As one of the original musical satellites orbiting around the Continental Drifters—later to become the subdudes—Gary Hirstius knows his roots music. As a detective, he also knows human nature. But if you were expecting some sort of morose post-Katrina song cycle from his fourth solo disc, a searing indictment of the government’s blah blah blah and the precious legacy of our rich cultural whatever, guess again. Waterline is a joyous affair, a poppy, sunny, yet never shallow statement of purpose, a celebration of survival, the aural equivalent of the way you feel when the tumor turns out to be benign. Filter the reflective survivalist’s mood of Van Morrison’s Moondance album through the Americana of Rod Stewart’s first four solo releases, and you might wind up with this. As Gary puts it, “Every day spent above ground is a good one.”

He gives plenty of lip service to New Orleans on “Mississippi Mud,” which finds him okay with the concept of losing everything, even his life, if he can only be buried in same. And certain everyday troubles, like those of the heart, don’t stop for natural disasters, as he notes in “Stay Long Enough” (“for you to break my heart”) and “What Do You Think” (“about love? Is it overrated?”) Even “Rise Up,” which directly addresses the storm, asks the more pointed question of how much the big change actually changed us, and how much of our old, problematic selves are still left behind. Deep questions for what is essentially a pop record, but the music suggests that the answer is generally positive. A waterline, after all, isn’t just a mark left behind by a tragedy; it’s proof that the worst is over.