ASTONISHING
Aston Martin has a lot in common with the late, great Lou Reed
LOU Reed died last month at the age of 71. He was a cool dude with a penchant for black leather, shades and cigarettes. One of those fringe rockers who made music you either loved or hated. There was no middle ground. Many of his fans love the songs he wrote while playing in The Velvet Underground. Catchy ditties like Sweet Jane and Rock and Roll . I’ve always preferred Reed’s later solo work. Oddball albums like Transformer and Berlin and Sally Can’t Dance. Simply because the songs are musical portraits: abstract lyrical canvases upon which he captures the dark side of the human condition.
And this was Reed’s talent. His musicianship was unexceptional. But the words he drawled turned him into a legend, a reclusive street poet and astute observer of New York City life who many wished to meet up with. Unfortunately, a lot of those who did actually make Reed’s acquaintance had their illusions shattered by his cantankerous persona. It turns out that the Brooklyn-born singer-guitarist had little time for admirers. In fact, he would often tell interviewers and fans alike to f**k off. Old Lou was a classic case of why you shouldn’t meet your heroes — you’ll probably just be disappointed.
A bit like getting the chance to pilot a modern-day Aston Martin, then.
Stylistically speaking, very few car companies can hold a candle to this famed British marque. They may have built one or two dogs in their time (the Lagonda leaps to mind) but generally anything with an Aston Martin badge on its bonnet is the epitome of sex on wheels. Like the
wonderful DB9 that was unveiled in 2004. Designed by a chap named Ian Callum, it remains one of the car world’s true all-time greats. A graceful, regal and elegant gran turismo that still, nearly a full decade after the fact, has the power to seduce anyone within a 300m radius.
But it didn’t stop there. Like some heavyweight boxer throwing a combo of killer punches, Aston Martin went on to release the Vantage, DBS and the short-lived Virage. Each was an architectural masterpiece. A sheet metal supermodel that would make you mumble something like, “Man, that must be an amazing machine to drive.” Unfortunately, when you did, well, you’d discover that those seductive looks were writing lucrative cheques that the rest of the car couldn’t cash.
Every time I drove one I walked away feeling despondent and questioning all the media hype. Especially the DB9 and DBS. Clunky gearboxes. Spine-shattering suspension. An overriding sense of disconnect from the controls. Strapping into their beautiful, hand-finished cockpits I expected much more. Think of it as checking into the Burj Al Arab and discovering nylon sheets on your bed.
This cruel disillusionment proved to be the underlying theme in most of my Aston Martin test-drive experiences. But then I was thrown the key to a Rapide and things suddenly changed. Which is odd because on paper this machine presents itself as the most sensible offering in the firm’s catalogue. Not only does it weigh 10kg short of two tons, it also has the longest wheelbase and most lavishly equipped interior. One that, thanks to those two rear doors, can seat four people in relative comfort. No matter how you slice it, the Rapide is more luxury saloon than sports car.
Yet when I took it for a spin, something incredible happened. Instead of knitting my brow, wishing that I was rather in a Jaguar
Anything with an Aston Martin badge on its bonnet is the epitome of sex on
wheels
or Porsche, I actually started enjoying myself. A lot. Especially when blasting through corners. Where the DB9 and DBS had been so anti-climactic, the gargantuan Rapide felt nimble and athletic as I had always imagined an Aston Martin would be. I got the impression that the engineers had finally attached the front wheels to a proper steering rack and not a string of old pipe cleaners left over from Victorian England. There was feel and feedback and a generous spattering of joie de vivre . In my 2010 review I can remember writing that this quirky fourdoor gran turismo was then the most rewarding Aston Martin selfmade money could buy.
And it still is, thanks to a recent mid-life overhaul. One that bolts on one of the biggest front grilles I have ever seen on a production car. If you ever needed to slice up a giant slab of Stilton cheese then the tweaked Rapide S would be your first weapon of choice.
Other standout features include a racy new upswept tailgate, lightweight 20-inch alloy wheels, and rear air diffuser to keep you better stuck to the bitumen at high speeds.
Yet the real meat in this upgrade sandwich has to be the freshly fettled V12 engine. It sounds just as epic as it always did but now makes an extra 60kW and has slightly more torque. This means that, fine handling aside, the Rapide now charges along with even more urgency than it did before. Especially higher up the rev range. Although the Touchtronic 2 gearbox still feels a tad lethargic, you do score an adaptive suspension system with three modes of varying firmness. And a killer Bang & Olufsen stereo that made Walk
On The Wild Side sound like Lou Reed was performing from the passenger seat.
But of course he wasn’t. The enfant terrible of avant-garde is now working on a brand new concept album with Andy Warhol somewhere up in rock’n’roll heaven. It will be a while before you get another chance to encounter the man. But in the interim you could arrange a rendezvous with an Aston Martin. Just heed my advice and pick the Rapide — it’s still the one to get.