Aidan Walker

From Box Hill to Knoxville

Drum brakes, mechanical forks, unsilenced pipes… a 150mph beast in 1952

#RichardThompson’s 1991 song ‘1952 Vincent Black Lightning’ got hijacked by the bluegrass crew – but neither the bluegrass nor the Irish covers (and there’s a lot of them, 13 at the last count) ‘get it’.

I like to think this is true #folktradition; stories going from one community, one generation, one nation to another, using different musical and lyrical forms. But with this one, being both a folk/blues addict and a motorcyclist, I declare a personal interest.

Commentaries liken the romance tragedy of the song to the ancient courtly love fables. Thompson has repainted the idealised picture of the damsel carried away by the horse-mounted hero in modern idiom – but written in 1991, the song tells the story of a 21-year old armed robber on a 1952 bike. Why?

I’m sure none of the 13 musicians on my #1952VincentBlackLightning playlist are bikers. I don’t think the redoubtable Richard T rides bikes; Googling just brings up his YouTube performances of the song. It seems he knew that the Black Lightning – only 31 were made – was the fastest production motorcycle in the world in his 1950s childhood, and he took it from there. The ‘most famous picture in motorcycling’ is the ‘Bathing Suit Bike’; racer and obvious madman Rollie Free, lying prone and wearing nothing but his swimmers, breaking the USA Motorcycle Land Speed Record on a Black Lightning on Bonneville Salt Flats in 1948. 150mph! In 1948! Other image: Australian Jack Ehret, appropriately dressed, setting up to break the Oz motorcycle land speed record on a 51 Black Lightning in 1953.

Rollie in his swimmers at 150mph, 1948. Looks like they even removed the seat so his meat n two veg rest comfortably on the mudguard. At least there was a mudguard …
Jack Ehret minus rear mudguard but plus helmet and leathers, thank God

Some bluegrass versions do rewrites for US relevance; Box Hill becomes Knoxville. Only Brit bikers would know the significance of Box Hill, a steep climb on the north Downs in Surrey, which used to be the Sunday morning destination for 2-wheeled show-offs and shitheads of all allegiances – British, Japanese, Italian or otherwise.

The point being, the song is not a vehicle for virtuoso banjo picking. It is an enduring tale of love and loss. ‘Triumphs and Nortons and Greeveses won’t do’, sings Thompson (American substitute: Indians) – ‘they don’t have a soul like a Vincent 52.’

Funny that. It’s why I stick with Ducatis, and why, when I sing the song, I put the ‘Angels on Ariels’ who come down from Heaven (or Cadwell Park, in my version) to carry James home on Ducatis. That’s folk music for you.