On August 29th, 2005, Hurricane Katrina made landfall in New Orleans.  All told, she would claim over 1,800 lives along the Gulf Coast and leave a trail of destruction and heartbreak in her wake.  "Hurricane" is a love letter to these people and to this uniquely beautiful and vibrant place.  

 

When I close my eyes, I can still see the outline of offshore rigs through the heat-bent haze in the distance.  I can see live oak and cypress trees decorated in Spanish moss and magnolias in full bloom.  It isn’t long before I begin to feel the slippery, suffocating suppression of a late August southern afternoon, and I remember that sweating is living…  Louisiana is uniquely alive.      
 
When I was nineteen, I left Wisconsin for the first time and wound up spending the better part of a year in Baton Rouge, Louisiana.  I followed a girl there, and although that story didn’t go as planned, I began a love affair with Louisiana that has only blossomed over time.  It was my first “home away from home.”  Like all “first loves,” it is something that I will always hold dear.
 
I was driving back to Wisconsin from my then-home of Rochester, New York on August 29th, 2005 - the day that Hurricane Katrina made landfall in New Orleans.  I’ll never forget the conversation I had with my Mom that night - the thought of it sends a shiver down my spine to this day.  “Did you hear?” she asked.  “New Orleans…  It’s just… It’s gone.” 
 
I sketched out a few lines for the song that would become “Hurricane” in the days that followed.  Stories began to emerge from the devastation – stories of loss, stories of heroism, stories of “home.”  I found these stories of “home” particularly tragic.  News outlets and talking heads admonished the people who stayed despite the warnings.  They didn’t understand Louisiana.  They didn’t understand the type of poverty that left some with nowhere to go, even if they wanted to leave.  Moreover, they didn’t understand the special bond between these people and the place they called home.  It was more than residency.  Home was lineage and history.  Home was identity.  This is what makes Louisiana such a special place.  They had been through hurricanes before, and had heard the warnings.  They would ride out Katrina as they had the others. 
 
 
...And then the levees failed.
 
 
It took me ten years to finish “Hurricane.”  I would revisit it from time to time, but could never find the story I wanted to tell until recently.  For years, I tried to tell the story of two people set against the backdrop of the storm.  It was never enough.  The song finally came together when I realized the love story here was not between two people, but rather between the people of Louisiana and the vibrant, sacred place they call home.  This love has deep roots, and shutters built to weather the storm.  It’s prideful, and strong.   
 
Like any great love, the tiny flaws and fissures fade over time.  We become blind to them, and often even cherish them.  There were many who lost their lives because they truly never saw it coming.  No storm could be bigger than this sense of “home.”  This was Katrina’s great betrayal. 
 
“The hurricane came suddenly.” 



Hurricane
 
storm clouds in your eyes 
anchor down
the water is rising
take this heart of mine back to shore
into your harbor
take my hand, love 
feel you pull away from me
don’t let go or I will be
swept under
a stillness settled on the sea
the hurricane came suddenly
 
 
storm clouds in the sky
the levee is breaking
take shelter
drag this heart of mine
to the rooftop
there is no quarter down below
the wind
drowns
the howl of the sirens
I have nowhere to go
even if I could leave
what is left here soon will be
swept under
still remains beneath the sea
the hurricane came suddenly
 
the hurricane came suddenly…