So, as you may know, every month or so I challenge myself — in a single day — to write and record an entire frickin’ song based on my Buffett influences. And I don’t want to to overstate here, but by and large this is the hardest thing anyone has ever done.
Anyway, we’re here at Round Two (here’s round one), and I submit to your judicious ears “A REAL Pirate Looks at Forty.” You might recall that when I encountered “A Pirate Looks at Forty” on JB’s A-1-A, I was ticked that it wasn’t about an actual pirate. Where Jimmy failed to deliver, I have stepped in:
Fun facts about “ARPLAF”: (continued on the full post)
- We’ve had a heavy dose of Jimmy ballads in the past month (more coming with Changes in Latitudes, Changes in Attitudes — stay tuned). I felt obliged to fire up an acoustic slow jam of my own.
- Given that we recently shared Living and Dying in 3/4 Time together (my post here), I thought it appropriate to write in that time signature. Note that only one of Jimmy’s on the album is actually 3/4, so I am effectively now his songwriting equal.
- No rum was harmed in the recording of this song. Astonishing, but true, and feverishly ironic.
- I was really itching to add some strings and other nonsense to weep this song up a bit, but I will revisit this when we do The Brothers Buffett: Remastered.
- The average lifespan of a real pirate was thirty-eight years, so this song is 100% historically accurate.
- The lifespan of a parrot can range from 50 to 100 years — but the average lifespan of a pirate’s parrot was probably about 12 minutes. Seriously, do you really envision a pirate taking care of a parrot? Flying animals and drunk, cutlass-wielding scoundrels a good combo do not make.
Lyrics, again for you completists:
A REAL Pirate Looks at Forty
Me parrot be dead, just the other day,
Me old shipmates they’ve all passed away.
I’m walking the plank of me final years.
Aye. Just a gout-riddled, old buccaneer.
I’m a landlubber, tied to the shore,
Eighteen and a score.
What i’d give for eighteen more.
I gave me life to those windy skies,
And a leg. Also, one of me eyes.
But I did me job — arr, I did it great.
Worked me way up to become first mate.
There’s no more pillaging, no sacking, no rape.
Nor a piece of eight.
How I love pieces of eight.
I miss me grog and the open seas.
Most of all I miss me hearties.
(moving and emotional acoustic guitar solo)
I lived me life for the skull and crossbones.
Now it’s all unknown
Yo ho ho to Davy Jones.
Good song. But bad week for the market….
Love it. Wondering how you feel about “Encores” right about now? Also wondering when you will be downloading i-Encores. Not that I know anything about either of those things.
“Encores” I had not heard about thanks to my rabid attention to chronology. That just came out last month! I see though that Jimmy — sly fox — is not above preemptively copying my acoustic efforts.
iEncores. Horrifying. And yet I want to know more about these mysterious “fins.”
A coworker confided to me today her status as a decades-long parrothead. (“Confided” is being generous; true parrotheads wear it on their sleeves — that is, of course, if they wore sleeves.) But she described in vivid detail for me the chimerical delights of the pre-concert parking lot bacchanal. And I decided that I must go, with a camcorder, and with rum, to see Jimmy at Shoreline in October. And I will go early, and I will see the entire parking lot, and I will immerse myself in the native habitat of these parrothead folk.
And yes, I will bring iEncores. But I will bring it on the iPad so that I have the biggest fins of them all.