There are a large handful of musicians who would narrate my life, and aside from the occasional song inspired by the comings and goings of my moods that might relate, in a passing way, to songs that speak to me in the moment. Fewer musicians have been a part of my life for longer than I can remember. It’s these longtime musicians that provide the soundtrack to my life. The spirit of background music is always alive and can only sometimes be heard between the lagging of other more temporary songs because they are always there.
I have been listening to the music of Jimmy Buffett since well before I understood what music even is. My dad is a Parrothead, and in time all of us would become Parrotheads': my dad, my mother, my sister, and I. At every stage of my life, Jimmy Buffett’s music has been there; whether it was playing through the stereo speakers in our living room, on cassette players and Walkman’s, iPods and iPhones, car speakers, stage left, and the nosebleeds, and anything that might catch and carry sound. Sitting in my room right now at the Murray Hotel, I can hear his music resonating through the pipes of the boilers, exploring the historic building like a harmonic web among the building’s skeleton originating from the bar below me. The Murray Bar has been playing Jimmy Buffett’s music all day.
Jimmy Buffett died yesterday, September 1, 2023; he was 76. And all of his songs are playing together inside my head, and I feel drunk with disbelief. Buffett was bigger than any genre; he wrote stories and laced them with songs, and everyone who listened to him could experience the world in a way that was a little better than everyone else. It was never Buffett’s laissez-faire latitude that made his music appealing, Buffett allowed us to relate to one another a bit easier, and in a way more tactile and genuine than anyone else ever has (except, maybe, Freddie Mercury).
"Where it all ends, I can't fathom my friends, if I knew I might toss out my anchor, so I cruise along, always searchin' for songs, not a lawyer, a thief, or a banker." (Buffett, Jimmy. "Son of a Son of a Sailor," Son of a Son of a Sailor.)
The last time that I was home, in the evening my family sat around the firepit outside, and my dad was playing Buffett’s newly released album, Songs You Don’t Know by Heart, but of course my dad knew all of them by heart, and the rest of us knew most of them. The four of us sat there as the sun went down, drinking margaritas, watching the fire, and listening and singing with Jimmy Buffett because that’s what we do.
That’s what Jimmy Buffett gave to us. Songs You Know by Heart is one of four or five albums that has followed me throughout my life; literally, the album has been sitting in the side panel of my car(s) door for the last twenty years, and despite the other albums there, Songs You Know by Heart, has been played from start to finish and then left to resume, and again more than any other one album.
Nearly two years ago I took a job in Bozeman, Montana, and, looking for affordable housing, I happened upon Livingston, Montana (around twenty miles east of Bozeman). I quickly learned that Livingston has a kinship with Jimmy Buffett. Besides Buffett’s contribution to the movie Rancho Deluxe, the song “Livingston Saturday Night,” about Livingston, Montana, Jimmy Buffett’s sister, Laurie, met and married adopted Livingston Native, author Thomas McGuane (who, as it happens, penned the screenplay for Rancho Deluxe). I asked around the first few months I was here about Buffett and how often he'll make an appearance in town, and I was always told that the people at the Murray Hotel have a relationship with him.
It had been a while since anyone at Murray Bar had seen Buffett; I did, however, learn about the local lore behind the origins of "Cheeseburger in Paradise." As many of you may know there are several legends regarding the song's origins, but according to those here at the Murray who knew him, Buffett stopped at Mark’s In & Out, a 50’s style burger joint with a walk-up window here in Livingston.
With his cheeseburger in hand, Buffett drove through beautiful Paradise Valley, between Livingston and Yellowstone National Park, hence the name, “Cheeseburger in Paradise.” There are enough legends that even those who knew him well may no longer know, or maybe there's truth to all of them. I know that when I hear it, I cannot help but sing along, and that's true of most of his music.
I hoped I would one day bump into Jimmy Buffett, at least once while living here. I imagined that he would be sitting at the Murray Bar one afternoon when I walked in, easily recognizable, I would park myself on a stool near where he was and wait for my opportunity to interject, and perhaps offer some insight in the form of lyrics he’d written.
Everyone in the bar would get lost in the moment as two or three beers slipped away. Everyone has their handful of people that, as they pass along, the world no longer seems the same, and it may not always be easy to understand why these people more than others influence our worldview, nevertheless, they do, and they do profoundly. It struck me when Robin Williams passed away, and then it struck me again today.
“Jimmy, some of it’s magic, some of it’s tragic, but I had a good life all the way.” (Buffett, Jimmy. “He Went to Paris,” A White Sport Coat and a Pink Crustacean).
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“Some people are no longer afraid.”