Hey, Parrot Heads, Guess Who’s No. 1 on the Book List?

You have to forgive Jimmy Buffett if he gets confused some days over just what his main occupation is.

Musician?

Best-selling author?

Therapist?

Sitting on the patio of the Hotel Bel-Air the morning after finishing his red-hot summer “Recession Recess” tour with five sold-out Southern California shows, the singer-songwriter is preparing to switch to his author mode. He’ll catch a flight this evening to New York for a series of book interviews, including one with Bryant Gumbel on “The Today Show.”

Unlike most pop stars, Buffett doesn’t just turn out biographies for his record company. He writes fiction--1989’s “Tales From Margaritaville,” a collection of short stories, and the new “Where Is Joe Merchant?,” a humorous adventure novel about a wild Caribbean search for a missing rock star. “Tales” was on the New York Times bestseller list for 27 weeks. “Joe Merchant” is now No. 1 on the New York Times list and No. 4 on the Los Angeles Times tally.

And therapist?

“I think escapism is a form of therapy, and there’s an element of escapism in both the music and the books,” he says. “People come to the shows to have a good time . . . to get away from their worries or responsibilities for a few hours. People need to relax.

“Take (the song) ‘Why Don’t We Get Drunk and Screw.’ I’ve talked to brain surgeons who said they have operated after listening to it. So, it was great when they put the song in ‘The Doctor,’ that William Hurt movie. It was a case of art imitating life, I guess.”

In “Changes in Latitudes, Changes in Attitudes,” one of his late-’70s songs, Buffett touches on the good times-as-therapy issue:

It’s those changes in latitudes,

Changes in attitudes

Nothing remains quite the same

All of our running and all of our cunning

If we couldn’t laugh, we would all go insane.

Dressed in brown vacation shorts and a white Mark Twain T-shirt, Buffett looks as comfortable sitting on the patio of the luxurious hotel as he would in one of the Key West bars that he writes and sings about--one leg draped casually over a chair as he orders breakfast.

Given his role as leader of the Parrot Heads, the fans whose zany party-till-you drop spirit makes Buffett’s shows among the most colorful in pop, you’d half expect him to order something to combat a morning hangover . . . a bloody Mary perhaps. Yet Buffett just orders English breakfast tea, a croissant and apple juice.

The likable, unpretentious singer-author, who’ll be 46 on Christmas day, says he has toned down the excesses in a lifestyle that initially gave him material for his work but eventually began consuming him. One of the fallouts: a seven-year separation in the ‘80s from his wife, Jane.

He now speaks of the virtues of the family (he and Jane have two daughters, one 18 years old and the other 5 months) and of how he plans to cut back on touring. Buffett even talks vaguely about someday walking away from the pop world, perhaps turning to teaching and moving back to Alabama, where he was raised.

None of this, however, has thrown a damper over his relationships with the Parrot Heads, a play on the Deadheads who pledge allegiance to the Grateful Dead.

It’s the loyalty of those fans that makes Buffett one of pop’s most consistent ticket sellers, even though he’s had no hit single in years. The Parrot Heads were so overzealous last year at the Hollywood Bowl that the Bowl refused to let Buffett perform there this summer, he says.

Some observers question this party emphasis in his shows--calling it irresponsible. And Buffett is sensitive to the criticism. He still does “Why Don’t We Get Drunk,” but includes a new line:

I guess I’ll get a designated driver and buy a condom or two.

“Let’s face it,” Buffett says during the interview. “A lot of this music has to do with raucous behavior, but that doesn’t mean the show is irresponsible or that I’m irresponsible or that the audience is irresponsible.”

*

Question: What’s the background of that song?

Answer: I wrote it as a spoof back when I was in Nashville (in the early ‘70s). There was a controversial country song by Conway Twitty at the time called “Let’s Go All the Way.” So, I thought, “OK, I’ll really take a song all the way.” I was in this hotel one night and saw this businessman drunk trying to pick up these hookers. It was so amusing that I just wrote the whole thing down.

I never even thought it’d actually end up on a record, but everybody loved it because it really does touch on human nature, I guess. It’s something everyone can laugh at. But that doesn’t mean everyone is going to go out and get into their car and have an orgy in the parking lot . . . the way a fundamentalist preacher would interpret it.

Q: Why did you add the line about condoms and designated drivers?

A: A lot of these songs (are) about rites of passages, an important time in most people’s lives . . . . It’s a period of innocence and danger. By adding those lines, I’m warning against some of the dangers. It’s my way of saying that this is the ‘90s and that I don’t want any of the fans to get drunk and drive, and to remind them about using a condom. By sticking the message in the song, it’s a way to get the point across subtly, using some humor. I also slip in drunk-driving announcements before and after the show, and promote the ideas of (people taking) “tipsy taxis” to bars where they can take buses to the show.

Q: Do you think fans get the message?

A: I know they do. I see evidence of it. At Irvine Meadows, for instance, there were 55 buses out in the parking lot. At Cincinnati, there were cabs lined up like LAX. People do get the message. And I do care.

I’ve gotten letters from people blaming me for their kids getting killed and I’ve written back. I understand their grief, but I feel I bring a hell of a lot more joy than pain to people. I know in my heart that the people at our shows are normal people 364 days a year. We come to town and some of them get blasted, but that may help them get through the other 364. I would rather that they let out their emotions in my show than to go out on the street on Friday night.

Q: What about the song “Margaritaville,” which seems to be the Parrot Heads’ anthem. Did you ever imagine the song--or the escapism theme--would have the impact it has had?

A: Never had a clue, but I’ve found that’s true with a lot of musicians. I spoke to Paul McCartney and he said the Beatles didn’t have any idea of the influence they were going to have. You start out making music just for fun, driven by the music you heard growing up . . . rather than thoughts of fame or fortune.

I wrote “Margaritaville” in about five minutes at the end of a tour after having a margarita . . . and it wasn’t even a great margarita. It was more about the moment. I went back to Key West, and it was the first real influx of tourists that had come to the Keys. Everybody was shocked, the roads were packed. I was sort of sitting there in this great old bar called the Old Anchor Inn watching all this, and that’s what drove me to write the song. There’s a verse I do sometimes that I took out of the record because I thought it was too hitting and it made the song a little too long.

Q: How’s it go?

A: The lines are,

Old men in tank tops, cruising the gift shops

Checkin’ out chiquitas’ down by the shore.

They dream about weight loss

Wishing they could be their own boss

Three-day vacations become such a bore.

Q: When did you feel the Parrot Head phenomenon starting to build?

A: It was never a calculated move at all. I worked hard at putting on a show, which is something that goes back to the early club days when you really have to entertain the audience because you are just working for the door. But the audience reaction was totally self-generating. They’re the ones who started turning the shows into a party. It happened slowly and in pockets . . . Chicago, Boston, San Francisco. Then (in the mid-’80s), things started going crazy. We’d sell out four shows in like 45 minutes and the audiences began dressing up and acting like it was Mardi Gras or something.

Q: What about the term? How did it get started?

A: It was Timothy Schmit (a former member of the Eagles). We were looking out at the audience one day and it seemed like a lot of Deadheads in Hawaiian shirts, and he just said, “Yeah, they’re Parrot Heads.”

Q: Do you see a parallel between the Deadheads and the Parrot Heads? Have you ever been to one of the Dead’s shows?

A: Sure, I’ve played with the Dead, and I do see some similarities. My nieces are 18 and 22 and they are Deadheads and I asked them why they liked the Dead rather than someone of their own generation.

They said that it’s fun . . . a chance to go out and express yourself, be part of a community . . . and I think that’s the same thing that happens at our shows. The demographics are amazing. It used to just be people my age. But somehow, young people started coming.

It’s great to have people who don’t even know each other comparing the songs and talking about other shows they’ve been to. I love it when you see Deadhead stickers on police cars in New York. It’s the same with Parrot Heads.

Q: What about the differences?

A: I don’t think the Dead shows are as accessible for the average person. The Dead put the music out and the audience either gets it or doesn’t get it. I go out of my way to entertain the audience, even though I think there is content in the music. It’s just part of me. I remember going to see Spike Jones as a kid and loving it . . . the way he had fun with the audience. In some ways, I’m more of an emcee on stage than a singer.

Q: You’re calling this tour the “Recession Recess” tour. Can you feel on stage that the country is going through some hard times economically?

A: I can and it’s interesting. Historically, the entertainment business has done well during hard times, but not so much this time with a few exceptions--and we are one of them. It pushes me to give them a better show because I know they are spending money that they might need to use for something else.

For a lot of people, we may be the only show they go to all year and that makes the emotion level higher because they want to really throw themselves into it. I haven’t raised my ticket prices for three years. I’ve got enough money and I don’t want to gouge people.

Q: What about the changes in your personal life? Everything looks so effortless on stage. You look like someone who is on an eternal vacation.

A: I still love my two hours on stage, but I learned that I needed to make some changes in my life offstage. I used to be a hell-raising, hard-drinking, hard-drug-taking son of a bitch. I don’t do that anymore. If you listen to the music, I think it kind of chronicles my life.

I did some therapy myself when I went back with my wife, and one thing this guy pointed out to me was that performance is part of your life but your life is not a performance. That rang true because I had been trying to live my personal life like it was a performance. It was the best piece of advice I ever got.

My performance had always come first. Everything was about Jimmy’s job, what Jimmy wants. Everything else was secondary. All of a sudden, I’d say, “I’ve got to go to Tahiti and do research or I’ve got to work on a record,” and everybody else had to stay in the background.

But it eventually catches up with you, and I realized I was missing something (during the separation in the early and mid-’80s). I was about to lose the woman I really loved and who was my soul mate. We were very close to getting a divorce. We had filed the papers and everything, but I finally had a heart-to- heart with myself.

I never knew what marriage really was . . . how to be a husband. I never really gave it a shot, and I thought that if I didn’t give it an honest effort, there would be a real hole in me. I could have all the success in the world, but there would still be something missing.

Q: That’s one of the points in the new novel--the hero realizing his adventurous lifestyle alone isn’t enough and that he needs a relationship. Pretty autobiographical?

A: There’s a definite parallel.

Q: How long had you been thinking about writing a book?

A: I wanted to be a writer before I became a musician. I was a reader as a youngster, thanks to my mother. Robert Louis Stevenson and Mark Twain were my first favorites . . . “Treasure Island” and “Huckleberry Finn.” Then, I got into (William) Faulkner. I loved him because you didn’t know where the stories were going, but it didn’t matter because the characters were so interesting. The same with Gabriel Garcia Marquez.

I went to New Orleans and lived in the French Quarter when I was 18 years old, and it was amazing. Here I was a Catholic altar boy and I was in the middle of the most decadent, wonderful place, and it was filled with this sense of literature--and I’ve been thinking about writing a book ever since then, but music just took over.

Q: How did you visualize the books when you started?

A: I saw them as an extension of the music. I wasn’t going to try to write “War and Peace.” I am a storyteller. I wanted the books to be entertaining, something a fan could pick up the same way I pick up a book by John MacDonald or Ellen Gilchrist.

Q: Were you amazed when the first book hit the New York Times bestseller list?

A: Not really. Here’s how I figured: If you are selling 400,000 albums and playing to 700,000 to a million people a year, you ought to be able to sell 100,000 books, which should be enough to put you on the bestseller list. But it took off way beyond anyone’s expectation . . . 400,000 in hardback sales.

Q: What about the next book?

A: I want to make a record next, but I will write another book, though probably short stories rather than a novel. In some ways, I did the novel just to prove to myself I could do it. But I really love short stories. I love recurring characters . . . the way a certain character will reappear in Larry McMurtry’s work.

Q: One of the common themes in the songs and in the novel is a search for freedom. What does freedom mean to you? Money? Being your own boss? Being able to choose your lifestyle?

A: I guess it’s a bit of all of that. I’ve sometimes asked myself what I’d be doing if I hadn’t made it. Would I be as happy? The answer is, I’d really miss it, but I could find something else. I’d probably be somewhere running a boat and be on the beach because I found a lifestyle before success ever came.

It wasn’t the money or the career that enabled me to find a lifestyle. I guess it was just the opposite. It was the lifestyle that helped shape the music and the writing. All my relatives lived on the coast. My grandfather was a steamship captain. I think in the end, it’ll probably be full circle.