It’s still strange to think of Jimmy Buffett, a balding, gray-haired 51-year-old whose belt barely conceals his pot belly, as a rock star. Yet every summer, the singer-songwriter’s upbeat, brightly colored, tropical-themed shows sell out in every city.
Beer is the easy explanation. As usual, Buffett’s sold-out show Thursday night at the New World Music Theatre resembled several fraternity parties taking place at once. As Buffett and his 14-piece Coral Reefer Band delivered calypso- and Hawaiian-flavored versions of hits like “Cheeseburger in Paradise” and “Pencil Thin Mustache,” dozens of beach balls and one inflatable shark flew through the audience.
But there’s more to Buffett than beer. Once a struggling Nashville country songwriter, Buffett moved to Key West, Fla., in the early ’70s after a failed marriage. There, he learned how to capture the walking-alone-on-the-beach feeling that gives his party songs the occasional ring of sadness.
Slowing down after an upbeat opening medley of “Kinja” (from Buffett’s latest album, “Don’t Stop the Carnival”) and “Fruitcakes,” he sang “If the Phone Doesn’t Ring, It’s Me,” a 1985 ballad that would fit easily in any contemporary country star’s repertoire. “If it takes all the future,” goes one memorable line, “we’ll live through the past.”
Despite the touch of melancholy, Buffett’s two-hour show barely dwelled on new or challenging material–he rushed right to the crowd-pleasers. After intermission, his band– complete with a busty dancing model who wore numerous tight costumes–reeled off “Son of a Son of a Sailor,” “Why Don’t We Get Drunk” and “Margaritaville.”
Buffett also dusted off a few cover songs, which showed just how much he relies on personality above performing talent. In his sub-John Denver folk-singing voice, Buffett was unable to bring out the earnestness of James Taylor’s “Mexico,” the harmony of Crosby, Stills and Nash’s “Southern Cross” or the rock ‘n’ roll of Van Morrison’s “Brown Eyed Girl.” So they became cliches, calling attention to Buffett’s deficiencies in soul and attitude.
But talent, these days, has little to do with Buffett’s appeal. In addition to his songwriting, which hasn’t been great since at least the mid-’80s, he’s successful in part because he seems like a regular guy. Buffett, the CEO of white-collar party weekends, at once stood above his Parrothead followers and proclaimed himself one of them. On big movie screens flanking the stage, he showed himself bicyling to Wrigley Field and the Billy Goat the previous day.
Those funny videos, and a nice version of the singer-songwriter Steve Goodman’s “This Hotel Room,” made him seem much more genuine than the legions of rock stars who shout “Hello, Chicago!” when they come to town. In reality, of course, Buffett is no regular guy–he’s a savvy entrepreneurial millionaire. At one point, he shouted: “Who gives a (expletive) about a hit record? I got a No. 1 best seller!” No wonder the songs he sings aren’t that melancholy.
