There’s a lot to be said for the look of a car. Tearful poems could be written, if you were that way inclined, and epic soliloquies performed. For there are plenty of attractive cars and some of them go quite fast as well. But how many sound so beautiful that they make you think twice before plugging in the iPod? Indeed, how many cars have an iPod plug-in?
Not many is the answer in both cases, but the Aston Martin V8 Vantage is one such car. No slouch in the visual department, it’s also a rare aural delight. I say this as someone who normally finds little pleasure in hearing an accelerating engine. Most often, and especially late at night outside my house, it inspires only thoughts of the violent revenge I’d like to carry out on the driver of the guilty vehicle.
But I feel sure I could listen to CDs of a speeding V8 the way some insomniacs find comfort in recordings of whale song. It’s a deeply soulful sound, like a John Coltrane solo — only played on an alloy camshaft rather than a tenor saxophone.
What’s more, it grows sweeter as the revs increase, so you can find yourself flirting with three penalty points while accelerating towards that beckoning siren sound. Alas, “I’m sorry officer, I was beguiled by the music of the engine” is the kind of explanation that soon leads to an exchange with a breathalyser.
Why buy an Aston Martin V8 Vantage rather than, say, a Porsche 911? To most of us, this is about as relevant as asking where we would least like to live, North Korea or Burma. It’s an abstract inquiry, a hypothetical game. Nevertheless, there are individuals who do face this very dilemma.
And the answer, ultimately, is that you’d opt for the Vantage for reasons of style.
It’s not going to blow a 911 off the road and Aston Martin would be hard-pressed to match Porsche’s reliability. But Aston Martin is a name inextricably linked to James Bond, so it is a key signifier in the schoolboy fantasy world that many men, in particular, would ideally like to inhabit. Driving the Vantage does nothing to crush the fantasy. In fact, it’s a sublime joy. It hugs the road as the senses reach skywards, delivering an exhilarating and yet pleasingly controlled drive. I spent a glorious day cruising through the countryside of western England, and at one point parked on top of a forested hill to go and commune with nature.
Returning to the car after some stiff exercise, I could see the silver Vantage glinting through the trees like the promise of another life. The scene was as arresting as a remembered dream, as though it carried hidden significance. I’ve thought of it often since. I think what it means is I’ll never own an Aston Martin. —