Time Can Take You For A Ride
The story of Alibi & Demo version.
*A heads up, today’s letter contains mention of suicide and climate disaster. Please take care while reading. If you want to support North Carolina mutual aid efforts, you can donate to the Western NC Water Well Fund & purchase this benefit compilation album Cardinals at The Window *
Dear Reader,
Alibi started forming its way into the world thanks to a gorgeous classical guitar, gifted to me by my friend Adam at Drop of Sun studios in Asheville. Adam welcomed my (now former) partner Ben and I to evacuate to his home during the aftermath of Hurricane Ida. A massive storm that landed in New Orleans on August 29, 2021, the 16th anniversary of Hurricane Katrina.
Ben and I had ridden out Ida at home, without a generator and sweating in the dark. The storm moved slowly, which led to a long, terrifying and spiritual two days. The physiological experience during a disaster like this felt ancient and overwhelming. My body buzzed for months afterwards and flinched at the form of rain clouds. In the light of day that followed Ida’s destruction, it was clear that we would need to get out of town. The battery operated radio told us in scratchy messages that residents were encouraged to leave, as the sewage system was fragile and at capacity. New Orleans was left largely without electricity, cell service, and access to gasoline for nearly two weeks.
So we headed north, and on the way reached out to friends in North Carolina, where we were welcomed with loving arms. Quickly into our arrival, finally able to check my phone and catch up with news and people I had not been able to access for days- I got news that a friend of mine had committed suicide. I had been meaning to check in with him days before, and I told myself I would when I got to a safe place with good cell service. When that came it was too late. It was a very, very difficult time.
Friends in Asheville were kind to Ben and I, as we went on with our days panic checking the electricity grids online and guessing when it would be safe to return home. During a tour of Adam’s studio he handed me a guitar he had lying around, I was soothed by the sound and gentle touch of the nylon strings, playing it felt like sound therapy. He casually told me I could have it, and especially in my shell shocked state it meant the world to me.