“Hurricane” by Bob Dylan which clocks in at 8:33.

We are very happy to announce the addition of a new EAR FARM staff member. Her name is Beatrice and you’ll be reading more from her in the near future. To begin with, we’ve got an 8+ from one of her all-time favorite artists.

“Here comes the story of the Hurricane,
The man the authorities came to blame
For somethin’ that he never done.
Put in a prison cell, but one time he coulda been
The champion of the world.”

The story of the Hurricane began on June 17, 1966, at around 2:30 a.m.: A bartender and two customers were killed in a Patterson, New Jersey bar. Alfred Bello, who called the police from the bar after robbing the register, said that he and his friend Arthur Bradley were trying to rob a factory two blocks away when they heard gunshots and saw two black men flee into a white car.

The police, with this information, pulled over a white Dodge occupied by middleweight contender Rubin “Hurricane” Carter and his friend, John Artis. The two men were questioned and dismissed. Four months later, Bello and Bradley suddenly gave identifications leading to their arrest. Defense witnesses said that Carter and Artis were in a different bar at the time of the shootings. A few years later, Bello and Bradley each said that he had lied in his identification; however, by then Carter and Artis were in prison, each man serving a life sentence.

For those reading the news at this time, the case was quite a sensational and controversial occurrence. I was not one of them, though––I had not been born yet. But I am always happy to learn a history lesson from Bob Dylan.

Dylan’s tour de force, co-written by Jacques Levy, reviles the wrongful conviction, motivated by a racist, incompetent police force and a bigoted jury. The song plays like a movie, opening with a scene of action (”Pistol shots ring out in a barroom night”), enlivening the succession of events with dialogue, and developing a sympathetic portrait of the Hurricane. An ascending violin at the climax of each verse enhances the drama, and backing voices appear alongside Dylan’s to boost emotion when the plot demands it. But in the end, evil forces prevail.

Dylan characterizes the Hurricane as a harmless victim of the authorities. His “cards were marked in advance. The trial was a pig-circus, he never had a chance.” Although the Hurricane was a powerful boxer, he could do nothing to fight the flow of events leading to his imprisonment. His fate was beyond his control and spiraled clear of any comprehensible rationale.

Moreover, Dylan indicates a racist explanation for the indictment. The cops pulled Carter over “just like the time before and the time before that.” Carter was originally involved in the case because the police were racially profiling the area. “In Patterson,” Dylan explains, “that’s just the way things go. If you’re black, you might as well not show up on the street, ‘less you wanna draw the heat.”

Dylan further admits that the justice system is disturbingly iniquitous. He is “ashamed to live in a land where justice is a game,” and where “all the criminals in their coats and their ties are free to drink martinis and watch the sun rise.” Within Dylan’s world, the jury is guilty and the trial is the bona fide crime. In eight minutes and thirty-three seconds, the song succeeds at chronicling an event, arousing our emotions, and protesting the law. And thirty-three years later, it still feels relevant.

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*above photo from HERE; front image from HERE

EAR FARM’s 8+ is a weekly feature that showcases songs longer than 8 minutes. Click HERE to see the songs recently featured in EF’s 8+.