Named after and recorded on the street where he grew up, Carl Hauck’s fourth album, Windjammer, is in many ways a reconciliation with adolescence. Hauck penned the songs at college, where all too often he’d find himself sitting at a coffee-stained desk as term paper deadlines approached, unwittingly soaking up the muffled cries of late night drunks, the melodies of waking birds, and the distant crashes of early morning dustcarts. After years of performing the songs in raucous bars and foreign living rooms, it only felt right to record them back home. Yet he wasn’t there for long before he found himself buried in a different set of deadlines, one that he himself had created for his students as a beginning high school teacher. The challenge arose for Hauck to thoughtfully explore, through music, his anxieties surrounding ambition and failure, the selflessness of love, the exploitative nature of personal comfort, and the meaning of home – all while putting on a confident front about the same issues when they surfaced within the context of classroom literature. As this challenge became both more demanding and more engrossing, Windjammer transformed from a labor of love into a labor of necessity.