N.M. icon was one with his audience.
Though I’d been a fan of Al Hurricane ever since I saw him on Albuquerque TV in the late ’60s or early ’70s, I never actually saw him perform live until the late 1990s. And, to say the least, I was impressed. It was a Mother’s Day show outdoors at Camel Rock Casino in 1998. As his super-tight band got the crowd fired up with its righteous Norteño sound, Hurricane’s bandleader and son, Al Sanchez Jr., aka Al Hurricane Jr., teased the audience. “Are you ready for the star of the show?” he shouted. The crowd roared its predictable answer. “Well, sorry. We’re not bringing him out yet.” There was groaning from the crowd. “No, I’m just kidding. Here he is, ladies and gentleman, the star of the show, the Godfather of New Mexico music, and my father, Mr. Al Hurricane!”
The star sauntered out from his tour bus at the side of the stage. In his white suit and white shoes, he looked like a star, if not a typical rock star. In his 60s at the time, he had a mop of jet black, curly hair and a black eye patch that many have compared with an archetypal pirate. “¡Orale!” Hurricane shouted, waving his hand in greeting and grinning. Some shout back. By this point he had a standing ovation and hadn’t even sung a note.
So what made Al Hurricane the beloved New Mexico star he was? While he wasn’t the most handsome guy, with his patch and wig and painted-on mustache, he was a striking, charismatic figure. He was a good singer and guitarist, though you could probably rattle off dozens of names of musicians who technically were better.
But corny as it sounds, I believe the key to his success in winning the hearts of so many New Mexicans was in the way he treated and respected his fans. Everyone knew he was special, but he didn’t put himself above his audience. I’ve read similar things about Hank Williams and a handful of other American music icons. Hurricane was one with his audience.
One important factor was that he stayed here. In his youth Hurricane did some brief touring with early rock giant Fats Domino. But he said he declined to go on the Fat Man’s European tour because he wanted to stay close to his wife and kids. He recorded his music in Albuquerque on his own homegrown label. He didn’t need to go Hollywood. Being a New Mexico star was enough for him.
I picked up a big hint to the secret of Hurricane’s appeal that during the Camel Rock show. Hurricane didn’t take the stage immediately after he was introduced. Instead, he went out into the crowd, where, for the first several songs, he sang into a wireless microphone — standing next to adoring fans.
Between numbers, he shook hands, cutting up with the men and flirting with the women. During the instrumental break of one song, he danced with a little girl who had come to the show with her parents.
As a lifelong music fan, I’ve attended way too many concerts by rock, country, blues, jazz, folk, polka and who-knows-what bands from virtually every corner of the world. But rarely have I seen any performer who captivated an audience to the degree Al Hurricane did on that hot May afternoon.
“Feeling the love” is a hackneyed cliché. I don’t care. That day you could feel the love between Hurricane and the people who came to see him.
I knew then and there I had to interview this guy.
And I did. We met in Albuquerque for a lunch a few weeks later. He told me his life story, the high points and the tragedies. And every few minutes we were interrupted by his friends and fans, whom he’d greet graciously.
At one point he apologized for his fans’ intrusions.
I told him not to worry. I was enjoying that nearly as much as our conversation.