Here’s a strange one. I received an e-mail inviting the Bikernet.com Staff to a private screening of The World’s Fastest Indian movie. I missed the first one, with the cast, including Anthony Hopkins and all the motorcycle press. I grew up in Los Angeles. I have a burr in my boot for watching folks, press, whatever clamor to hang with celebs. I passed.
Another opportunity cropped up for a private screening, but it appeared to be more casual, a group of movie music writers and composers. We slipped in the back and caught the flick about Burt Munro’s efforts to make it to Bonneville from New Zealand and test his high performance skills on the salt flats. The movie hit home in so many respects. It’s a film about a middle-aged man who builds fast motorcycles in his garage. What would strike a cord more resoundingly to this 40-year biker, whose building two motorcycles to take to Bonneville, and was on the team that broke the World Land Speed Record in 1996.
It also hit home ‘cause Burt liked to do it himself, in his funky, wood garage, and he had a good time. We enjoyed every struggle, mechanical problem, shipping dilemma and Burt’s never-say-die drive.
The movie was cool, but this PR guy, Tom Kidd, contacted us again and asked if we would like to meet the music composer, J. Peter Robinson. At first I thought, he must be a rider and enjoys Bikernet. Then I conjured they’re (the production company) offering Anthony Hopkins to Jay Leno and Robinson to Bikernet. I was trying to make a connection, but stumbling. Then it hit me. We’re not producing a music web site. What the fuck can we write about? “Mr. Kidd,” I said over the phone, “does Robinson ride?”
“Let me check,” Kidd said. All PR guys are required to check.
A day later and two committee meetings, and I received a call, “Nope,” Kidd said. “He never rode. Folks wouldn’t let him.”
I cringed. No self-respecting man let’s rules get in the way of riding motorcycles. There’s that Code of the West again. I broke a pencil, threw it in the trash, shut off my computer and headed to the shop. I needed to weld something.
Kidd sent us J. Robinson’s impressive bio, containing hundreds of movie and television credits including the music for Wayne’s World and Jackie Chan’s First Strike. He performed with Eric Clapton, Melissa Etheridge and Al Jarreau to name a few. He’s written for John Schlesinger at Orion pictures, Wes Craven at Paramount and Dean Semler at 20th Century Fox. I don’t know shit about the music business so I called Black Market John in the Bikernet Music Studios out front and said, “What’s it mean?”
He didn’t answer. He was stoned. I went back to welding. I burnt my thumb and came up with a notion—the bike. Bikernet had to have the bike. I called Kid. “How about something on the bike. I don’t want to up-stage the music, but we’re a bike site.”
“I’ll check,” Kidd said and hung up.
Another 24 hours passed and an e-mail blipped onto my screen. It glistened with a story about Burt’s racing history, shots of Burt Munro, the bike and even the new owners. In less than two hours the feature was published on Bikernet, in Bandit’s Cantina, since it was a famous historic piece.
A couple of days later I was talking to Dave Perewitz and it dawned on me. I could look at J. Peter Robinson's musical adaptation for the Worlds Fastest Indian similar to a builder commissioned to build the music for this tribute to speed. I called Black Market John again, since I don’t know shit about composing music for a toothpaste commercial, let alone an entire movie. He said something about rifts and I assumed the gang was having an argument in the studio. I hung up.
I had a plan so we headed into Hollywood to the old Thunder Roadhouse, which is now the Saddle Ranch country-music restaurant and nightclub. It rocks, every night. And the girls, goddamnit!
The Kidd and J. Peter Robinson were eating nachos and waiting as we rolled up. I’m a straightforward kinda guy so I spilled my guts about my lack of musical acumen and introduced them to our Black Market dealer. J. Peter confessed that his folks wouldn’t even allow him to ride a bicycle. “That didn’t stop me from sneaking out and finding a ride,” Robinson said. He grew up in the south of England where there were no sidewalks or paved streets. But in 1962 he straddled a Vincent Black Shadow on the sly, gripped the bars in the town of Brighton, and dropped it at the first stoplight.
“I broke my leg under that monster,” J. Peter said and so ended his motorcycling career. “I’m still a petrol head.” He enjoys speed and sports cars and drives a BMW M-5, 500 hp speedster, “I wish cars had the handling and performance of motorcycles.”
My mind was spinning as I opened the soiled Saddle Ranch menu and tried to scan its contents. How was I going to describe to our readers the building of a movie score and relate it to a bike build? I just kept asking sordid questions and the process began to take shape. As it turns out the master builder behind most movies is the director, in this case, Roger Donaldson.
As in building a custom motorcycle, the plan for a movie comes from the Director. “It’s his vision from the beginning to the end.” I was beginning to get the picture. J. Peter was the painter behind the custom bike build. “It was a matter of capturing Burt’s strange, quirky, likeable character,” J. Peter said. Roger flew J. Peter to New Zealand to watch one of the initial film cuts. “Piano seemed to be the thing,” Robinson said of the general character of the movie. His formal classical training in music revolved around the piano at the Royal Academy of Music in London. Peter’s paintbrush (or airbrush) was the collective keys on his piano.
I asked if he studied music from Burt’s salt flat era in the late '40s. “It’s not a period piece,” Peter said, “Film music should be timeless.” I was beginning to witness how the man thought about the tunes designed to follow Burt’s pursuits. “Even the funniest films have drama,” he said. Burt’s character dictated lightness to the music while following the slight drama of a straight documentary. Burt was a lighthearted guy who had tremendous drive for speed. His struggles for goals and performance demanded moving feeling without sentimentality. “I hate sentimental music,” Peter said. “The director's love for the machines and his passion for going fast governed much of his direction. Roger produced a documentary about Burt Munro in 1971.”
J. Peter returned from New Zealand and organized his Piano ramblings, like a painter may have organized his sketches for the ultimate paint job. Then he gathered friends in the music business, as if collecting the sheet metal for the job. He writes and directs the music for two or three films a year in addition to scores for television movies and series. I was sure he had access to talented teams, like a painter has body men, bondo specialists, airbrush artists and pinstripers.
With all the elements in hand, guided by the director’s mental picture, Peter slept on the concept. Like any artist he ponders his musical sketches. “With the piano as voice we added marimba, guitars and orchestration,” Peter said. “Only ½ hour of the movie lacks music.” He explained that generally 45 minutes sans music, in a two hour movie is too much. That smacked of the paintwork on a bike. Most of the time it contains sheet metal and frame, but some builders stretch it to the wheel rims, oil tank and headlight. At a point it becomes too much. “The music must enhance each scene, without getting in the way.”
”It’s all about manipulating emotions,” Peter said, “It’s critical to determine when to start and stop the music right down to an individual film frame.” In Burt’s movie the Indian took center stage several times as it whistled down the flats or split the kid’s eardrums in the garage. Then occasionally the music replaced the Indian thunder for scene effect.
”There’s a rule in film making that if you see it you must hear it,” Peter said. “That’s nonsense, but it’s often tough to sway a director from the code.”
The next step included determining the size of orchestra to use, sorta like the number of colors in a paint job or the depth of each hue. Peter chose between a 45 and a 60-piece orchestra depending on the music style, and of course the budget. “We fight budgets, especially with heavy action movies,” Peter said. “Cut one special effect and let the music flourish.”
The next stage included mixing and editing as if a painter stirring the paint formula and hitting the spray booth. Editing is the final sanding and polishing to draw out that world-class finish. “The music is the raw material for a film’s background,” Peter said. “Roger was very specific. It was a story of undoubtedly spirit and about filling a dream. He had a tear in his eye when he watched the final cut for the first time.”
Like a custom bike show display can add extra touches to the final product, the DVD of this movie will contain the 1971 Roger Donaldson documentary about Burt, The God of Speed. Roger was a Burt Munro fan and wrote the World’s Fastest script. Peter was apart of his team and worked with Roger on two other movies, Cocktail and Cadillac Man.
We left the Saddle Ranch Nightclub with a thorough understanding of the music behind a film and it worked, equating it to a top-notch paint job on a master builder’s bike. It must enhance without demanding attention. It must thrive to follow the lines and the master’s direction. Or was it the three-whiskey lunch that made the connection work?
Like bike painters who are men of honor, promise what they deliver and go the extra mile for the builder, J. Peter obviously is a craftsman who makes good on his word. It’s apparent by his bio, he’s a talent who takes direction, shows up on time and makes the project work within budgets and guidelines. A man of honor who contains this level of talent—a rarity in any circle.
