About the song
“The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald” by Gordon Lightfoot is a poignant ballad that captures a tragic moment in maritime history. Released in 1976, this song is a standout track from Lightfoot’s album “Summertime Dream.” Lightfoot, a Canadian singer-songwriter renowned for his narrative songwriting, composed this haunting tribute to the SS Edmund Fitzgerald, a freighter that tragically sank in Lake Superior on November 10, 1975.
The song’s genesis was inspired by an article Lightfoot read in *Newsweek* magazine, which detailed the catastrophic event. The lyrics meticulously recount the story of the ship’s ill-fated voyage, the eerie final moments, and the sorrow left in the wake of the disaster. Lightfoot’s evocative storytelling and the song’s melancholic melody have made it a memorable and enduring piece of his repertoire.
Upon its release, “The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald” achieved significant commercial success. It climbed to number 2 on the Billboard Hot 100 chart in the United States, demonstrating its widespread appeal and resonance. In Canada, it topped the RPM national singles chart, solidifying Lightfoot’s standing as one of the country’s most beloved musical artists.
The song is notable not just for its chart performance but also for its meticulous attention to historical detail and the emotional depth it conveys. Lightfoot’s somber yet powerful vocals, combined with the haunting instrumental arrangement, bring the tragic story to life, ensuring that the memory of the Edmund Fitzgerald and its crew endures through the generations.
“The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald” remains a testament to Lightfoot’s skill as a songwriter and his ability to touch the hearts of listeners. Its legacy continues, serving as both a historical record and a moving tribute to those lost at sea.
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Lyrics
The legend lives on from the Chippewa on down
Of the big lake they call Gitche Gumee
The lake, it is said, never gives up her dead
When the skies of November turn gloomy
With a load of iron ore twenty-six thousand tons more
Than the Edmund Fitzgerald weighed empty
That good ship and true was a bone to be chewed
When the gales of November came early
The ship was the pride of the American side
Coming back from some mill in Wisconsin
As the big freighters go, it was bigger than most
With a crew and good captain well seasoned
Concluding some terms with a couple of steel firms
When they left fully loaded for Cleveland
And later that night when the ship’s bell rang
Could it be the north wind they’d been feelin’?
The wind in the wires made a tattle-tale sound
And a wave broke over the railing
And every man knew, as the captain did too
T’was the witch of November come stealin’
The dawn came late and the breakfast had to wait
When the gales of November came slashin’
When afternoon came it was freezin’ rain
In the face of a hurricane west wind
When suppertime came, the old cook came on deck sayin’
“Fellas, it’s too rough to feed ya”
At 7 PM, a main hatchway caved in, he said
“Fellas, it’s been good to know ya”
The captain wired in he had water comin’ in
And the good ship and crew was in peril
And later that night when his lights went outta sight
Came the wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald
Does any one know where the love of God goes
When the waves turn the minutes to hours?
The searchers all say they’d have made Whitefish Bay
If they’d put fifteen more miles behind her
They might have split up or they might have capsized
They may have broke deep and took water
And all that remains is the faces and the names
Of the wives and the sons and the daughters
Lake Huron rolls, Superior sings
In the rooms of her ice-water mansion
Old Michigan steams like a young man’s dreams
The islands and bays are for sportsmen
And farther below Lake Ontario
Takes in what Lake Erie can send her
And the iron boats go as the mariners all know
With the gales of November remembered
In a musty old hall in Detroit they prayed
In the maritime sailors’ cathedral
The church bell chimed ’til it rang twenty-nine times
For each man on the Edmund Fitzgerald
The legend lives on from the Chippewa on down
Of the big lake they call Gitche Gumee
Superior, they said, never gives up her dead
When the gales of November come early