Word: buffett
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Sunshine and cold liquor and oceans are the bartenders for Buffett's music, and Son of a Son of a Sailor has the same easy-sippin' mix as the Margaritaville music on his last album, Changes in Latitudes, Changes in Attitudes. The title cut, for instance: "The sea's in my veins, my tradition remains, I'm just glad I don't live in a trailer." Or the song "Manana...
...time, sent him from Paul's Mall to the Music Hall, frontal-assaulted the Top Forty, and paid for a new sloop, Euphoria II. There aren't but a half-dozen memorable lines on the new album, and even fewer musical quirks, like the cello (the cello??) that follows Buffett down one of his trademark Acapulco cliff-diving voice drops at the end of a line and flattens out the splash. This is shrimpboat country rock all right, but it's all cluttered up with the latest radar and range-finders (like manager Irving Azoff, who flies the Eagles among...
...JIMMY BUFFETT USED TO HAVE SOMETHING TO SAY. His music was just about the first consistent merger of Caribbean rhythms and percussion with American folk-rock pop, and it wasn't just pop to begin with. Buffett grew up in Mobile, Alabama, listening to the same Hank Williams and Jimmy Rodgers classics that whelped the Grand Ole Opry Empire of the Nashville Moguls, a philistine crew who breed for violin affinity, not for rasp'n'roll or the truckstop gut-wrench. But the Buffett derivation went the other way, toward the fringes. Lotta room out there on the fringes: Willie...
...years ago Jimmy Buffett was up to his eyeballs in a new style, known generally as progressive country, or more correctly, up-country. His comrade pickers'n' grinners were also his best friends, people like John Prine, Steve Goodman, and Jerry Jeff Walker. Like Buffett, they all added their own carbonations to the flat brew of country music: Prine his Appalachian hillbilly twang, Goodman his Chicago blues, Walker just all-out Texas boozing. What they did was blow out the earnest country cliches with fond parodies ("You Don't Have to Call Me Darlin', Darlin', But You Never Even Call...
...music. Steve Goodman has paunched down into Chicago's home-grown favorite, writing witty little ditties without much punch. Jerry Jeff is falling prey to cirrhosis of the brain. John Prine's upcoming album offers the only hope in the bunch for a bucktooth overbite country record. And Jimmy Buffett, well, he said it four years ago in "A Brand New Country Star": "He's a hot roman candle from the Texas panhandle he can either go country...