“Ghost Dance” by Robbie Robertson: The Ancestors Will Live On

“Ghost Dance” by Robbie Robertson: The Ancestors Will Live On

Greetings, new subscribers and thank you for the encouragement. I took a hiatus over the past two months from The Feels, as work and life and maybe a writerly funk interceded. But I am back to it.

The recent passing of Robbie Robertson has me relistening to the Band and especially his underrated solo work–underrated in the popular imagination, that is. Musicians know. Robertson could have easily hung up his musical spikes after the Band, but in the 80’s and 90’s he crafted four additional albums plus two more in the 2000s. Robbie Robertson and Music for Native Americans in particular have been go-tos for me over the years. I dubbed Robertson’s self-titled album from CD to cassette back in the late 80’s (in the way we used to) and have fond memories of playing it on my tape deck at home or in the car. Robertson’s music had an airy, open quality that spoke to me. He left plenty of space to wander around and find yourself in his songs. 

“Ghost Dance” is a difficult and moving song to listen to–as the listener is confronted with the entire tragic history of Native Americans in North America. Robertson (himself part Mohawk and part Cayuga) never uses the word “genocide”--he doesn’t have to. He shows it. Utilizing the imagery of life and death is more powerful here: “You can kill my body, you can damn my soul” but “you don’t stand a chance against my prayers.” The chants that wend throughout the song emphasize such solemnly mystical elements. The ghost dance itself was a way to invoke the spirits of the ancestors, to give those in need of strength strength, a method of calling upon a spiritual l union between the dead and the living. So powerful was this dance that for decades it was outlawed by the federal government. As Robertson details in the song, you may kill me but we shall live again. In this world injustice reigns but the future is uncertain and in it the spirits may gain on the arrogant living. The winners are not always obviously so–a certain legacy remains, though even “legacy” is too paltry a word. 

The second half of “Ghost Dance” provides the most moving passages, as Robertson invokes a litany of tribes within the song’s churning call: Arapaho, Comanche, Paiute, Sioux. Within this song tribes that have been eliminated, depleted and otherwise devastated are united. The Arapaho and Comanches were mortal enemies but “Ghost Dance” asks all tribes to unite for a common cause. This song has both an anger and awareness of cultural and contextual necessity that is quite unusual. We shall live again, Robertson promises. Don’t forget the long game.

However, the sadness permeating “Ghost Dance” almost seems to have its own weight; the song lands on a note of frustration and ambivalence. Throughout the masterpiece Robertson calls upon the spirits for strength and revenge, but the closing moments present a reality check: that “we don’t sing them kinda songs no more.” The final line is a dagger to the heart and a clear presentation to the younger generation that, though much has been lost, a return to roots would help. Without that it is all for naught. 

The punch of “Ghost Dance” is undeniable–a courageous song by a musician who had seen it all. In lesser hands “Ghost Dance” could come across as heavy-handed but Robertson was a supreme storyteller and American prophet. He knew how to paint a picture, let the music and the lyrics do the work. The rest is for our ears.