Timeless

Photo credit: s_bukley

Perhaps because it’s been around for nearly 70 years, rock music—in all its various incarnations—is at a point where we will now be losing heroes on a regular basis. Sad, but true.

The latest is Jimmy Buffett.

I write this as more an observer of the man and the artist, not as a diehard fan. I can appreciate how someone crafted a true brand, one that spoke to millions of people while transcending the pop charts.

And that’s the thing: In a 50-year career in music, Jimmy Buffett had one song break into the Top 20 of the pop charts. One.

To put that into perspective, Rihanna has had 31 songs reach the Top 20.

And yet, at his death, Jimmy Buffet had a net worth that Forbes estimated at around $1 billion. I don’t think that’s a reflection of Buffett “selling out” or becoming part of some greedy culture—far from it, in fact.

I think it’s a reflection of how his spirit captured something in so many people that it couldn’t help but be financially lucrative.

The Brand

Even without hits, his concerts continued to sell out. Over the last few hours, people have proudly posted how many times they’ve seen him live. I’ve counted several people who’ve seen him more than three dozen times in their life.

That sort of adulation comes because the man knew he didn’t need to write traditional (meaning “formula”) pop hits to speak to an audience. He turned a laid-back, flip-flop lifestyle into a brand that celebrated relaxing. His brand evolved from music to clothing to restaurants to books to retirement centers. It embraced a carefree, sunset-loving way of life that spoke to millions, even those who otherwise were workaholics.

At a Jimmy Buffett concert, for those couple of hours, there were no jobs, no bosses, no responsibilities. We all knew we’d eventually go back to that world, but while Jimmy was on stage, that world didn’t even exist.

I saw him live one time in my long radio career. In the 1990s, I took about a dozen listeners to Las Vegas to see him perform at the MGM Grand. Even though I wasn’t a Parrothead, I had a damned good time. And, looking around, I marveled at the devotion he’d developed with the crowd.

Today’s stars use a variety of marketing and branding tactics to build their empires, with social media at the core. Not only was there no social media when Buffett formed his fan base, I don’t remember him ever popping up on MTV. He occasionally appeared on late-night TV, but, based on his discomfort, I guarantee you it was reluctantly.

In other words, Jimmy Buffet built his massive following with no hit songs, no videos, no social media, and no pandering to the media at all. He recorded his songs, he put on his live shows, and he had the fucking time of his life.

The Song

As I played my favorite song of his on Spotify this morning—no, it’s definitely NOT “Margaritaville”—I also realized that, through his brand, Jimmy Buffett created his own timelessness.

Radio stations are practically neurotic about not straying outside predestined formats and formulas, deathly afraid of “confusing” their listeners. But because Buffett’s music always seemed to live within a format of its own—was it Pop? Rock? Country? Easy Listening?—I kinda feel like any radio station could play any one of his songs and few people would care if it broke “a rule.”

Some people would tune out, perhaps, because it didn’t have a mechanical drum beat, finger snaps, and multi-layered vocals. But I think a hefty number of people would stop what they were doing and realize that this was more about true craft and true emotion than it was about packaging.

No offense intended toward today’s artificially created “stars,” but there’s something refreshing about how Jimmy Buffet built everything organically. And honestly.

I wasn’t a huge fan. But I still can listen to “Come Monday” and can appreciate just how masterfully the guy captured the soul of someone who desperately misses the person he loves. It’s a song about loneliness, about someone feeling absolutely sick that they must give in to the grind of corporate life—spending “four lonely days in a brown L.A. haze”—and yet also a song about the hopefulness that his love will still be there when he escapes.

“Come Monday” peaked at #30 on the pop charts.

Which, given the way the music industry represents everything the song fought against, seems apropos.

I think the song is timeless. I think his unique brand is timeless. And I think Jimmy Buffett’s gentle spirit will always be timeless.