Composer and rider Rushil Ranjan turns the spirit of the Bullet 650 into a musical fusion
For most people, the roar of a motorcycle is just noise; for Rushil Ranjan, it’s a melody waiting to happen. In a chat with Indulge, the composer dives into heritage, hybrids, and the joyful chaos of blending motorcycles and music.
The Ballad of the Bullet: A symphony of h]eritage and innovation
Your composition for the campaign film The Ballad of the Bullet paired a 153-year-old Grand Organ at the Royal Albert Hall with traditional south Indian drums to convey the legacy of the Bullet 650. Can you tell us a bit about it?
I had the privilege of seeing photographs of the motorcycle before it was launched, and even then, it was clear this was far more than an announcement. My family has ridden Bullets for generations, and my story is not unique. It is one shared across India and the UK by thousands of people. That heritage had to shape the sound. It needed to carry those stories. That emotionality and narrative informed every decision we made.
I vividly remember receiving a text from Aanor Pandey, creative head at Royal Enfield, describing the idea of pairing the Royal Albert Hall organ with traditional Indian percussion. We were both instantly and almost childishly excited. Unmistakable British heritage meeting undeniable Indian soul. I could hear the beginnings of the piece right then.
As I worked, it became clear we needed another Indian melodic voice to stand alongside the ferocity and grandeur of the organ. Bringing in Abi Sampa on the veena was an immediate decision. The challenge and the joy was in uniting these musical elements while preserving the authenticity of each. It took time and intention, but I feel we arrived at something true to all of those worlds.
As a lifelong rider and a composer, how did your personal experience with the Bullet influence the creative direction of this collaboration?
So much of the inspiration for this music comes from what it actually feels like to ride a Bullet. There is something oddly specific about the sensation I get under my right hand and wrist when I twist the throttle.
My brain has connected that feeling with so much more than motion. I have ridden motorcycles across the world and all of those memories come flooding back. It is freedom. It is an instant hit of dopamine. I knew I needed to capture that sensation and translate it into the music.
My experience writing for orchestra and working closely with Indian classical musicians also played a huge part in shaping the final sound. It meant we could hold onto the heritage and aesthetic of the bike in a way that felt authentic. The power and scale of the orchestral world allowed us to reflect its grandeur, while the depth and nuance of Indian classical traditions carried its soul.
You’ve described yourself as rooted in orchestral, Sufi and classical traditions — could you tell us about the moment or influence when music truly found you?
I didn’t study Western or Indian classical music, but I’ve always wanted to be in music, and I’ve been working on some hair-brained scheme or another since I was in my first band at 13 to make it happen. There wasn’t a single crystallising moment for me, but the closest came when I went to Oxford to do my degree. That’s where I met Indian classical musicians for the first time and heard qawwali. From that point onward, my life slowly redirected itself through small daily decisions that brought me closer to this music. Discovering orchestral music was another huge part of that journey. I remember hearing my work performed by an orchestra for the first time. There is honestly nothing else like it in the world.
Your work spans so many genres — was there any resistance, encouragement, or turning point when you decided to blend those traditions rather than keep them separate?
I don’t think I ever decided I was going to be an orchestral composer. Rather, my obsession with Sufi and Indian classical music led me on a search for my role within it, a search for how I could bring that music into spaces that hadn’t experienced it before. The natural answer, at least to me, was the orchestra. I think it’s because both classical art forms, from the East and the West, respond to a deep and shared need for divinity and connection to something larger than ourselves.
It started with me working with individual players, and then, at some point in 2022, someone asked if we could perform with a 40-piece chamber orchestra. That was the big jump. After that, I became obsessed with the infinite possibilities of sound that an orchestra could create. I haven’t looked back since.
There has always been resistance. Traditionalists, quite rightly, are protective of these enormous institutions and legacies. But I tend to think that if your intention is sincere, you are unlikely to create anything that does not honour those traditions.
In the world of classical and orchestral music, there are established norms. How do you navigate those?
I believe the best way to approach creation is with childish enthusiasm and curiosity. Not having classical training certainly has its drawbacks, but one thing it has left me with is the ability to think about and imagine these traditions in new ways. I make sure to surround myself with people who are deeply rooted in these traditions, who can and often do educate me on their importance and when certain practices need to be observed.
Looking ahead, are there sounds, collaborations, or art forms you’ve not yet touched but are drawn to?
There are so many traditional, folk and classical musical traditions within India that I’m excited about working with. As an example, I’m currently obsessed with traditional Gujarati folk and Mer culture and music. It’s an artform that would work beautifully in a symphonic and choral context. But that’s, honestly, just the beginning.