Motorcyclists Go Electric

I went to see the Bob Dylan movie, A Complete Unknown. The film was pretty entertaining, but also confusing. I was happy to see it included a fair number of scenes of Dylan riding a Triumph. Freewheeling, I guess. By chance, about a decade ago, I rode down Striebel Rd south of Woodstock, NY, where Dylan purportedly crashed that Triumph. He disappeared for a while, but has never talked about it. That’s his business.

Dylan doesn’t tend to talk about himself, either, which is why the movie confused me. I read that he oversaw the film, which makes me wonder why it was made. It doesn’t present anything about Dylan we didn’t already know, and never mentions that crash. Maybe I shouldn’t have been surprised. But it is an exceptional movie—great acting, surprisingly good singing, and it successfully captures a pivotal moment in rock history. Plus, important to you and me, Timothée Chalamet, who plays Dylan, rides a motorcycle with confidence.

The film is based on the book Dylan Goes Electric by Elijah Wald. His picking up of an electric guitar was a shock to everyone at the time. Some loved it, others hated it. It was such an iconic cultural moment that my junior high school English teacher dedicated an entire class to it. She hoped us kids could appreciate how musically momentous it was for Dylan to plug his guitar into an amp. Can this be successfully communicated to today’s generations? It’s doubtful. Dylan plugging in was just a wave, maybe a majestic wave, but the sea of cultural landmarks is very wide.

All of this got me thinking about other early rock ‘n’ roll musicians on motorcycles. From the late 1960s to 1970s, and even into the ’80s, amps and motorcycles seemed a natural pairing. There are photos of each of the Beatles, Mick Jagger, and Jimi Hendrix on bikes. There’s Elvis on his Harley, The Beach Boys scooting around, and Ian Anderson on his dirt bike. Singer Marianne Faithfull out-biked them all, starring in the movie Naked Under Leather. The cool kids rode motorcycles.

Many musicians in those days wrote songs about motorcycles, such as “Leader of the Pack” performed by The Shangri-Las, written by Ellie Greenwich. We also have “Little Honda” by Brian Wilson, “Born to be Wild” by Steppenwolf, “New Sensations” by Lou Reed, “Motorcycle Song” by Arlo Guthrie, and—let’s not forget—“Motorpsycho Nitemare” by Dylan. Dylan’s nitemare was, however, pre-electric. Weirdly, though, that song never actually mentions a motorcycle, but it does reference La Dolce Vita, Fidel Castro and his beard, milking a cow, Tony Perkins, a commie rat, and Reader’s Digest, which is part of Dylan’s genius and charm (and why some don’t like him).

Has today’s lack of pop music riders diminished the attraction of motorcycles? For sure—Neil Peart famously toured alongside Rush on his motorcycle. Billy Joel and Bruce Springsteen have been riding for years, but they are not cultural leaders in the minds of today’s youngsters. Joel is reportedly shutting down his 20th Century Cycles museum in Oyster Bay, NY, putting his collection of motorcycles up for auction.

I applaud Richard Thompson’s riveting song, “1952 Vincent Black Lightning,” which was released in 1991. It perfectly echoes the romance of dangerous living and “Leader of the Pack’s” lost love: “In my opinion, there’s nothing in this world beats a ‘52 Vincent and a red-headed girl.”

Someone needs to get Taylor Swift a motorcycle. Immediately.