Say amen! Buffett tends to his faithful flock

Anne Hosier

Monday, Oct. 20, 1997 | 9:28 a.m.

There's a thin line between Saturday night and Sunday morning, ideologically speaking.

And despite Jimmy Buffett's assertion that "this is not a religious convention" it sure seemed like one Saturday night as devout Parrotheads -- what Buffett's legions of fans call themselves -- flocked to the MGM Grand hotel-casino from far and wide to pay homage to Buffett and the Coral Reefers on the Las Vegas stop of their "Havana Daydreaming" tour.

A veritable human tidal wave in Hawaiian-print, the masses flowed through the lobby, casinos and hallways, converging in large, colorful mobs at every bar and drink stand. Folks from all walks of life -- moms, dads, bank managers and truck drivers -- wore grass skirts, gray felt shark suits, and some of the strangest haberdashery north of the equator.

There were hats in the shape of cheeseburgers, parrot heads and shark fins; hats of felt, rubber and balloons, custom-made that day by a balloonist in the MGM Grand's lobby. There were hats shaped like volcanos, encircled by tiny plastic helicopters, and hats with hammocks strung between palm trees. Some went for the traditional look, wearing the Mexican straw hats; others went for the casual look, sporting empty Corona cartons.

They ordered up Coronas by the dozen and margaritas by the gallon, threatening to deplete the nation's largest hotel of its vast reserves of Cuervo Gold. A beverage manager surveying the hula-skirted hordes from the relative safety of the far edge of the Betty Boop bar confided: "This is the biggest tequila night of the year."

As they funneled in the Grand Garden Arena and waited for the show to start, they tossed beach balls and inflatable life preservers back and forth, and took turns chucking a soft, fuzzy coconut through a hoop attached to a cardboard palm tree, with a retractable trunk, mounted on the back of a guy named Wally. (Maybe the Cosmic Baker did take us out of the oven a little too early.) Parrotheads like Brad Topliff exchanged stories about other Buffett concerts. (Topliff made it to this one OK, but one of his buddies almost missed the flight because he forgot to pack the blender. Margaritas must be frozen!)

Melinda Shideler, a Buffett fan for 14 years, traveled all the way from Oklahoma to hear the band perform live. "It's like going away to a tropical place."

In fact, the idea of a Caribbean journey formed the theme of show, since Buffett wasn't touting a new album. (He was too busy this past year producing a musical theater adaptation of Herman Wouk's 1965 novel "Don't Stop the Carnival" to churn out a successor to "Banana Wind.") Once the crowd was whipped into a feeding frenzy -- by Wally, who traded in his palm tree for a pair of stilts and a plastic grenade launcher which shot tee-shirt missiles into the audience --Buffett cruised on stage in a cardboard convertible singing "Viva Las Vegas." A few moments later, his tennis-shoes on solid ground, he launched into a swinging rendition of "Cuban Crime of Passion."

By the third song, the stadium was filled with songs we know by heart, like "Changes in Latitudes, Changes in Attitudes." Before shifting into another of his hits, Buffett mentioned a letter he got from a fan. The woman had sent her child to school with the "Songs You Know By Heart" album to share at "Show and Tell" -- only to get an irate call from the principal who didn't feel a song about a new waterbed "filled up for me and you" was appropriate subject matter for third-graders. The woman's sheepish explanation: She had always heard the lyrics as "Why Don't We Eat Lunch at School?"

For the concert, however, Buffett stuck with the "low-rent, white-trash, trailer-park version," of the song, as computerized images of Fidel Castro and Tiger Woods sang along on the huge video monitors.

Later, the Havana street scene backdrop shifted to reveal a wide shimmering sea, and the Coral Reefers began playing "Fins." Hands clasped in prayer-mode -- swaying left, "you gotta dance to the left," and right, "dance to the right, and you're the only bait in town" -- the audience truly resembled crowds of believers before a faith healer.