The Drum That Called the Storm | A Journey into Red Cloud’s Living Legacy

by William Aura

I’ve always considered myself lucky to be part of Mark Johnson’s inner circle at Playing For Change. There’s something extraordinary about getting early glimpses into his creative process - watching ideas take shape before the world gets to see them. But when he invited me over to discuss his latest project, I could tell immediately this one was different.

As we sat in his studio surrounded by guitars and recording equipment, Mark leaned forward with that familiar spark in his eyes… "We're reworking 'Riders on the Storm' with the original Doors members," he said, "but it starts with something ancient." That's when he first mentioned Red Cloud.

I'll admit - I didn't know the name. Yet over the next hour, as Mark blended together stories of Pine Ridge Reservation, Lakota drummers, and a storm that seemed to answer a call, I found myself pulled into a history lesson that shook me to my core. By the time he finished talking, I knew two things. First, that this wasn't just another music project. And second, that I needed to help tell this story right.

For those who don't know Playing For Change's work, it's easy to describe what they do. They record musicians from around the world collaborating across cultures. Yet much harder to explain what they create. Since 2005, Mark and his team have been building musical bridges between Soweto street performers and New Orleans jazz legends, between Tibetan monks and Brazilian percussionists. The result isn't just beautiful music - it's living proof that art can connect us in ways politics and borders never will.

But The Doors project carries a different weight. Maybe it's the legendary source material. Maybe it's the involvement of original members John Densmore and Robbie Krieger. Or maybe, as I'm beginning to understand, it's because this recording touches something deeper in the American story - something we've been trying to outrun for centuries.

Red Cloud's Forgotten Victory

The history books love telling us how the West was won. What they don't mention is that one time it was lost.

In the 1860s, as America struggled to heal from its Civil War scars, the government set its sights on the Powder River Basin - the last great hunting grounds of the Northern Plains tribes. They carved the Bozeman Trail straight through Lakota territory, building forts along the way. Most Native leaders at the time chose negotiation or reluctant retreat. But Red Cloud (Maȟpíya Lúta), an Oglala Lakota war chief, saw the truth - this wasn't just about land. It was about survival.

What followed is considered one of the most brilliant military campaigns in American history - one that somehow got erased from our collective memory. For two years, Red Cloud's warriors executed hit-and-run attacks so devastating that they forced the U.S. Army into complete withdrawal. The climax came in 1866 with the Fetterman Massacre, where Lakota and Cheyenne fighters wiped out an entire cavalry detachment - 81 soldiers dead in what remains the military's worst defeat on the Plains until Little Bighorn a decade later.

By 1868, a humiliated U.S. government signed the Treaty of Fort Laramie, abandoning all its forts in the region. For the first and only time, Native Americans had won a war against the United States - and forced them to put it in writing.

The Betrayal and the Prophecy

Of course, the victory didn't last. When gold was discovered in the Black Hills - land specifically protected by the treaty - Washington broke its word without hesitation. The Army returned. The buffalo were slaughtered. And by 1890, the massacre at Wounded Knee marked the brutal end of armed Lakota resistance.

But here's what sticks with me - Red Cloud lived to see it all. The triumph. The betrayal. The slow erosion of everything he'd fought for. He died in 1909, an old man in a world that had changed beyond recognition, yet his name never faded from Lakota memory.

Which brings me to the most powerful part of this story - the part that explains why Mark's experience on Pine Ridge hit him so deeply.

When Mark traveled to Pine Ridge to record Lakota drummers for the new "Riders on the Storm," he wasn't just capturing sounds - he was stepping into a living prophecy. The elders there spoke of the Seventh Generation principle - the idea that every decision must be made with its impact on descendants seven generations in the future.

The first generation fights the war. The second survives the aftermath. The third drowns in the trauma. The fourth begins healing. The fifth teaches what was almost lost. The sixth fights new battles (like the Standing Rock protests). And the seventh? They're the ones who'll inherit whatever world we leave them.

The Storm That Answered

The PFC team set up the recording equipment outside under clear skies. No forecast called for rain. But when the first drum strike hit, something remarkable happened - the clouds rolled in as if summoned.

By the time they finished the take, a downpour had them scrambling for gear, laughing as they darted between trucks and makeshift shelters. Nature's perfect addition to a Doors song literally about riders on the storm.

Why This Matters Now

As I've sat with these revelations over the past weeks, I keep returning to one uncomfortable truth - America still hasn't decided whether it wants to remember or keep forgetting. We debate borders while standing on stolen land. We argue about immigration while ignoring the original immigrants - the ones who walked here over the Bering Strait millennia before Columbus got lost.

This song - this collaboration between rock legends and Lakota tradition - isn't going to solve centuries of injustice. But it might help us hear each other differently. And right now, that feels like its own kind of miracle.

When "Riders on the Storm" releases with those Lakota drums leading the way, listen closely. That rhythm you're hearing? It's the sound of history refusing to be silent. Of a prophecy still unfolding. Of seven generations calling across time.

Mark's done hundreds of recordings over the years. But this one? This one feels like a reckoning.

This is how Playing For Change works - one song, one moment of connection at a time. If these words resonate with you, consider paying it forward. Become a member. Help keep this music - and its message - alive for the next person who needs to hear it.