Parrotheads soak up Buffett's tropical spirit

Reprinted from late editions of yesterday's Globe.

MANSFIELD -- The Tweeter Center driveway was lined Thursday night with tiki huts and pirate flags. Grown men in grass skirts and coconut-shell bikini tops roamed the parking lot. Women wore cheeseburgers on their heads. Upon stumbling into the venue the throngs feasted their eyes on a mini-Margaritaville, complete with lifeguard stations, surfboards, and a spray-painted set of gnarly waves.

The dream is alive, and Jimmy Buffett's to blame. ``When I'm running the country we'll have one time zone, Mardi Gras will be a national holiday, and 5 o'clock will be the witching hour," enthused Buffett near the start of his set, affably stoking the beach bum's version of paradise he's been hawking for nearly four decades. It's why the Parrotheads return annually for their three-hour fix of inflatable flamingos and easygoing tunes, bobbing and swaying in happy -- if increasingly unsteady -- sync with the breezy flow.

A heavy downpour didn't dampen spirits, which were fortified with a diet of frozen cocktails and breezy rockers. Buffett's songs veer toward the lightweight end of the musical spectrum; even he routinely referred to the proceedings as nonsense. But the Coral Reefer Band plied the singer's relentlessly feel-good fare with serious chops. Slide guitarist Sonny Landreth, Little Feat keyboardist Bill Payne, the young Hawaiian ukulele phenom Jake Shimabukuro, and top-tier studio percussionist Ralph MacDonald invested master-craftsman quality in such gravitas-free tunes as ``I Will Play for Gumbo" and ``Why Don't We Get Drunk."

There was little variation. Buffett and company even gave each cover tune the same vaguely tropical treatment, from show-opener ``Brown-Eyed Girl" and ``Werewolves of London" to ``Dixie Chicken" and ``Southern Cross." Brief diversions from the tradewinds vibe included Shimabukuro's stunning rendition of the national anthem and ``Stairway to Heaven," a bluegrass stomp through ``Peanut Butter Conspiracy," and Buffett's own small handful of earthier fare. ``Come Monday" and ``Son of a Son of a Sailor" stood out like gems in a pirate's chest of plastic baubles.

But the man knows his fan base. They're folks who don't bum out about the rain because, our affable host noted, ``it will fill the truck bed with water and you can jump into it from the cab after the show." They're the ones who screamed, not sang, along with ``Margaritaville," believe in the righteous possibility of a ``Party at the End of the World," and passed out in their seats before the show started (maybe it was just the guy behind me). He'll be back next summer.

Joan Anderman can be reached at anderman@globe.com