The Long and Winding History of "Ain't No Grave"

I used to get a Sunday newsletter from a journalist named David French, and he’d always include a video of a contemporary worship song. I’m not a big fan of such music as a usual thing, finding most of it syrupy and breathy. (Sorry!) But I’d usually click on the video at least briefly, and one Sunday he’d put up a performance of “Ain’t No Grave” with a singer named Molly Skaggs. Hmmm, I thought, is she related to Ricky Skaggs, the great bluegrass performer?

Oh my! She is indeed his daughter, and a worthy representative of his musical tradition. I don’t know how many times I’ve watched/listened to that video. (It’s great for getting myself going on cleaning up the kitchen.) I love the words, and the music, and Molly standing there with her acoustic guitar and belting out the song. No glamor, no glitz—just pure talent. Later I found out that the song had been covered by many, many artists—including Johnny Cash. (After I insisted that my whole family watch the video my son said he really liked the song, and when I expressed astonishment he said, “Someone made an animation sequence to go with the Johnny Cash version.” Oh.)

When the community choir to which I belong, the Cherry Creek Chorale, programmed the song for its October ’24 concert I was intrigued to find out that the words and the tune for our selection were different from the one I’d heard and decided to dig into the song’s history. Here goes:

The Song’s Possible Origins

Credit for the song’s origin, both words and music, is almost always given to an American Pentecostal preacher, Claude Ely, who traveled through the hills of Appalachia as an itinerant evangelist during the late 1940s through the ’60s. He was a charismatic, colorful character with a gold tooth, wearing a white suit and a white cowboy hat, driving with one hand on the steering wheel and one holding a bullhorn, shouting out invitations for people to come to his tent meetings where they would experience “the fire and Holy Ghost.” These were raucous affairs, with plenty of loud music and people lining up for healing. Here’s one description of Ely’s singing:

People would show up to revivals because they had heard about this country singer who sang like a black man. Brother Claude Ely would thrash his guitar, shake and gyrate from one part of the stage to the other. Young men would run up to wipe the sweat off his forehead.¹

Ely often told the story of being told as a 12-year-old that his tuberculosis would kill him. But that’s not what happened: One family friend recalled that when the family was gathered to Ely’s bedside, “he said, ‘I’m not going to die.’ And he started singing the song.” He did indeed get up from that deathbed and lived another 44 years, when he died from a heart attack in the middle of playing the organ for a church service.

So the question is, did that 12-year-old boy really spontaneously make up the song right there on the spot? I’m sure he thought he did. But the basic tune and words were almost certainly known to him in some way; there’s a printed version of a similar song in a 1933 hymnal from the Church of God in Christ, a predominantly Black Pentecostal-Holiness denomination to which the Ely family had close ties. And that written version was probably preceded by a long oral tradition, since variations of the phrase in the title may have been used in spirituals dating back to before the Civil War. The safest guess is that “Ain’t No Grave” was, in some form, a traditional sacred song that served as a kind of template around which singers could come up with their own riffs. But, as one writer puts it, “For me, the force of Ely’s originality—the pepper and electricity of his rendition of ‘Ain’t No Grave’—is, in any case, not diminished if the source material came from tradition.”²

I can’t go through the lyrics as a whole, but allow me to point out a couple of places where the words, whatever their source, adhere closely to Christian doctrine:

“When I hear the trumpet’s sound/Gonna rise up outta the ground” and
“Meet me, oh, meet me/Meet me in the middle of the air”

clearly echo the Apostle Paul’s words in his first Epistle to the Thessalonians:

For the Lord himself shall descend from heaven with a shout, with the voice of the archangel, and with the trump of God: and the dead in Christ shall rise first: then we which are alive and remain shall be caught up together with them in the clouds, to meet the Lord in the air: and so shall we ever be with the Lord.

“Go down yonder Gabriel put your foot on the land and sea”

are drawn from chapter 10 of the Book of Revelation in which a mighty angel (or archangel, as Gabriel is), descends from the heavens and sets

“his right foot upon the sea, and his left foot on the earth.”

There’s so much more that I could say about the meanings of various lines that it’s hard to press on, but that I must. I’ll leave it up to you to figure out what you think is meant by the line “I’m goin’ down to the river Jordan and I’m gonna bury my knees in the sand.” I don’t have a definitive answer, although I have some ideas.

The Molly Skaggs Version of the Song

Because we have to get to Molly’s version! She wrote her own words to the verses, saying,

“Ain’t No Grave” is rooted in old-time Appalachian gospel music. It is a marriage of the old, with Brother Claude Ely’s original chorus, and the new, my personal testimony of overcoming fear and shame, woven into each verse. For me, this song is steeped in the reality of Jesus and what He has done for me and my community. This is an anthem for anyone who is ready to follow Jesus and walk out of the graves in their daily life. “Ain’t No Grave” is a testimony of faith, a song for those who are ready to shake off the victim mentality and stand up in the truth of who they really are.³

Again, I can take the time the look at just a few of her lines–specifically verse 3, which is packed, I say, packed, with Christian doctrine:

Oh, there was a battle, a war between death and life
(“O death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy victory?” I Corinthians 15:55 KJV)
And there on a tree, the Lamb of God was crucified
(“Behold the Lamb of God, which taketh away the sins of the world” John 1:29 KJV)
And He went on down to hell, He took back every key
(“I am he that liveth, and was dead; and, behold, I am alive for evermore, Amen; and have the keys of hell and of death.” Rev. 1:18 KJV)
He rose up as a lion and He set all captives free.
(“Behold, the Lion of the tribe of Judah, the Root of David” Rev. 5:5 KJV)

Molly works with an organization called Cageless Birds (and isn’t that a great name?) which carries on various spiritual and educational ministries. She is nothing short of a powerhouse.

The Caldwell/Ivory Version

Having said all of the above, it’s finally time for me to move on to the version of the song that my own choir is actually singing, by the choral composer/arranger team of Paul Caldwell and Sean Ivory, who have been active for many years in music education and have led any number of choirs. Their works are often “based on musical fragments from various cultures around the world, the rhythmic intensity and creative voice make their music especially captivating for young singers and ensembles.”⁴ I was totally chuffed to find Mr. Ivory’s Facebook page and to hear back from him after I messaged him with some questions about this particular song. Here’s his answer, with some of my own interpolations:

Paul and I are aware of the origin of the song, but at the time, our publisher made an assumption and printed “Traditional African American Spiritual” on the cover. It’s unfortunate, because not only is it not African American, it is also technically not an arrangement…. most of the piece is completely original material.

I had asked Ivory why the “Traditional Spiritual” label was used on the cover and title. As it turns out from what I was able to ferret out about the original sources of the piece, though, the publisher’s assumptions may have been more correct than he knew. But it is indeed true that this version has a new melody and a different set of lyrics for the verses.

Paul and I wrote this right around the time Paul lost his father. It’s a very personal piece, with Paul’s own words (everything but the refrain) defiantly confronting death and speaking of eternal life. The influence of his upbringing is evident in the dialect used for the words…. not necessarily African American, but southern, specifically South Carolinian – the same cadence and rhythm his daddy spoke in.

Again, as with the other versions, the words are packed with spiritual truth. I especially love the lines:
“You know they rolled a stone on Jesus/And then they tried to bury me/But then the Holy Ghost it freed us/So we could live eternally.”
A specific reference to the Resurrection of Christ, with the stone at the door of the tomb, and the hope of that same resurrection for the speaker.
“Sistuh you better get cho ticket/if you wanna ride/Catch a ride in the mornin’ when Jesus call my numbuh,/I’ll be on the other side.”
A clear reference to spirituals here, even though not necessarily explicit, in particular to the many references in that music to the “Gospel train.” I was also irresistibly reminded of the spiritual “John Saw Duh Numbuh” which I’ve written about previously.

As far as the sign language goes, we both just thought it would be cool. That’s it.

One of the aspects of this version that makes it so great (and challenging) is that choirs are encouraged to use American Sign Language for at least the refrain. I thought there’d be some deep, personal reason for that inclusion, such as a family member’s deafness or perhaps the team’s work with a choir of the deaf. But no such thing! And that’s okay. ALS is, indeed, cool. I hope we can pull it off in our concerts on Oct. 4 & 5, 2024. If you live in the Denver area, be sure to follow the link and get tickets. It’s going to be great!

Various Videos

And now for the videos! I could post dozens. But I’m going to limit myself to four, with a bonus fifth. First, the King Records recording made in 1953 of the man himself: