something else, only to realize it’s our “own damn fault.”

That’s the Southern storytellers ability, and with Buffett’s passing, we’ve lost another one of the storytelling greats.

Farewell, Jimmy. This son of the South will miss you deeply — and I salute you.

U.S. Navy photo by Chief Mass Communication Specialist Michael W. Pendergrass, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons