"It allowed me to dig deeper inside, to go further into the bush," he explained to me, from his home on the west coast. "This album is the music I hear in my head, whereas I had to make Native Americans work as a documentary; it needed a dramatic underscore. Left to my own devices, though, this is the record I really wanted to make."

And the former main man of the Band tries on numerous hats during Redboy: alchemist, musician, motivator, shaman. He's also brought collaborators along for the wild ride, such as mix masters Howie B and Marius De Vries – whose collective work includes U2 and Madonna – plus Native American sirens Rita and Martha Coolidge, and "throat-singers" Tudjaat. Merging space-age beats with ancient rituals and rhythms, Redboy is as tribal and groove-driven as anything making a big noise in clubland today, but it's also steeped in history and mystery.

"There is a connection between the two worlds," the amiable Robertson explained to me. "There is something very tribal about the whole dance scene, people coming together to get lost in the beats and have a celebration of life with smoke all around. The whole ritual is tremendously similar to what was happening a thousand years ago."

Curiously, Robertson also sees a link between Redboy and his salad days in the '60s and '70s as guitar slinger for Bob Dylan. (Even though he's made it known that nowadays he's far more intrigued by Tricky's next move than the Bobfather's musical musings.) "When I was first working with Bob Dylan, we were mixing folk and electric music together and seeing something exciting happening. It's not much different from what I'm doing today."

One of Robertson's larger challenges with Redboy was to communicate to his partners in groove the myriad images and sounds he'd absorbed from his years of research, getting it "out of [his] imagination and onto the tape." Working in London, LA, Canada's Six Nations Reservation and New Mexico, piecing together this sonic jigsaw puzzle, he set out to re-create the otherworldly sensations he felt when he witnessed (and joined in) Native American rituals such as the peyote healing ceremony.

"The first rule was to abandon all embarrassment," Robertson revealed, "be willing to try anything, and see what pops out of you uncontrollably. When you get to this place it's a really good feeling. It allowed me to address some things that were simmering inside me that I didn't even know were there. It was a magical thing going on in the studio, the discovery process.

"I had a bunch of stuff I'd gathered over the years that I'd used for inspiration [such as the 1942 Library of Congress recording of Leah Hicks-Manning's vocals, which is sampled for the opening track, 'The Sound Is Fading']. There was a process of education and discovery necessary for us all to get in sync with this project.

"For Howie B and Marius De Vries, the music was like entering a fourth dimension, a whole new world. They stayed close to my instincts. [It] was important for everyone to realize we were doing an honorable job. And there was no formula for doing this," Robertson continued. "Sometimes I would have a song in my mind, a rough sketch of an idea, a rhythm, a guitar noise, all kinds of bits'n'pieces, the organic beginnings of something. A lot of this record was made just on a vibe going on and me improvising to it. It was great. It allows you to get lost in this ambience, this world, and see where it takes you."

And Redboy isn't shy of adventure. Robertson veers amongst raw-knuckled guitar-and-groove riffs (see "Rattlebone"), beat-driven celebrations ("Making A Noise") and deeply spiritual meditations, such as the haunting "Stomp Dance." Without a trace of World Music condescension, Robertson fuses cutting-edge sounds to Native American chants and myths, while relaying stories of anguish and loss. This is typified by the heartbreakingly tragic monologue of wrongly jailed activist, Leonard Peltier, who speaks his piece (over the phone) during the album's cornerstone, "Sacrifice."

Robertson explained how he became connected with Peltier, a long-time resident of Leavenworth Prison. "Through some mutual friends, we started communicating last year. Every once in a while we would have these conversations on the phone. It was really great to try and lift his spirits a little bit. Then when I was in the middle of making this record, he called me and this idea hit me for him to tell his story. People have never heard it in his own words. We did it as experiment, and it turned out to be so powerful and soulful."

After four decades of musical high life, you'd think Robertson would be numbed. To the contrary, he says he's been profoundly changed by the whole Redboy journey. "Over the years I've had a lot of great musical experiences," he told me, unnecessarily, "so I have a lot to compare this with. But this was unquestionably the most personal, most rewarding musical project I've ever been involved with."

And even though Robertson's not short of work – adapting his solo album Storyville into a film and polishing off a VH1 special are currently on the top of his work pile – his head and heart are still focused on Redboy.

"Right now I think it's disrespectful to be thinking about the next project," Robertson confessed. "I feel I owe it to myself and the native community to stay in the moment with this project as long as it feels necessary, just so I can fulfill those obligations to myself and them. I'm just not listening to other offers now."

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