2008 Aston Martin DBS

The differences between a sports car and a GT car are subtle but undeniable. In the way it looks, the way it sounds, and the way it feels, a sports car telegraphs a message of outright performance. If you drive a car to its absolute limit down a challenging road and find yourself grinning from ear to ear, chances are you're in a sports car, something like a Lotus Elise or a Ferrari F430. A GT car's mission, on the other hand, is to provide effortless performance, driving pleasure, and comfort over long journeys driven at triple-digit speeds. During a drive from, say, London to the south of France, you should be able to remain relaxed yet inspired behind the wheel, while your passenger should feel pampered and at ease. Aston Martin does GT cars as well as any automaker. Its DB9 coupe features a powerful twelve-cylinder engine, a cosseting cabin, and gorgeous, understated styling. But now Aston has a new top-of-the-line model, the DBS. So, is it a GT, or is it a sports car?

When you first glance at the DBS--and at its spec sheet--you might think that it's a full-on sports car. After all, the DBS is adorned with all the typical sports car styling cues, including scoops and vents and a carbon-fiber front splitter and rear diffuser. European buyers can even specify sport seats with a carbon-fiber shell that help the car shed an additional 44 pounds. The DBS's V-12 sends 510 hp--60 hp more than the DB9--through a six-speed manual gearbox. To help stop it from its nearly 200-mph top speed, the DBS gets carbon-ceramic brake rotors, a first for a roadgoing Aston. At the Frankfurt auto show in September, Aston Martin CEO Ulrich Bez bragged about the DBS's lap times around the Nrburgring. Despite all the exotic hardware, however, when we saw the new DBS at Frankfurt, we couldn't stop thinking that it looks pretty much like a DB9 with a body kit. A rather good-looking and superbly executed body kit, to be sure. But perhaps our first drive of the top Aston would dispel such notions.

Slide the DBS's substantial sapphire and stainless steel key--sorry, the Emotion Control Unit, as Aston Martin insists on calling it--into the slot above the radio and hold it in for what seems like an eternity. The V-12 lights up, and you're greeted with an intoxicating exhaust note--part deep bass, part metallic riff--that makes you want to search out every tunnel within 100 miles just to hear the sound reverberate against the walls. Blip the throttle a few more times, and you'll be hooked. Dip the light clutch, notch the comically large shift knob into first gear, and pull away. As you ease into a pace where you're driving at seven- or eight-tenths, the sound of the V-12, the incredibly strong and responsive brakes, and the precise gearbox tell you that this is one impressive car. But when you really push the DBS on twisty and bumpy roads, the Aston shows that it's not the true sports car you were led to believe it would be. Sure, the twenty-inch Pirellis provide massive amounts of grip, but no matter what setting you choose for the adjustable dampers--another first for Aston--body control is lacking. The DBS feels big and heavy, not light and lithe, when you really hammer it.

Our disappointment with the DBS's behavior on France's back roads was just settling in when we came upon the entrance to the autoroute. This is where the Aston comes into its own: at 130 mph and beyond through the smooth sweepers of the French highway system, the DBS's V-12 calls on gloriously deep torque reserves yet revs freely to its 6800-rpm fuel cutoff. The steering and chassis both feel perfectly calibrated for such conditions, and it becomes evident that the DBS is an extremely good GT car. But so is the DB9, which costs a cool hundred grand less than the DBS, and therein lies the rub. If you need more proof of the DBS's GT character, look no further than the fact that Aston Martin will offer the DB9's smooth automatic transmission as an option later this year.

If we could build the ultimate Aston Martin, we'd plug the engine and the exhaust system from the DBS into a standard DB9, a car whose subtle, elegant styling perfectly reflects the character of an Aston. But there are surely some Aston Martin buyers who want a car that is more extroverted, and the DBS fits the bill. There also is no doubt that the DBS is a good (read: profitable) short-term business move for an automaker that is now independent of Ford. We're all for Aston Martin's future profitability, we just wish the DBS were less of a bejeweled DB9 and more of a true flagship for the British company, especially for $265,000.

Q&A : Marek Reichman, Aston Martin design director

What are your favorite details on the DBS?

My favorite view of the DBS is the rear-three-quarter view, because the car looks so powerful. The car's width is accentuated by the carbon-fiber rear diffuser. Your eye is drawn to the corners and to the track and width of the car. Looking at it from the front-three-quarter view, you can see the crease line of the fender, which accentuates the tire and wheel size and shows the DBS to be very muscular. It has the definition of an athlete or a race horse at full speed.

It seems as if you're moving away from the DB9 shape. Do you want a new design direction for Aston?

An Aston Martin will always look like an Aston Martin, because the grille shape is so prominent and the face of Aston Martin is so prominent. But you're right, we are taking evolutionary steps toward a different shape. This [the DBS] is the first time we've shown the car's overt power. It's not quite brutal, but it's not all about elegance anymore; it's actually portraying the powerful state of an Aston Martin. I think this is the first time that's really happened since the DB4 GT Zagato.

What is the significance of your new design studio?

It's huge. We've always been in rented accommodations. Although it's fabulous to be in someone else's house, you can't put the furniture where you want it or paint it the color you want. This is our own studio. It's confirmation from the new shareholders that they believe in design, and Aston Martin is all about design. Aston Martin is organized so that we can do things very quickly and very efficiently. It says to everyone on the team that they [the new owners] believe in the future of Aston Martin. I'm over the moon, I'm so excited.

How does the Rapide fit into all this? Will it be a true four-seater?

It's a four-door sports car. I can fit in the back of the car, although I'm not sure whether I would want to be there for a five-hour journey. But it's not a sedan, it's a sports car. And, yes, there are compromises, but it will be more usable than our DB9. You can fold the rear seats down and actually carry more luggage. We've been in the studio refining and developing it. When the production car finally comes out, you'll see a difference from the show car. You'll see that it is the next generation of Aston Martin.

2007 Aston Martin V8 Vantage Roadster

The V8 Vantage roadster is a classic case of love at first sight. Its unique mix of color and trim, of leather and metal, of cool and casual has you hooked. And that's before you touch the concealed door handle, catch a whiff of hide and mohair, or hear the engine fire for the first time.

Beneath the handsome skin, Aston Martin's familiar Vertical Horizontal (VH) body structure provides torsional stiffness almost on par with cast iron. On the debit side, the V8 Vantage roadster tips the scales at 3771 pounds, some 450 pounds more than the comparatively anorexic Porsche 911 Carrera S. Thanks to its front-engine, rear-transaxle layout, though, the Aston puts most of its meat within the confines of its generous 102.4-inch wheelbase.

The 4.3-liter V-8 is both user-friendly and charismatic, although a little more grunt wouldn't hurt. Most customers likely will eschew the standard six-speed manual for the new automated gearbox with steering-column-mounted paddleshifters. We tried both and prefer the more intuitive and fun fingertip controls on the optional SportShift.

While other sports cars have a sport button that can be pushed to initiate quicker throttle and transmission responses, the V8 Vantage roadster defaults to the sport setting. If the driver should want more relaxed gearchanges, there is a comfort button on the instrument panel.

On Provence's Mont Ventoux hill-climb, the Aston's handling is fluid and progressive instead of razor-sharp and instant-on. Turn-in is quick but not overly so, and when you need more lock, you consciously wind it on instead of just flicking the wheel. This slow calibration provides more depth and better feedback, but it also makes you work that little bit harder. When the tail overcomes grip and comes around under power, it takes a hardy armful of opposite lock to control the slide and very self-confident timing as you prepare to exit.

The brakes are reassuring rather than riveting. Like the steering, they call for a positive input before they will start to perform. Equipped with grooved rather than cross-drilled rotors for more staying power, the stopping apparatus requires you to explore the full length of pedal travel for optimum modulation and effect.

On rough roads, where a 911 would pitch itself into a frenzy, this British roadster is impressively compliant. While it doesn't float over the obstacles, it soaks them up with skill, surefootedness, and self-assurance. With the exception of light lateral deflections through very quick corners, this car knows how to carve an accurate yet effortless flight path.

The Vantage is a precision tool--not clinically hyperefficient but very communicative. Now that the Vanquish is gone, this car is the most desirable model to wear the double-winged badge.

2006 Aston Martin V8 Vantage

My bum hurts. It's been sitting on a narrow, medium-frame seat for more than 500 miles, and it feels baboon-red at the end of day two. My brain has switched to overload, vexed by at least six dozen radar traps and three unmarked police cars. But my eyes still glow with excitement like candles in the dark, and that's even before the first pint of Guinness arrives. We have just completed a remarkable tour through the English heartland-up north from Birmingham, then from sea across to peat-brown sea, and back again. Although time was tight, we swapped the busy highways for lightly trafficked byways wherever it made sense.

The car we used was the awesome new compact coupe from Aston Martin. The V8 Vantage is the third sports car from the company since Ulrich Bez took charge. Of the three, we admire but could never aspire to own the butch and mean Vanquish. We adore the more accessible and less uncompromising DB9. And now we have fallen in love again-even though the latest object of desire has only eight cylinders instead of twelve and not quite as much grunt as the baddest beasts from southern Germany and northern Italy. But in terms of sense and sensibility, the V8 Vantage delivers the full Aston Martin experience in a way that is positively addictive. Hop in, pull the belt tight, and brace yourself for an eye-opening ride that has all the ingredients of a thriller: speed, suspense, and an unambiguous ending.

While even Aston aficionados find it hard to tell a Vanquish from a DB9 and vice versa, it is more difficult to confuse the V8 Vantage with its bigger brethren, except when you meet one head-on or try to keep up with its voluptuous behind. The marque's main visual characteristic is massive width: at 79.6 inches, even this smallest member of the family eclipses the flared Porsche 911 C4S by a whopping 6.7 inches.

Inside, only the proportions distinguish the V8 Vantage from its siblings. The most controversial element is the giant center console and transmission tunnel, which steals precious legroom and is an ergonomic anticlimax. The two main instrument faces look like bijous designed by Aston's Swiss watch partner Jaeger-LeCoultre, and they are about as easily legible. This doesn't matter much, however, since a digital speedo steps in for its analog colleague, and a large, red, F1-style upshift warning light makes the rev counter redundant. The cockpit is unique and reflects all the craftsmanship behind it.

When you push the backlit, etched-crystal starter button, the front-mid-mounted engine shakes itself into action. At idle speed, all you hear is a busy but subdued hum. The clutch action is light and deep, a meaty counterweight that makes it pleasantly easy to find the sweet spot. The six-speed gearbox is harder work. Its throws are short, and the gates are well defined, but the lever moves through them like a Shimano bicycle shifter-from cog to cog-rather than slicing through them. At the other end of the relatively long-legged transmission sits a V-8 that started life at Jaguar. To teach the aluminum unit Aston-specific manners, the displacement was increased to 4.3 liters, new cylinder heads were fitted, and the intake and exhaust were tuned to deliver the right mix of grunt and spine-tingling acoustics. Redlined at 7000 rpm, and thus higher-revving than the supercharged 4.2-liter V-8 from Jaguar, the 32-valve unit produces 380 hp and 302 lb-ft of torque at a tall 5000 rpm.

As we head north on the M6, sixth gear at 3000 rpm equals just under 80 mph. Every half hour or so, a gap opens, and the Vantage closes it like a zoom lens-fast, effortless, and with absolutely no need to change down. What's the added benefit of a V-12, you ask?

The smallest Aston will top 175 mph. That's fast but not fast enough to eclipse the 355-hp 911 Carrera S. Acceleration is a similar story. The car from England does the 0-to-60-mph job in an explosive 4.8 seconds, but its German rival is 0.2 second quicker. So could we please have a Vantage S with an extra 50 hp to settle this issue? "It's coming," promises Bez, "perhaps as early as next year. But we are always taking one step at a time." Also coming-as an option in early 2006-is a six-speed ZF manu-matic that offers a choice of fully automatic or paddle-shift operation.

The adrenaline shifts into overdrive the instant we turn off the motorway. The Vantage uses the so-called VH platform, which provides a light and rigid backbone to which the suspension, the drivetrain, and the body panels are attached. Made of 150 different aluminum castings, extrusions, and sheet sections, the VH structure makes extensive use of adhesive bonding.

The route to Scarborough takes us through farmland dotted with heather and fern, the rolling hills separated by valleys of varying depth and width. The few villages look more like small stone fortresses, each built around a church, a school, and a pub. Up here, the roads are typically lined with one of two dramatically different surfaces: shiny asphalt and coarse tarmac. Both surfaces tend to feature a raised centerline that drops away toward the ragged edges, so that you get a full spectrum of camber changes in addition to the usual mix of longitudinal grooves, potholes, transverse ridges, and cattle grids. The test car is shod with Bridgestone Potenza RE 050A tires, 235/40YR-19 in the front and 275/35YR-19 in the back. These sizes read like a recipe for tramlining, but the Vantage is actually not too bothered by the footprints of trucks and buses. It tracks as a matter of course, requiring few corrections at the wheel. The ride comfort is fine on most pavements, but a combination of low speed and certain corrugated surfaces submits the beefy body structure to irritating oscillations. No, this is not a big issue for a sports car, but it clouds an otherwise spotless picture.

To sample the old-world charm of Scarborough, we head to North Beach, where our Aston Martin is the undisputed star of the busy rush hour, garnering plenty of thumbs up and even a heart-stopping pat on the roof. On the street-cred scale, the chunky V8 Vantage is every bit as good as the even flashier Vanquish. But it also scores on the back roads, mustering a clear weight and size advantage that compensates for the power and torque deficit. At 3462 pounds, the Vantage is 330 pounds heavier than a Carrera S, but it undercuts the DB9 by more than 500 pounds. The notably lighter front end, which turns in more eagerly and is less prone to mid-corner understeer, makes a big difference in the handling of the car. On the debit side, the excessive turning circle is a sometimes embarrassing trait seemingly common to all Astons.

The route to Blackpool takes us through the picturesque Yorkshire Dales. This area has it all: 125-mph straights, first-gear hairpins, fast sweepers, slow dips, and crests so dramatic you'll reach for an airsickness bag. The V8 Vantage excels in this demanding habitat. The talents of the multifaceted engine are one reason. It's all muscle and compressed energy below 2000 rpm, then starts delivering a serious punch at around 3500 rpm. At 5000 rpm, the torque peaks, and maximum power erupts in a simultaneous sensation of noise, magic, and thrust. A generous 2000 rpm later, the climax is red-flagged, inviting the next gear to slide in and the performance to start again, only on a speedier plateau. No, the V-8 is not as smooth, creamy, or cultivated as the V-12. But it spreads its goods over a wider rev range, it is even better at understanding throttle orders, and it plays a greater variety of tunes to delight your eardrums.

The steering is a little heavy around town. At low speeds, it transmits a subtle sequence of monochrome action and monochrome response. But as soon as load transfer starts to work the rear wheels, the helm fills with life, your hands begin to feel the road, and the interaction between man and machine gets up to speed. The V8 Vantage is an accurate sports car that begs to be pointed and aimed. It rewards precise inputs with precise execution and prefers carving and small exact moves to sliding and spectacular grand gestures. There is plenty of grip, and the transaxle layout also delivers strong traction, although a heavy right foot on slippery blacktop and through tight-radius turns invariably will bring out the ESP brigade.

We zigzagged through the Dales and clipped the Forest of Bowland before descending to Blackpool. Some roads were too narrow to give the car full stick, but others were wide and panoramic and long enough for the Aston to develop a rhythm. It's mainly third- and fourth-gear stuff, 70 to 110 mph, rarely flat out but always pressing on. The V8 Vantage is not keen to waste time sampling varying degrees of understeer or oversteer. It much prefers to get the job done in a fast and fuss-free manner. Although it tends to be slot-racer perfect most of the time, there is enough compliance in the rear suspension to talk you through the difficult bits.

Composite brakes are not in the pipeline for the V8 Vantage, but this is not a major deficit, since you would have to go to a track to discover the true limits of the fat, ventilated cast-iron rotors, which are straddled by fire-red Brembo calipers. The engineers opted for a nicely progressive action that requires a firm right foot before the system will pull out all the stops. Riveting deceleration, plenty of staying power, and pedal travel that is long enough to let you modulate the performance are the strong points. Like the handling balance, the brake balance does not favor one particular pair of wheels. As a result, the car feels extremely well tied down even when excessive speed needs to be squashed pronto in the middle of a corner. Its controls may be a little on the heavy side, but for a sports car that wants to be kept on a short leash, this is exactly the right calibration.

The V8 Vantage is a tool for talented drivers, the incarnation of challenge and reward, a new fixed star in sports-car heaven. It doesn't win pole position in every discipline, but it is true to the promise made by the in-dash display that lights up when you insert the ignition key: power, beauty, and soul.

Unlike Porsches, which have become a ubiquitous commodity of the rich, and unlike Ferraris, which are too loud for their own good, an Aston Martin is the perfect underdog for anglophile connoisseurs.

Those considerations aside, the new Aston Martin V8 Vantage is competitively priced at about $100,000, its production rate of only 3000 units a year means exclusivity, and the convincing driving experience is guaranteed to put a smile on your face.

2006 Aston Martin DB9 Volante

In the past, a plaque on the doorsill of an Aston Martin that advertised "Handbuilt in England" would have been a warning. But now that Aston has moved from its traditional home in Newport Pagnell to its high-tech factory at Gaydon in the English Midlands, persistent quality problems have been left behind. The renowned sports-car maker has made a remarkable transition from hopeless cottage industry to high-tech, top-class niche manufacturer.

In a summer rich with new upscale ragtops such as the Ferrari F430 Spider and the Porsche 911 Cabriolet, the Aston Martin DB9 Volante tops the heartbreaker charts, looking equally addictive with the top up or down. This car radiates an infallible sense of occasion, and yet it is neither loud nor lascivious. The Volante has great centerfold appeal-just look at the perfectly sculpted body panels; the polished, multispoke, nineteen-inch alloy wheels; the trademark grille; the lateral air vents; and the concealed pop-up door handles. It's a lot of car for what is essentially a two-seater with a tiny 6.1-cubic-foot trunk, but then there are twelve cylinders to be accommodated and almost two tons of weight to carry.

Since it is the only convertible currently to wear the winged AM badge, this particular DB9 cannot be confused with the slightly smaller V8 Vantage or with the slightly bigger Vanquish. The snug fabric roof creates a couple of larger-than-life blind spots, but it is extremely well insulated, features a heated rear window, is fully power-operated (the whiz-and-whir show takes seventeen seconds), and it will disappear beneath a solid cover when folded. When erect, the soft top adds a few decibels of wind noise and is tight for headroom, but the mohair and Alcantara-lined top cocoons the occupants and is color-keyed to perfection.

Supersized people will find the Volante an even tighter fit than the coupe. The cockpit is a slim-line affair that boasts a superwide center console, scant legroom, a windshield frame that arcs down to meet your forehead, and a beltline so high it mimics an Italian motor yacht. It's the usual fashion dilemma of drop-dead gorgeous to look at but just a tad impractical to wear. The tiny rear seats come with belts, headrests, and pop-up protectors but are-at best-scaled for preschoolers.

Aston certainly knows how to get the best out of its materials. The leather still looks, feels, and smells like the real thing. The wood has been treated with care rather than with paint and lacquer. The anodized aluminum is delicious to the touch. Aston's newfound self-confidence manifests itself the instant you turn the weighty ignition key. In the left instrument display, the Aston Martin logo lights up proudly. Simultaneously, in the right cluster, a moving dot matrix presents the message "Power, Beauty, Soul." You've got to love the crystal starter button, a rev counter with a needle that swings counterclockwise, and the truly intuitive controls-you can button-shift from D to R in no time at all, unlike in a Ferrari. There are some niggles, though, such as the handbrake hiding out of reach in the canyon between the cushion and the sill and the way the main dials are obscured behind the fat-rimmed steering wheel. And it seems crazy that you need genetically modified fingertips to operate the buttons on the pretty but overstyled center console.

In a Chevrolet Cobalt or a Honda Civic, such things might matter, but in a DB9, they are quickly overwhelmed by the car's grace and grandeur. On the road, the Volante is less aggressive than the coupe, which tries to fishtail out of every tight corner. The topless DB9 is a little heavier and not quite as stiff structurally as the fixed-head version, which ensures a more compliant ride. But the dialogue between the front and rear suspension is occasionally blurred. You experience some cowl shake and some instability on roads that are not flat and straight. The steering response has been toned down from razor-sharp to superquick, and, as a result, the open-air Aston is no longer an oversized sports car but a more predictable and softer GT-yet still mighty fast cross-country. The brakes aren't as compelling as the coupe's-or a 911's-but they're still strong.

If you want to cover long distances effortlessly at the kind of speeds only Germany still tolerates, the Volante will answer. The 5.9-liter V-12 engine delivers 450 hp and 420 lb-ft of torque, so you certainly don't need to depend on sky-high revs and frequent gear-changes. The six-speed manu-matic transmission with paddle-shift actuation cuts the generous twist action into big slices that overlap like the layers of a stacked club sandwich.

The Volante will thunder from 0 to 60 mph in 4.9 seconds, the Bridgestones intermittently yowling for grip. If you need to, it will reach a top speed of 165 mph, which is a good 21 mph less than the coupe's top speed, presumably so the convertible top doesn't take off. More in line with the car's character, however, is to swap the rock sound track for a classical one, staying in the flat upper reaches of the torque mountain. You can even resort to automatic mode by pushing the D button on the dashboard, without sacrificing much urge. Driven hard, we recorded sub-10-mpg fuel economy, somewhat below the official combined 17-mpg figure.

The Volante strikes a compelling balance between perfection and emotion, as it should for more than $173,000. At the end of a long, hot day, tanned from the pitiless summer sunshine, it was almost impossible for us not to succumb to the many charms of the fabric-top English beauty. The DB9 Volante is almost the perfect Hollywood car-sporty enough for high-speed runs up Mulholland Drive or over Angeles Crest Highway and stylish enough to stand out on Rodeo Drive without looking pretentious or gaudy. That takes class.

2005 Aston Martin Vanquish S

It's hardly the blowout price of late-night TV commercials, but the Aston Martin DB9's $155,000 base sticker looks like a bargain compared with the range-topping Vanquish at $236,000, particularly when the two cars are so close in spec and appearance. It begs the question: Why pay more for a Vanquish?

The new Vanquish S provides a riposte, the main thrust of which is an additional 60 hp for its superb 5.9-liter V-12 (now 520 hp to the DB9's 450). New cylinder heads with modified combustion chambers, new fuel injectors, new spark plugs, and new forged-steel connecting rods are features that help account for the power boost.

The Vanquish S hurtles to 100 mph-less than half its claimed maximum-in just under ten seconds. Acceleration that makes you gasp and squeal with delight is complemented by an inspirational howl as the power curve's 7000-rpm peak is approached. Clearly, Maranello is not the only place where they know how to make magnificent V-12 music.

Moving that much closer to the 100-hp-per-liter mark has not made the engine peaky. It now delivers 425 lb-ft of torque-the standard engine packs 400-and about 80 percent of that grunt is on tap at 1000 revs. This, allied to revised final-drive gearing, provides performance that's appreciated in nip-and-tuck situations on the open road.

Backing up the more potent powerplant is the Vanquish's optional Sports Dynamic chassis, standard on the S, which includes lowered ride height, sportier spring rates, and faster steering responses. Bigger brakes, now with six-pot calipers up front, provide even more stopping power.

We faced ferocious winds and torrential rain as we hustled the exceptionally stable Vanquish S along English freeways and Welsh mountain roads. Aston's biggest hitter felt very taut and purposeful, but comfort has not been sacrificed on the altar of handling. The ride is surprisingly civilized, and road-noise suppression is remarkable in view of the enormous tires.

Supercars aren't supposed to be practical, but it is difficult to imagine anyone other than a dimensionally challenged, sadomasochistic contortionist getting into the Aston's back seat. The trunk is tiny, despite the absence of even a space-saver spare, but our main quarrel is with the six-speed manual transmission that harnesses electrohydraulic technology to change gears in the paddle-shift and automatic modes. Downshifts are fine, but the system can't seem to deliver consistently smooth upshifts, no matter what you do with the throttle.

The S is priced $19,000 higher than the regular Vanquish, but in the strange world of supercar prices, it's undeniably a stronger value than the standard car, which it likely will supplant. But does the S justify paying extra over the DB9? While the enhanced Vanquish does provide more order in the Aston universe, that clumsy transmission would deter us.

Aston Martin DB9

There's a strong case for the new DB9 being the most important car in Aston Martin's long, turbulent history. Insiders regard it as symbolizing the change from a cottage industry to a serious manufacturer fit to compete with the likes of Ferrari and Porsche. The seal-sleek coupe-which replaces the DB7-marks the start of a new era, because its aluminum spaceframe platform is the basis for a three-model range.

Chief program engineer David King and his team were determined to create an exceptionally efficient car. They have succeeded to such an extent that the DB9's basic structure is 25 percent lighter than the DB7's but has more than double its torsional rigidity. The convertible, when it arrives, will carry a much smaller weight penalty than is generally the case when a coupe is decapitated.

"We were obliged to consider platforms within the Ford family but realized that we should go it alone," says King. "The basic philosophy was that to become more competitive, we needed to improve our cars' dynamic attributes. We had rather lost our way with the heavy, cumbersome V-8s and, to an extent, with the DB7. The DB7 has been a wonderful car in many ways, but dynamically it has lagged a bit behind some of our competitors." The DB9 is sharper than the DB7 thanks to the control-arm suspension at each end and the rear-mounted transaxle, which helps provide 50/50 weight distribution.

Building on know-how acquired while developing the range-topping Vanquish, the DB9 is the first part of Aston's VH strategy. V, for vertical, identifies the platform; H, for horizontal, embraces technologies shared with other Ford marques. For instance, the DB9's safety features were developed in cahoots with Volvo.

This version of Aston's 48-valve, 5.9-liter V-12 is mounted far enough back for the DB9 to be regarded as a front-mid-engine layout. Key figures are 450 horsepower at 6000 rpm and 420 pound-feet of torque at 5000 rpm. Floor the pedal, and the DB9 with the six-speed manual gearbox should reach 60 mph in 4.7 seconds, hit 100 mph just 6.1 seconds later, and max at 186 mph. The shift-by-wire automatic delivers the goods a couple of tenths slower.

Design director Henrik Fisker has retained the DB7's smooth, flowing, ever-so-slightly retro lines while moving on a few paces. For improved access, the DB9 features "swan wing" doors, which open both out and up twelve degrees. Sarah Maynard, a former fashion designer, was instrumental in conceiving the interior. Its details include a glass starter button that glows red when the ignition is on and light blue when it's off.

2005 Aston Martin DB9 Volante

As if the DB9 weren't already sexy as all get-out, Aston Martin is rolling out a topless version this fall. The coupe's swoopy styling--by Henrik Fisker--is undiminished by the top chopping, and Aston even managed to maintain the rear seats (although they are largely decorative). The soft top is fully automatic and stores under a hard tonneau. In the event of a rollover, pop-up hoops deploy from behind the rear headrests. Like the coupe, the Volante is powered by a 5.9-liter V-12 with a choice of a six-speed manual or a paddle-shift automatic transmission.

ON SALE: Fall 2004

PRICE: $175,000 (est.)

ENGINE: 450-hp, 5.9-liter V-12

BOTTOM LINE: It knows the way to Saint-Tropez.

Aston Martin V12 Vanquish, Ferrari 575M Maranello, Lamborghini Murcilago, Mercedes-Benz SL55 AMG, and Porsche 911 Turbo

Milan, Italy-- As I shifted the Ferrari 575M Maranello into sixth gear, the speedometer flicked past 160 mph, and the Lamborghini Murcilago loomed ever closer in my rear-view mirror. Running hard behind us were a Mercedes-Benz SL55 AMG, a Porsche 911 Turbo, and an Aston Martin V12 Vanquish. For a brief moment, we were heading into the upper reaches of these cars' performance envelopes, before we had to brake for a slow-moving Fiat to pass an even slower truck--but what a moment.

Twenty-five years ago, if we had driven through northern Italy in the finest production supercars, they would have included a Lamborghini and a Ferrari, as well as an Aston Martin and a Porsche. (No Mercedes back then could have been called a supercar.) But where those cars would have been running out of breath at (or before) 170 mph, these five still had plenty in reserve and were still breathing hard. And they were serene at this speed, unaffected by surface or wind, their cabins cooled by effective air conditioning. That wouldn't have been the case in 1977. One thing hasn't changed, though: Beyond 160 mph, on a public highway, things happen very fast. Super high speed needs vigilance, and you don't spend much time up there dancing with the fates.

Italy is one of the best places on earth to drive supercars superfast. The police don't seem too worried about speeding, so you can run all day on the autostrada at 110 mph without fear of getting nailed. Go much faster than that, though, and you could be fined heavily--if the police weren't so thin on the ground. The minor roads that cross the Apennines are a perfect playground for these vehicles: sinuous, lightly trafficked, challenging, with plenty of creases to test a car's suspension. So long as you're sensible through towns, no one cares what you're doing in such cars; they're just glad to see them out on the road.

Of course, when we'd arrived in Italy, we weren't sure whether all five cars would actually be there. European bureau chief Georg Kacher was driving down from Germany with photographer Martyn Goddard in the two German cars; the Aston was arriving by cargo truck; and associate editor Joe DeMatio and I were picking up the Ferrari and the Lamborghini from their respective factories. Twenty years ago, one of the Italian cars might well have been waiting to have plates fitted, or we could have been greeted with a casual "I thought you were coming next week," but the advent of e-mail and professional PR departments has changed all that.

So on a sunny Monday morning, there they were, five cars sitting in the courtyard of an old Italian farmhouse. Even hardened professionals like Kacher and technical editor Don Sherman were grinning like five-year-olds at the sight. DeMatio and I nearly fainted with excitement, and only Goddard kept on an even keel. Swooning time doesn't figure for a man whose only impulse is to immortalize cars with a camera.

If you want to know why people go the extra $100,000 or so to buy the Lamborghini or the Ferrari or the Aston instead of the Porsche or the Mercedes, all you need to do is look at them. These are the supermodels of the car world. The Murcilago is squat and menacing and outrageous. The 575M Maranello is a traditional, old-school, front-engined Ferrari, with a foredeck of a hood that suggests serious power. And the Vanquish is just bloody gorgeous. James Bond is driving one in his next film, and so he should; it's as tightly tailored as his Brioni dinner suits. Even Italian passersby, who naturally gravitated toward the Lamborghini and the Ferrari, were appreciative, throwing comments of "bella macchina" our way.

The 911 Turbo looks a little prosaic in this company, but that could be a result of the 911 shape's familiarity. The SL55 AMG is elegant and would look wonderful in your garage or turning up for a dinner date, but it isn't knock-your-socks-off stunning. (If the car seems out of place here, look at the performance statistics. On special tires, an SL55 was faster at the top end than even the Lamborghini in a recent Auto Motor und Sport test.)

All five cars are gorgeous inside. Once upon a time, supercars were basically racing cars for the street, devices in which you became over-heated and uncomfortable. Nowadays, they all share the same comfort and convenience features as the most luxurious of luxury cars and are studies in supple leather, plush carpeting, and exquisite detailing.

The five interiors look very different. The Ferrari has businesslike metal accents, round eyeball air vents, and a glorious, very Italian leather dashboard. The Aston is like an English gentleman's club that has been renovated by a hip modern furniture designer, with its cool juxtaposition of metal surfaces and traditional materials. (Unfortunately, no amount of fabulous leather can hide some cheapo Ford parts bin pieces.) The Porsche looks just like a regular 911, except for the extra leather trim and stitching. The Lamborghini has the simplest, most elegant interior, and, at long last, it has rational switchgear and a sensible driving position. The Mercedes is very stylish, with great interior shapes and surface treatments, in stark contrast to the pure functionality of old SLs. Special touches include the Alcantara around the instrument cluster and on the automatic shift lever. The SL55 is also a dual-purpose car: a cozy coupe in winter or at high velocity, a convertible when you're not in the mood for speed.

Through the years, there has been no consensus about supercar layouts. Mid-engined may be best for racing cars, but on the street, you need to package people and their luggage as well as the mechanicals. Hence the variety of layouts on display here. The Aston and the Mercedes have front engines and transmissions driving the rear wheels; the Ferrari has a front engine, transaxle, and rear drive; the Porsche is rear-engined with all-wheel drive; and the Lamborghini is mid-engined with all-wheel drive. The Aston, the Lambo, and the Ferrari have monstrous naturally aspirated V-12 engines, whereas the Porsche makes do with a twin-turbocharged horizontally opposed six, and the Mercedes has a massive supercharged V-8.

When it comes to changing gears, there's no accord, either. The Aston and the Ferrari use clutchless manuals with paddle shifters and automatic modes. (You can buy the Ferrari with a regular six-speed.) The Mercedes and the Porsche both have automatics with push-button manual modes, and the Lamborghini relies on a good, old-fashioned stick shift. And you know what? There's nothing to beat the feeling of a perfectly timed conventional shift. For anyone who thinks that clutchless manuals are a gimmick, they come alive on a track, where you can use your left foot for braking, safe in the knowledge that the transmission will downshift expeditiously. On the street, too, left-foot braking gives an extra margin of safety. The Porsche and Mercedes autoboxes just don't downshift fast enough, and you can momentarily lock the rear wheels with the stability systems off.

Our plan was simple. No one with more than half a brain is going to drive cars like these on the ragged edge on the public road, because their limits are so high. With that in mind, we booked Quattroruote magazine's test track near Milan.

Day one was spent at the track, where Sherman--"Data Don"--gathered performance figures and we amused ourselves on the handling course and by acting as Goddard's photo slaves. As you can see from the accompanying chart, our five vehicles do a lot more than most cars, and they all have a sharpness on track that will blow the mind of anyone other than seasoned Le Mans prototype drivers. That evening, we discussed the finer points of our super fleet over a glass or two of the finest Brunello di Montalcino and a pleasant meal in a local trattoria. On day two, we headed for the hills and some real-world driving. Our first call was the Autostrada del Sole, en route to Reggio Emilia from Milan.

Nowadays, you get only brief bursts of massive speed as you head from the Po valley into Emilia-Romagna. The economy in northern Italy is humming, and that means that the autostrada is crowded with trucks, along with econoboxes nipping into the fast lane to get around them--and get in our way. A hundred miles in this quintet, trying to go quickly, becomes wearing. But as masters of the universe for the day, we owed it to ourselves to go fast. Kacher won the top-speed race, with an indicated 330 kilometers per hour (205 mph!) in the Lamborghini.

At Reggio Emilia, we left the autostrada for the SS63, a two-lane road that narrows and twists as it goes into the Apennines. There were too many trucks for serious pleasure, but we turned off onto the white, unmarked roads that pepper the detailed Michelin maps, where the traffic is lighter, the views are picture-postcard Italian, and you can go as fast as you like over what resemble rally stages. Through towns and villages, locals cheered and waved and chatted as they saw this procession of fabulous machinery, and we were pleased to show them engines and interiors. Sherman played to the spectators by blipping the Lambo's throttle, a move that would cause annoyance anywhere else in the world but merely provoked whoops and hollers here--from grandmothers and their grandchildren alike.

Our supercars really rock when you drive them hard. They pin you back into the seat under hard acceleration, and they threaten to pop your retinas under heavy braking. They also corner as if someone had mounted air foils on their roofs and smeared their tires with sticky gum.

The 414-horsepower 911 Turbo was first up at the test track, blasting between corners and then crushing them into submission. This is a car that uses technology to help you conquer the road, with its simple all-wheel-drive system apportioning torque where it's needed. Lift the gas on entry into a corner, let the back end slide wide, then nail the throttle. At this point, the Turbo uses rear-engined load transfer to grip and go and all-wheel-drive traction to claw through at stellar speed. Add marvelous brakes and steering to die for, and you'll have a ball without ever worrying about falling off the road. The 911's small size makes it the easiest of these five to drive fast out on the road, yet it's as stable as the Swiss franc and rides pretty nicely, too.

Both the Aston and the Ferrari employ the classic systeme Panhard layout of front engine and rear drive, a setup that dates back to the 1890s. Oh, and they have more power than you will ever really need. On the track, you must brake a little earlier than in the Porsche, let the car settle, then dial in the required angle of rear-end dangle with the gas pedal. Sure, it's old-fashioned, but, by gosh, it's fun. Driven hard, the 508-horsepower 575M feels like an overgrown 250GT Lusso, and the 460-horsepower Vanquish feels like a modern DB6, only with much more of everything. The Ferrari's steering is as precise as a neurosurgeon, and both cars' F1-style gearboxes make you feel like a hero, particularly when they blip the throttle automatically on downshifts.

The Aston is a bit of a mess on the track, with too much roll, too much understeer, and slightly spongy brakes. On real roads, though, it comes into its own. It just lives to gallop along the autostrada at 130 mph all day long, and it shrugs off mid-corner bumps as if they were minor irritants. The ride is great, too, and the steering is second only to the Porsche's. If ever a car showed that track work tells only a small part of the story, it's the Aston.

The Ferrari, too, is marvelous on the street, a big car that's brilliantly nimble and breathtakingly fast. On the track, it feels a little soft and undertired, but only a maniac would think it hasn't got enough grip on the twisting roads near Reggio Emilia. Both V-12 engines are glorious; the Ferrari's is subdued aurally, but the Vanquish's has a magnificent, soulful wail that fills the cabin. You change gear to hear the engines sing; there's so much torque, you could leave these two cars in top gear most of the day.

You expect a car as big as the 571-horsepower Lambo to flounder around, but it comes across like a gigantic go-kart on the track. It's not as spectacular as either the Aston or the Ferrari, but the tail end wants to dance more than the Porsche's. (And dance it did, off track, for both Sherman and me.) At the end of our second day with the cars, when Sherman and Kacher had left with the Aston and the Mercedes, DeMatio and I gunned the Lambo and the Ferrari toward Ferrari's hometown of Maranello. More darty than the 575M, the Murcilago rides flat and true, and it feels a lot smaller than its gargantuan width would imply. It's insanely fast, too, the speed accompanied by a wondrous, bellicose growl, a V-12 engine aria an octave or so deeper than the Aston's.

The 493-horsepower Mercedes is the surprise here. It's brutally fast, sounds like a big V-twin Ducati in heat, and is actually a better track car than the Ferrari or the Aston. There's so much midrange urge that it threatens to overwhelm the rear tires at any opportunity. However, the steering isn't as communicative as the four other cars', and we dislike the artificiality of Mercedes' Active Body Control. The simple answer to that last problem is to turn the ABC off, at which point the car becomes livelier and more pleasing to drive hard. It doesn't quite entertain or connect the way the others do, however, and is the athlete of this bunch: all the talent in the world but a bit lacking in personality.

These are five rocket ships for the road. With them, you're paying for the expertise in fine-tuning that comes from small groups of passionate, dedicated engineers and test drivers, who spend all their time with incredibly fast, potent weapons. There's a reason people like Dario Benuzzi and Roland Kussmaul have been employed by Ferrari and Porsche for so long. They just know, instinctively, what's right, as do the engineers who design the cars.

Don't expect a winner here. We would have any combination of these cars in our garages, just as we would have Louis XV and Chippendale furniture in the same room, or a Rembrandt and a van Gogh on the same wall, or a Chateau Latour and a Puligny-Montrachet with our supper.

It's remarkable how national characteristics shine through. The Mercedes and the Porsche have all the performance in the world, yet they are rational, practical choices. A 911 Turbo could be used all year round, parked on the street, and taken to the shops or onto a racetrack. It's the same deal with the Mercedes. These two Germans combine reliability with startling ability for what amounts to a bargain price.

The Italian cars and the lone Britisher are far more precious and have more character. They are special experiences; you take them out only when the planets are aligned properly and you feel like having a treat. They are perfectly usable every day, but such practice would somehow diminish their luster. The Ferrari and the Lamborghini are machismo made of metal, extroverted cars that stamp their presence on onlookers. The Aston is more restrained, more British, but utterly bewitching nonetheless. To data freaks, it's the least impressive car here, yet its ingredients gel wonderfully on the road.

At the end of a sensational two days, we all wanted different cars. I couldn't choose between the Porsche and the Aston and the Ferrari. I love the Ferrari's brio, the Aston's looks and engine, and the Porsche's raw speed and practicality. The Lamborghini is simply too over-the-top for me. DeMatio was completely besotted by the Ferrari. Sherman covets the Lamborghini. Kacher would have the Porsche, because it's the best compromise. And Goddard chose the Mercedes; he was intrigued by all that performance in a convertible. At this level, it comes down to how a car connects with you. All five supercars are magnificent, further evidence that the early twenty-first century is the best time to be an automobile enthusiast. Car lovers have never been so spoiled for choice--and never more so than at the top of the performance tree.

Aston Martin V12 Vanquish vs. Porsche 911 Turbo

Calais, France It's a different world inside the Aston Martin V12 Vanquish. Gone is the traditional British reliance on wood and chrome, replaced by a contemporary interior that was, by eleventh-hour upper-management decree, liberated from such working-class details as door handles from the Mazda Miata and air vents from Ford's European minicar, the Ka. Apart from the carryover switchgear in the center console that was originally conceived for the Jaguar XK8, the driver environment is bespoke, classy, and worthy of a car costing $228,000. The top-of-the-line Aston introduces a new mix of materials that is totally devoid of wood trim but big on brushed aluminum and Alcantara faux suede. It's no surprise that customers can choose from numerous color and trim combinations, but they can even specify the number of seats. We drove the two-passenger-plus-luggage version, which is a disappointingly tight fit for tall people. How a two-plus-two Vanquish could possibly accommodate two rear-seat occupants without resorting to chainsaw and blowtorch is a mystery to us.

By contrast with the sensuous Aston, the interior of the Porsche 911 Turbo that we used as transport to our meeting with the Vanquish is a somber place, a practical and predominantly black workplace on wheels.

Externally, the Porsche is loud, with an articulated rear wing and more air intakes than a fighter jet, whereas the shape of the Aston is calm and clean. There are no obvious aerodynamic aids, no go-faster add-ons, no overdone details. The proportions are perfect, the heritage is instantly recognizable, and the surfaces are so beautiful that you repeatedly catch yourself stroking them with the back of your hand. The Vanquish looks particularly impressive when it zooms in from behind, high-intensity-discharge headlights switched on.

It also looks good from behind the steering wheel, but it is a big car, and the visibility is appalling. The A-pillars and the rear-view mirror are almost always obstructing your forward view, and, to a lesser extent, the same applies to the tapered C-pillars and the sloping back window. Add in a large turning circle and the complex paddle-shift transmission, and you can understand why maneuvering this behemoth is hard work. The Porsche may be petite and plasticky in comparison, but it is sized much more conveniently for busy traffic and narrow roads. It also is easier to use and easier to get used to.

When Ulrich Bez became chief executive of Aston Martin, the Vanquish was almost ready for production. Bez, who used to be in charge of product design and development at Porsche, could make only a few last-minute changes, such as scrapping a plan to use taillights from the Mercury Cougar on the Vanquish and instead ordering bespoke lenses. Asked to give his personal view of the new car, Bez answers like a shot: "It is a competent, powerful, and rewarding car. It also looks and sounds great. But it is extremely sophisticated and complex. Before I came here, I did not believe that one could engineer a production model in such a complicated and costly way."

In pursuit of best-in-class structural rigidity, Aston's masterminds opted for a modular construction that incorporates the latest material and manufacturing techniques developed by Lotus Engineering. The backbone of the Vanquish is a carbon-fiber-reinforced transmission tunnel. Bonded to this lightweight centerpiece is a set of aluminum extrusions. Glued and riveted together, they form an integral part of the chassis and the passenger cell. The front and rear bulkheads and the floorpan are made according to the same recipe. The aluminum exterior skins are shaped using heat and air pressure, in a process called superforming. Fiberglass is the material of choice for the trunk compartment and for the low-stress inner body panels. The A-pillars and the windshield frame, which must absorb most of the crash energy in a rollover accident, are fabricated of specially woven carbon fiber strands. A similar technology is used for the strut-tower brace. Despite the absence of bolts and screws, the torsional stiffness of the Vanquish body is purportedly more than double that of the Jaguar XK8 coupe.

Unfortunately, the new Aston Martin weighs in at just over 4000 pounds--a few pounds more than the DB7 Vantage coupe, which is put together the old-fashioned way. In stark contrast, the four-wheel-drive 911 Turbo is a true featherweight, tipping the scales at only 3395 pounds. On the road, the prime difference between the steel-bodied Porsche and the alloy-bodied Aston lies in the varying degree of compliance. The British car is more precise, more responsive, more accurate, more instantaneous in the way it acts and reacts. This is a carver, not a glider. It requires determined, unambiguous inputs, and it will reward you with razor-sharp execution. If you're looking for a machine that will invariably clip the apex within an inch of the mark, this is it. If you always dial in exactly the right amount of lock, always brake exactly at the right spot, and always start feeding the torque in again exactly when it is safe to do so, the Vanquish will make you feel invincible.

What the Aston does not tolerate is sloppy driving. Because it is such a tight and coherent mechanical package, the Vanquish needs to be kept on a short leash. It takes quite a while to get used to the rather light steering; initially, you tend to apply too much lock and to make late mid-corner adjustments. The car hates that. It will wriggle and shrug in response, and it may even bite back when you veer ridiculously far off the intended line. Flying at more than 100 mph over empty but pockmarked French back roads, the Vanquish remained calm and composed in synchronicity with its calm and composed driver. But at this kind of speed, misjudging a corner or underestimating the severity of a crest can result in a hair-raising fishtail protest or a not-so-gentle four-wheel slide. Stability control would help--if the Vanquish had it. The only electronic active-safety aids are traction control, a winter driving mode, and a sport mode that lets you rev the engine all the way to its 7000-rpm redline. Also conspicuous by their absence are any kind of side air bags and an integrated navigation system.

At 2.7 turns from lock to lock, the rack-and-pinion steering is pleasantly direct. It also never leaves you in any doubt about what the fat nineteen-inch Yokohama tires are up to. Undulating tarmac will produce a fair bit of pulling and tugging at the wheel, but despite the liveliness in your palms, there is rarely a need to correct. That steely stiffness also applies to the brakes, which respond instantly and decelerate well. Made by Brembo, they employ four-piston calipers straddling vented and drilled discs. When cold, the brake pedal feels wooden, and the required pressure is on the high side, but as the discs warm up, braking performance becomes smoother and more progressive. Although a car fitted with juggernaut 285/40ZR-19 rear tires should not suffer from a lack of grip and roadholding, the Vanquish will occasionally struggle to translate its 400 pound-feet of torque into traction, especially in the wet. Directional stability at high speed is good but not always impeccable, especially when longitudinal grooves and light crests are involved.

On the same roads and in the same weather, the Aston is not as confidence-inspiring as the Porsche. The 911 carries a preponderance of its weight in the rear wheels, but it boasts four-wheel drive, electronic stability control, and meaty steering that provides all the feedback in the world. It's a case of solid German engineering versus charisma and character. The V12 Vanquish, like the Ferrari 550 Maranello, is an alluring and idiosyncratic thoroughbred that knows full well that its owners will relish the challenge that comes with the state-of-the-art execution. The Porsche just gets the job done--effectively, effortlessly, and with far less drama and emotion.

The Aston Martin uses a six-speed sequential manual transmission similar to the Ferrari 360's. Developed by Magneti Marelli, the paddle-controlled gearbox is capable of executing a shift in less than 250 milliseconds, but in many ways, it still isn't as satisfactory as a good conventional manual. There are two modes to choose from: Select Shift Manual (SSM) and Auto Shift Manual (ASM). In SSM, you do most of the work. Although the system automatically blips the throttle before downshifts--perhaps its neatest feature--there is always a brief pause before the next upshift, which can be made less obvious by a slight lift before pulling a higher gear. Instinct, intuition, and practice are required to avoid hiccups and delays, but even the most experienced driver will struggle when it comes to maneuvering the car into and out of reverse, especially on a slope. Although a hill holder (which can be found in most manual-transmission Subarus) would solve the problem, Aston preferred to do things the Italian way, which means that you pull both paddles to select neutral, then select upshift for first gear or press the console button for reverse. And don't forget to hold your foot on the brake! This is what makes uphill starts tricky, unless you are particularly deft with the left hoof or with the emergency brake, which is crouched inconveniently between the driver's seat and the doorsill. ASM provides a quick kickdown action followed by brisk acceleration, but the self-shifter is just not as velvety and progressive as a classic autobox. At this point, the Porsche Tiptronic manu-matic comes to mind--admittedly less involving but simple and reliable.

It's not the size or the weight that makes the Vanquish a grand tourer; above all, it's the glorious twelve-cylinder engine. Never mind that it started life as a pair of Ford V-6s, and never mind that it is only 40 horsepower more powerful than the closely related unit fitted to the DB7 Vantage, which costs a significant $85,000 less. The normally aspirated 5935-cc 48-valver develops 460 horsepower at 6500 rpm and 400 pound-feet of torque at 5000 rpm. In V-12 terms, it falls halfway between Ferrari's 456M and 550 Maranello models. It wins the horsepower sweepstakes against the Porsche's 415-horsepower, 3.6-liter twin-turbo horizontally opposed six but loses out in the power-to-weight ratio department. This does not stop the Aston from roaring from 0 to 60 mph in less than five seconds and pushing on to a top speed of 190 mph.

The V12 Vanquish is a seriously fast car, make no mistake. Although it isn't quite as rocketlike off the mark as the 911 Turbo and its maximum speed is 10 mph short of the 550 Maranello's, the V12 Vanquish reigns supreme in the 60-to-125-mph bracket. This is also the most melodious supercar engine we've listened to for a long time, even if its aural statements are inspired more by Metallica than by Mozart. Idle speed is a busy overture for four camshafts and a pair of orchestral intake manifolds. Part load is a rich mix of valve riffs and a dozen dark-voiced backup singers. Full throttle is a blend of hoarse intake rasps and stereophonic exhaust trumpets that will leave tattoos on your eardrums. The sound engineers should do a hot lap of the Nrburgring Nordschleife in the Vanquish, capture the music in motion on CD, and present it to those customers who are going to have to wait for twelve to twenty-four months for their toy. The first year's production, a mere 300 units, is, of course, long since spoken for.

It is almost impossible not to succumb to the new Aston Martin's visual attractions. But it is equally impossible to climb into this car, push the engine-start button, take off, and immediately feel comfortable with the controls and with the car's dimensions. The V12 Vanquish demands a particular driving style: minimalistic, focused, always eager to adjust to its traits. This isn't all that surprising, really. For how many decades did we try to come to grips with the once-lethal Porsche 911? The V12 Vanquish is, of course, much more user-friendly than early 911 Carreras, but it is less straightforward than a modern 911 Turbo. Why, for instance, do you have to go into neutral to select reverse? Why is traction control occasionally achieved via clutch slip rather than by brake actuation or throttle management? Why is the sport mode switched off with the engine? There are many questions and no immediate answers.

When it comes to supercars, making a choice is an emotional thing--like buying a pair of Lobb brogues instead of a pair of Gucci loafers, like selecting New Balance over Nike, IWC over Breitling, Bang & Olufsen over Nakamichi. The more you can spend, the more important are subjective factors such as prestige, presence, and personality. At this level, ability is taken for granted, exclusivity is a bonus, satisfaction is a must. No, the $228,000 V12 Vanquish is not necessarily a better car than the $111,000 911 Turbo--just as a $73,000 Blancpain Tourbillon watch tells the time no more accurately than a $50 Swatch. But the Aston may well be a more stimulating purchase--and not just for Anglophile gentlemen drivers. After all, it is rare, it has flair, it is beautiful and beautifully made, it offers plenty of power and panache, and, despite some flaws and quirks, it is a compellingly competent automobile.

2009 Alfa Romeo 8C Competizione

Long ago, when women of fashion were dressed by a personal tailor who accepted no other clients and wouldn't dream of going into retail, men of means drove handmade sports cars that seldom logged many miles before being returned to the tender mercies of the local mechanic. Such a gentleman typically garaged his long-nosed, spindly wheeled dream machine during the week, took it out for the weekend, then returned it to the mechanic on Monday morning with a list of needed repairs. He appreciated its uniqueness and no more expected that replacement engine parts - much less body panels - would fit properly into place than he would expect his tailor to address a frayed suit cuff by ordering a replacement leg from Naples.

Alfa Romeo was a leader among the fabricators of the day, its cars celebrated for their elegant lines, race-ready engines, and evocative use of hand-rubbed paint and fine, fragrant leathers, and it suffered more than most when the automobile evolved from an enthusiasm of the wealthy to an everyday means of transportation for millions. The transition was particularly difficult in the United States, the birthplace of mass production, where tinkering with a fussy foreign sports car came to seem as quaint as getting shaved every morning in a barbershop. By the mid-1980s, your average American Alfa enthusiast had devolved into a quixotic creature who invited you to admire the engine in his Milano while hoping that you'd overlook the fact that the muffler was being held in place by a coat hanger. Swallowed up by Fiat in 1986, Alfa departed from these shores altogether in 1995, leaving its fans to reflect on its past glories with a lasting affection tempered by a mordant recollection of its many faults. By that time, the one thing every American knew about Fiat (Fabbrica Italiana di Automobili Torino) was that it stood for "Fix It Again, Tony."

Now Alfa is planning to return to America, perhaps as early as fall 2009, with a product lineup that has yet to be determined - in part because, as one company official sniffed, "We have yet to determine what the American driver requires, other than a cupholder." ("Why in the world," he mused, "would anyone want to drink a beverage while driving an automobile?") Nor is a distribution deal set, apart from plans of starting with Ferrari and Maserati dealers. Meanwhile, Alfa has set the stage by producing a "halo car" - the 8C, a 450-hp two-seater priced somewhere north of $230,000 and intended to rewrite Alfa's reputation as the automotive equivalent of an aging movie star who has lost her glamour while retaining her imperious eccentricities. That goal is perhaps not unattainable - after all, Alfa manages to sell more than 150,000 cars annually worldwide and has moved ahead with quality control while few Americans were paying attention - but is the 8C good enough to polish the Alfa image in a world amply supplied with mouth-watering supercars?

As always, the proof is in the driving.

Dawn on a stormy morning found me at the Fiat Group Proving Ground, near Balocco, Italy, where two 8Cs sat side-by-side on the rain-slicked tarmac. One was black - a very good, deep "Alfa" black - and the other red, an even better red. The first thing that struck me is that these cars look a lot better in the flesh than in photographs, their design understated and subtly contoured, their lines sculpted in a series of unfolding curves as natural as those of a water-worn boulder.

Martino Domenico, a veteran factory test driver and engineer, explained that the 8C starts with a steel Maserati platform, shortened to deliver a 104.1-inch wheelbase, while the body is entirely carbon fiber, reinforced with steel and aluminum at the front and back "for the crash testing." Careful refinement of the carbon-fiber underside in Fiat's wind tunnel had made the car aerodynamically sound, he explained, without resorting to wings "or other unaesthetic things" beyond a turned-up lip at the rear. He opened the hood - a scalloped wedge that could hang in an art museum - to reveal its 4.7-liter V-8, sitting up like an egg on straw and looking pretty enough to recall the days when Alfa fans made coffee tables by balancing a glass top on an Alfa engine block. In classic Alfa fashion, the engine sits behind the front wheels, but while the transmission housing in old Alfa racing cars crowded the driver like an obstinate old dog, the 8C employs a rear transaxle that wipes out any potential trunk space - the "trunk" is a curved slit containing a fitted case with room for three bottles of wine - while providing a spacious cabin and a 49/51 percent front-to-rear weight distribution. With so much carbon fiber in the body and the interior, the 8C has a low center of gravity and a horsepower-to-weight ratio that is far superior to that of a Porsche 911 Carrera S and close to that of a 911 Turbo.

Climbing into the driver's seat, a maneuver involving none of the crawl-across-cut-glass contortions required by some exotics, I found myself in one of the most tasteful interiors ever to adorn a sports car. The carbon-fiber dash is rendered in a subtle gray-black resembling fine wool. The center console is a handsome, eleven-pound aluminum sculpture carved from a 232-pound block. Visible electronics are limited to a glowing red display, not much larger than a deckof cards, located between the speedometer and the tach. The rest is mostly leather - Poltrona Frau on the door panels and carbon-fiber seats, with wonderful Schedoni luggage strapped behind the seats. Visibility is excellent, the ergonomics are superb, and the overall effect is like being on horseback: you have power, some bits of burnished hardware, the smell and creak of leather, and a commanding view.

The engine fired up with a delightful burble that got deeper when I selected Sport mode, which opens the inner pair of the 8C's four exhaust pipes (otherwise they sound off only at high revs), tightens throttle response, and cuts shift time from four-tenths to two-tenths of a second. The only other drivetrain choice is fully automatic or manual shifting. I selected manual, pressed a button on the console to put the car in reverse - whereupon the stereo emitted a bleep like that of a tour bus backing up, the car's only aesthetically dubious feature - and ventured forth.

To reach the Fiat track, you drive down a single-lane road that has deliberately been left potholed for testing purposes. An '80s-era Alfa Spider would have jumped around on this wretched surface like keys in a jogger's pocket, but the 8C handled it with zero harshness, holding dead straight at 60 mph with my hands off the wheel.

Pulling onto the wide, wet track, I checked the mirrors and floored the throttle. The tail kicked out instantly but tucked back in with a flick of the wheel - no drama - while the engine emitted a heart-rending howl. The Alfa's song is lower in pitch than a Ferrari's and, to my ears, at least as gratifying: If Ferraris sound like the sum of all human longings, the Alfa 8C sings of longings fulfilled. Up through the gears, flipping the crescent-shaped carbon-fiber paddles behind the steering wheel - they're almost hidden from sight but always there when you want them - and soon the mouth of the first turn was opening like a whale's jaws. I trail-braked in, squeezed on some throttle, and let the dance begin.

It quickly emerged that this was a very driv-able car, a return to the old days when any decent driver could fling around a narrow-tired sports car without living too dangerously or squandering a lot of lap time. Induce oversteer with the stability control on, and the 8C catches itself as gracefully as you would, or would like to. Turn off the stability control, and you'll have to catch it yourself, all right, but the results are similar: The car straightens out with a casual Italian shrug, and you're set up to blast it through the hole. When you switch off the stability control, it's completely off, but should things go horribly sideways - delivering you, as one Alfa driver put it, into "the hands of Isaac Newton" - standing on the brakes reawakens it, hopefully before you have to learn just how much it costs to replace those carbon-fiber body panels.

The Fiat track, which incorporates turns copied from many of the world's great grand prix circuits, afforded ample opportunity to explore the 8C's considerable versatility. A blind, high-speed hilltop curve put my heart in my throat every time I took it without lifting, but the car went through it as happily as a horse trotting back to the barn. A diminishing-radius right-hander got me into the stability control about one lap in three, but the car was polite about it and the delays minimal. At one point, I passed the best of the prewar Alfas, a 1938 dual-supercharged 8C 2900B Speciale, known in its day as the world's fastest and most beautiful sports car. Watching this lanky masterpiece shrink in my mirrors was the closest I've ever come to time travel.

The transmission mapping was so good that I tried a few laps in full automatic. The car ran a trifle slower, but its upshifts, like its downshifts, were better than I could have managed with a stick (which isn't available anyway), and the computer always selected the right gear. (When I reported this to a Maserati executive, his mouth turned down at the corners as if I'd said I believed in ghosts. "Signore," he whispered, "this car will never give you the wrong gear.")

To sum up: In the 8C, Alfa has produced, right out of the box, one of the finest sports cars ever built. It's not the fastest car in the world, but it's gorgeous to look at, thrilling to hear, and capable of delivering enough dance-with-me-baby kicks to satisfy just about anyone. If you must experience brute force, set it for "launch control," turn the steering wheel to full lock, and floor it from a standing start to enjoy a 360-degree world tour while smoke pours from the rear wheel wells. It can do brutal, but that's like using a bottle of fine Chianti as a cudgel.

If you find the 8C appealing and have a quarter of a million dollars to spend, the good news is that it can be ordered in a beguiling variety of interior leathers, with options including a $9400 set of 40 percent lighter wheels (which I recommend) and a pair of green-on-white four-leaf-clover badges behind the front fenders (which I don't). The bad news is that you almost certainly cannot buy one. Only 500 8Cs are being made, and all have already been purchased. Alfa took 1200 orders in forty-eight hours, then weeded out all but what the Alfa design chief described as "proper people - collectors, friends, not speculators.

"Some of the speculators are pretty dumb," he added. "They place an order and immediately take out an ad offering the car for sale. We have people who keep an eye on that sort of thing, and we cancel the orders of those who try such tricks." So almost all 8Cs are going to wind up in the garages of wealthy collectors in Italy, Germany, the U. K., France, Belgium, Austria, Japan, Russia, Hong Kong, Singapore, and Saudi Arabia, with about ninety headed for the United States.

But it would be a shame to leave it at that. The car is just too good. One hopes that Alfa will go on to produce a less exotic version of the 8C, with a steel or aluminum body and enough additional horsepower to offset the added weight. Such a car would make a splendid flagship for whatever lineup of front-wheel-drive sedans, coupes, and station wagons - all with cupholders, no doubt - Alfa winds up exporting to the States. And it would let a lot more drivers get their hands on a wonderful creation whose soul is as beautiful as its skin.

2008 Alfa Romeo 8C Spider

Every supermodel has her favorite catwalks. In the case of the Alfa Romeo 8C Spider concept car, the most notable appearances so far have included Pebble Beach (concours d'elegance), Goodwood (Festival of Speed), the Nrburgring (Oldtimer Grand Prix), and Arese. Arese? That's the old home of Alfa Romeo, a tired and cluttered factory complex on the outskirts of Milan. When we arrived at the gate to take the lady in red carbon fiber out for a ride on the town, the clouds had opened up. Although the 8C does look pretty sexy with its tight-fitting black top strapped firmly into position, the angry Lombardian skies would have thoroughly soaked the flimsy fabric contraption in no time. Thankfully, the Italian car industry's recent state of decay provided a dry and convenient alternative location in the shape of three gutted assembly halls. Stadium-sized, with concrete floor slabs and long lines of evenly spaced cast-iron supports, these industrial monuments to former glory days turned out to be the perfect setting for this remarkable Alfa Romeo styling exercise. Penned by in-house designer Wolfgang Egger, the 8C Spider was inspired by legendary Alfa sports cars from the golden '60s such as the Giulia TZ and the 33 Stradale.

At the recent Paris show, Alfa Romeo unwrapped the production version of the 8C coupe. It goes on sale late next year for about $200,000, and as few as 500 units may be built. What about a production Spider, however? "This question is still subject to debate," answers Egger, lighting a Marlboro and puffing smoke toward the Vietato Fumare! sign on the wall. "Obviously, we would like to see the open-air version approved, too. Most of the design and engineering groundwork has been done. We now know how to package the folding top, we've made room for a 5.3-cubic-foot cargo bay, and we've triple-checked the body's torsional stiffness. But it remains to be seen whether or not we can find enough customers to justify the extra investment."

Most Italian concept cars have supertight cockpits, but the 8C Spider is an exception. The three-spoke steering wheel with the squared-off bottom adjusts in both reach and rake, the power-operated seats whir back a surprisingly long way, the footwell is deep, and there is sufficient clearance between the slab-sided door panel and the transmission tunnel. But when the manual roof is closed, the swayback silhouette causes taller people to duck and crouch in discomfort. The show car is fitted with a somber mix of black leather and brushed aluminum, but Egger has prepared a variety of alternative color schemes.

When I finally get in, I'm firmly secured in position by a clamshell carbon-fiber seatback and a merciless seatbelt. The aluminum pedals are well-spaced, but the clutch is too heavy. Unlike the production coupe, the 8C Spider concept isn't fitted with the paddleshift Cambiocorsa transmission we know from various Maseratis. Instead, it features the traditional six-speed manual from the Maserati GranSport Coupe. These cogworks can only be described as the second-best choice. First gear refuses to stick most of the time, reverse is hard to find, and the considerable slack in the shift pattern suggests that this particular gearbox was filled with grappa, not gear lubricant. Thankfully, the 32-valve V-8 plays in a different league. Its sonorous sound track makes your eardrums go numb with emotion, its subtle vibrations tingle your spine, and its take-off performance is impressive enough to briefly make the two Alfa Romeo PR guys fear for their jobs.

"This thing can accelerate from 0 to 60 mph in less than four seconds," claims Egger, grinning from ear to ear, "which underscores that the 8C is a serious driving machine, not a boulevard poseur. We expect a maximum speed of about 185 mph. Theoretically, the car could go even faster, but the drag coefficient currently holds at 0.39, because we insist on zero lift at the front axle and downforce at the rear. That's why the rear spoiler points skyward at a nineteen-degree angle. Since we fabricated the entire body and the interior of carbon fiber, this droptop tips the scales at about 3300 pounds. The weight distribution works out to a perfectly balanced 50/50."

Compared with its closely related donor car, the Maserati GranSport Spyder, the Alfa Romeo 8C is 176 pounds lighter, 2.4 inches wider, 1.2 inches lower, and 1.6 inches longer. The wheelbase grew by 4.3 inches, and it now exactly matches the footprint of the Maserati GranSport Coupe.

With the exception of the heavy clutch and vague gearbox, the 8C Spider drives like a dream. Shod with twenty-inch Pirelli PZero tires (245/40 in the front, 275/35 in the back), the striking two-seater turns this sleepy industrial complex into an impromptu slalom course, with zero-tolerance steel pylons and unmarked random excavations thrown in as additional handicaps. Despite the treacherous, dusty concrete surface, the red rocket corners with precision and sharpness. The steering is accurate, progressive, quick, and informative. The brakes, four ventilated discs straddled by fat Brembo calipers, know the full spectrum between fine retardation and instant freeze-frame. The suspension--unequal-length control arms all around but with none of the electronic trickery they are so fond of in Modena --reads the road with a confidence-inspiring mix of translation and interpretation.

If the 8C looks a little familiar from some angles, this has more to do with managerial fluctuations than with fast-moving fashion trends. After all, this shape was first shown in Frankfurt in 2003 to rave reviews, so the engineers quickly installed an interior and brought the stage-two model to Geneva in March 2004. Herbert Demel, then head of Fiat Auto, which owns Alfa Romeo, was fired before he could point his thumb in any direction, and his successor, Sergio Marchionne, was kept busy simply finding the money to pay the water and electricity bills--it was touch and go for Fiat as recently as two years ago. Did we forget somebody? Oh yes, there was KarlHeinz Kalbfell, who ran Alfa Romeo until September 2005 and Maserati until this past September. The former BMW manager was reportedly also a fan of the new sports car, but as he struggled to generate the required funds, his underlings quietly tapped other sources to keep the project ticking over. The Maserati connection remained intact all the way through the long gestation process, but the originally planned tubular spaceframe was eventually ditched in favor of a carbon-fiber monocoque, because, says Egger, "It didn't meet the pedestrian protection and crash performance

Despite the brand-new synthetic skin, the 8C Spider is, in essence, a Maserati in disguise. The transaxle layout is a straightforward carryover from the GranSport, as is the Cambiocorsa gearbox installed in the coupe. The engine was definitely not conceived in Arese, either. The beautifully detailed V-8 is a 4.7-liter version of the Maserati 4.2-liter unit. Rated at 450 hp, it produces more horsepower than both the Quattroporte and the Gran-Sport Coupe. In terms of displacement, the 8C engine even edges the Ferrari F430, which uses a 4.3-liter derivative of the same matrix. With maximum torque of 347 lb-ft available at 4750 rpm, the Alfa engine whips up more twist action than the F430, and it also distances both Maseratis.

This positioning doesn't make a lot of sense on an intracorporate level. Why does the least prestigious premium brand get the brawniest drivetrain? Who knows? Although the F430 replacement should benefit from a boost in power and torque, the GranSport replacement will be fitted with a mildly tweaked 4.2-liter unit.

The 8C Spider is a handbuilt concept, but it works well enough to keep breaking the lap record inside the shuttered Alfa factory again and again. The back straight of the building is long enough for a full blast in third gear, so here we go once more, molto vivace. With the throttle butterflies wide open and the four tailpipes blowing like chrome trumpets, you can almost see the plaster crack, and you can hear the skylights rattle in their frames. Redlined at 7800 rpm, the 90-degree V-8 keeps pushing you deep into the Sparco racing seat, which was originally developed for the Ferrari Enzo. Unlike the 8C coupe, which is all carbon fiber inside, the Spider's cockpit is dominated by black leather. Black is also the color of choice for the steeply raked windshield frame and for the steel rollover-protection elements.

Of the 500 8C coupes that Alfa Romeo will build between late 2007 and early 2009, approximately 100 cars will be exported to North America. After an absence of more than a decade from the world's largest new-car market, the brand plans to return to the States with a high-visibility, low-volume product that will be distributed through select Maserati dealers. Quite a few of the allocated vehicles have been preordered by owners of the classic Alfa 8C 2300, of which 188 units were built between 1931 and 1934. If there is demand for more of the same, the company could bring in perhaps fifty more cars, plus, of course, the 8C Spider.

According to those in the know, the parts situation is quite relaxed, thanks to the Maserati connection, and finding a suitable assembly site shouldn't be a problem. At this point, the 8C Spider squad is exploring four different avenues: Maserati in Modena, Bertone or Pininfarina in Turin, and Alfa's own in-house prototype shop. "We're always open to discussion," says Egger. "And we are every bit as enthusiastic about the Spider as we are about the coupe." I was ready to celebrate this statement with a donut that would have wrapped up a great day, despite the weather. But at 4000 rpm in first gear, the throttle cable suddenly snapped, and our supermodel slowed to idle speed. For the last few pictures, 15 mph was all the Spider could muster. No, dynamically not very exciting. But the perfect pace to dream about the day when this ragtop might join its coupe sibling on an Italian assembly line.