This article is a conversational interview of motorcycle and car designer JT Nesbitt by Jason Cormier –
“So tell me what you think, man.”
JT is wearing a shit-eating grin and holding a tallboy of Coors. He’s beaming because today is the first time his incredible creation has been rolled out of his New Orleans workshop into the public eye. I’m standing outside the Motus factory in downtown Birmingham, Alabama on a warm fall evening in October 2013. I’m barely able to process what I’m seeing, let alone formulate any meaningful opinion about it.
I recall my immediate reaction as being “What the fuck does it matter what I think?”
The thought comes in a moment of pure intensity for me. It followed a long, difficult day spent running around in muggy Southern heat while attending the Barber Vintage Festival. I’ve dragged myself here to meet the man who I’ve been following and conversing with for several months, an enigmatic and controversial motorcycle designer who has been keen to share his ideas with me. Today is the day his baby gets unveiled to the public. This marks the first time I’ve met JT Nesbitt in person, and it’s the first time I’ve seen his handiwork outside of a computer screen. And I’m completely awestruck.
I wasn’t the only one. That evening Pierre Terblanche, Miguel Galuzzi, Alan Cathcart and several other motorcycle industry celebrities made appearances at the Motus factory to check out Nesbitt’s latest mad creation. Cathcart was so taken by the machine that he cancelled a dinner engagement and called his photographer in to do an impromptu interview and photo session on the factory floor.
The machine in front of us that evening was the pre-production prototype of the Bienville Legacy. It was the culmination of many years of thought and hard work on Nesbitt’s part, and the generosity of a singular organization called the ADMCi, and it was utterly astonishing. My introduction to this machine left a deep impression on me. Here was a machine that completely obliterated any pre-conceived notions of what would constitute the chassis and suspension design of a motorcycle, and did so in spectacular fashion with some of the most intricate workmanship you will see this side of the jewellery industry.
There was no need to give my opinion. This motorcycle was spectacular. It was ridiculous. It was so unlike anything I had seen before that it was hard to comprehend. I knew this machine had great significance, perhaps even more than I realized at that moment – here was not just a design that defied convention in nearly every aspect, but it was also the product of a program of sponsorship that represented a new way of conceiving of craft production in America.
Exactly one year later Nesbitt and the staff of the ADMCi unveiled three complete machines at the Barber Vintage Festival, and once again proudly showcased the Legacy at the Motus Motorcycles factory in downtown Birmingham. I was fortunate enough to be present at the unveiling of the finished machines and to once again spend some time with Nesbitt and his ADMCi entourage. Now that the completed Bienville Legacy has been unleashed upon the world, it seems an appropriate time to interview Mr. Nesbitt and get his thoughts now that the project had been completed.
JT NESBITT AND BIENVILLE STUDIOS
JT is an enigmatic and fascinating player in the motorcycle industry. He is outspoken and uncompromising – sometimes a bit arrogant, but always honest and perceptive. He openly flaunts convention and refuses to abide by the arbitrary rules laid out within the motorcycle industry. His iconoclastic work has garnered more attention, good or ill, than his apparently marginalized position would allow. He is a motorcycle designer, but not one that abides by any conventional definition of the position – his work exhibits none of the compromises that most industrial designers are forced to abide by. Traditional designers tend to view him as more of an artist than a member of their ranks, but he refuses to identify as one.
“I suppose that from the very beginning it has been a struggle to define the odd place that I have occupied. Making motorcycles in Louisiana does seem a bit improbable. From my father’s condemnation of my motorcycle fascination at age 14, the near expulsion from college threatened by my professors for the same offence, and for the past couple of decades, not much more than a confused reaction from the majority of locals.
My first big break came with Iron Horse Magazine. Its potency can still be felt some 25 years after David Snow assumed the position of Editor-In-Chief. He, more than any other, is responsible for the explosion of underground, hardcore, minimalist custom motorcycles that we take for granted today. Back then there was only a small group of guys working in that vein, and for whatever reason, he allowed me to contribute to Iron Horse as a columnist and reporter – For no money of course… But the lack of pay never mattered. Snow was the first person to ever care about what I had to say about motorcycles and I don’t think that he has ever been given enough credit by American motorcyclists at large or by me in particular. David Snow is a very special person, and not forgotten by those who were there.”
Any discussion of Nesbitt’s work inevitably must include a nod to his days at Confederate, where he worked from 2000 to 2005. While there he designed two of the company’s most iconic motorcycles, the G2 Hellcat and the Wraith.
“Needless to say, discovering Confederate Motorcycles in 1994 was a revelation and I knew that I had to be a part of the team that founder Matt Chambers had created. His vision for a rediscovery of industrial heritage was the most powerful message that I ever heard. Matt was an avid fan of Iron Horse Magazine (a guilty pleasure for many in the industry) and knew a little about my work for Snow.
My chance finally came in 2000 when the company was in Chapter 11 and I was able to get my foot in the door. There wasn’t exactly a line of folks waiting for interviews for jobs that were not guaranteed pay. It was, however, a great place to prove my passion. Lack of experience and talent at that point were secondary to fervent desire to be a part of something special and I think that Chambers found that enough of a reason to keep me around.
The subsequent painful reorganization of Confederate led to the move to New Orleans and a flourishing of new ideas about motorcycle design. I had assumed the role of designer/project manager, but also worked on the production line, human resources, delivery driver, floor sweeper, etc. I don’t think that I ever made more than minimum wage considering all of the extracurricular hours, but it didn’t matter… I was having the time of my life and allowed a tremendous degree of autonomy by Matt.
Confederate was well on the path to recovery with a two model line-up. The G2 Hellcat was a solid seller and the original concept and two prototype Wraiths were generating tremendous interest and press thanks mainly to Alan Cathcart, who really wanted us to succeed.
Katrina changed everything. With the factory completely destroyed in 2005, Matt did what he felt was best for the company, a move to Birmingham. I stayed in New Orleans and suffered greatly for that decision. I cleaned bathrooms, bartended, waited tables, was a barker on Bourbon Street.
While in the ‘wilderness,’ I dedicated my free time to resuming my love affair with cars. I have done some pretty interesting projects, but let’s stay on topic – the work presented here, nine years after losing everything… Nine years of planning, sketching, waiting, for just the right conditions to build and present the next motorcycle.
Once again, it is worth note that I am not being paid to build these three motorcycles. I think that it is fair to say that I have been doing more, with less, for a long time.
Rubbing two sticks together to make motorcycles has, however, been great training… It is the difference between a zealot and a mercenary; feel free to decide which category should be mine.”
Nesbitt likes to play up his current projects while downplaying his past work. He is a man who is always looking forward. He likes to say his best design is his next design, while waving away inquiries into his past work. During those days in the “wilderness” he managed to open Bienville Studios in the heart of the iconic French Quarter of New Orleans and work on a series of remarkable projects. His portfolio following his departure from Confederate was as eclectic as it was fascinating – he designed a Bowie knife, reimagined the LeMat revolver, rebuilt a Katrina flood damaged Lincoln Mark VIII into a Bonneville contender, and scratch built astunning natural-gas powered roadster he called the Magnolia Special which he and Maxwell Materne drove from New York to Los Angeles in a record 89 hours. His design for a new motorcycle that would follow up on his work at Confederate was relegated to the drawing board and his sketchbook while he took the time to experiment with other projects.
A man like Nesbitt doesn’t have a traditional set of idols. His inspirations and his heroes are varied but all follow what he perceives to be the purest goal: uncompromising ideals that are uncorrupted by commercial considerations.
“My heroes are the true Zealots. Mostly they are not household names because their contributions were never rewarded with fortune. I can definitely sympathize with those toiling in relative obscurity, finding it a thrill being fortunate enough to be asked these questions currently.
Of those names that we do know, Horacio Pagani is the first to mind. The misconception that he is a rich guy building cars for rich guys belies an understanding of his resume and the reality of boutique manufacturing. He must project an aura of confident stability for marketing reasons, but having a little experience in that world myself, I suspect that it is much more hand-to-mouth. Focusing on product rather than financial instruments pretty much means taking a vow of poverty and Horacio’s cars are a direct line to this philosophy. They are an inspiration. Sitting in a Zonda puts me in SUCH a special place, reverence and awe. Probably the closest to a spiritual experience as I have ever had.
John Britten’s motorcycle is equally as compelling. I think that it is safe to say that my design heroes are the ones whose work makes me antsy to get back to work. I simply can’t be in the presence of a V-1000 for very long before the urge to make something sends me back to the studio.
Equally, Norbert Riedel’s Imme inspires with its astoundingly beautiful economy of design and is truly a function of its post-war austerity.
The beauty of the French coachbuilders Figoni et Falaschi, DeVillars, Henri Chapron, Saotchik, Vanvooren, etc…
The risk-taking by the Italian coachbuilders: Pininfarina, Boano, Vignale, Touring, Fantuzzi, Scaglietti, Bertone, etc….
The perfection of function of the guns of John Moses Browning…
The ever-irascible Enzo Ferrari, combative and forceful, always playing the game by his own rules, the passion for the cars that bear his name is unmatched….
The near religious dedication of the Hizen tradition of Japanese sword smiths led by the Tadayoshi…
Ettore Bugatti mastered the art of a perfect life, and the work is so thoroughly imbued with that beauty…
All of these works have one thing in common- They are contextual. They are more than objects, and have transcended to become icons for a CULTURE. A representation of the thoughts and aspirations of a specific set of people, yet inevitably a product of individual and uncompromising vision.
That means that I can’t re-hash motorcycles from a time and place that has no direct connection with my culture, it would be dishonest. With that in mind, I have made it my life’s work to contribute to an understanding of what a Louisiana motorcycle should be, starting from first principles, guided by the whispers of the Titans, living and long dead.”
THE MOTORCYCLE INDUSTRY
Nesbitt’s list of zealots is noticeably devoid of icons of motorcycling. His work has led him to projects in what are traditionally two disparate industries which often see very little crossover – motorcycles and automobiles. As a man who has experimented in both fields, he has formulated a unique perspective on the differences between motorcycle and automotive culture.
“Motorcycle culture has really been marginalized and still suffers from PTSD, having been virtually wiped out in the 70’s by the Japanese. I think that the near complete hegemony removed a lot of variety and cultural expression from the gene pool. The quality of the Japanese machines was better, but I don’t think that it was an equitable trade when one factors in the quality of people and ideas that were destroyed by the invasion. There is also a maturity in the automotive world that does not adhere to a morality based on money.
It’s like this, generally speaking: real car guys approach their passion as a wonderful salad of choices, and enjoy a personal relationship with the designers and engineers (individuals) who made it all possible, while motorcycle guys tend to self-identify with big corporations that make products. The humanity has been removed from the object.
A corollary – as a Fine Arts Major, I am a big fan of Rembrandt Van Rijn. When I am in the presence of his work, something wells up inside me and I am frequently moved to tears, but I have absolutely no need to own one of his works. The fact that I cannot afford to personally possess a canvass does not upset me in the least. I think that the world is a better place with him in it, and most car guys feel the same way about the masters of their craft. I don’t have to own a car by Horatio Pagani for it to make sense to me, for it to be an inspiration, an artefact, and a testament to the aspirations of humanity.”
Nesbitt has a simple litmus test to illustrate the divide – have a look at eBay motors, searching for all auto listings from highest price to lowest, then do again with the motorcycle listings. Compare and contrast what fetches top dollar in each category. Think about what we apparently value in each category (at least on eBay Motors, anyway).
Nesbitt has long been a proponent of high-minded ideals and intellectualism in an industry that can often seem anti-intellectual; something that has led to him being increasingly marginalized as he more vehemently defends his principles. Motorcycles are traditionally plebeian, blue collar devices. Their history is one of utility, cheap performance, and a tinge of outlaw culture keeping them just slightly out of the realm of respectability. It’s a reality that makes motorcycles accessible and appealing to many, but it often leads to a dumbing-down of the ideas surrounding bikes. They remain utilitarian, democratic devices. Commercial success often comes by abiding by the status quo – give the people what they want, which is almost always what they expect. Change is bad. Tradition reigns. Trying to rethink the design and conception of a motorcycle will generally net you a bunch of vicious commentary and a vocal reiteration of conservative tendencies. It is a reality Nesbitt is intimately familiar with.
“I will comment specifically on the American motorcycle industry… It is a poverty of the imagination, coupled with real lack of resources… In a word: degenerative. But from large companies, whose main focus is the mitigation of risk, what else would you expect?
