2015 Jaguar F-Type Coupe Strikes Midnight In A Perfect World

"THERE IS no scientific discoverer, no poet, no painter, no musician, who will not tell you that he found ready-made his discovery or poem or picture – that it came to him from outside, and that he did not consciously create it from within.” So said William Kingdon Clifford, a Victorian mathematician from a time when mathematicians looked like arctic explorers with empire-building middle-names. More recently, JK Rowling declared that the notion of Harry Potter simply strolled into her mind, and in Endtroducing..... DJ Shadow confides that the music is coming through him.

Such effortlessness can be hard to do in car design. Scores of designers are endlessly tasked with drawing new cars alongside bodykits and facelifts, sketching to the twitch of the manager’s eye. The analogy of monkeys writing Shakespeare given enough time has been made before, only time is the first thing to go with model ranges expanding so rapidly.

So how does pure design survive, and not lose its simple majesty when the whip is shouting ‘keep drawing’? It comes down to the designer as much as the design, and a chain of managers who recognize beauty in simplicity. Or, for the designer, keep drawing the same thing. Give them no other choice! And so it is with the F-type Coupe. A simple, clean, pure design. Quite heavy, admittedly, but one whose curves you are likely to relish. It isn’t really new, although there are novel touches, and the rear lamps could have come from any one of Jags concepts ten years ago. It matters not. The cynic in me often mitigates superlatives by declaring cars merely attractive, but the Jag is, in fact, beautiful. Not eye-of-the-beholder beautiful, but universal Scarlett Johansson pulchritude, the Jaguar F-Type Coupe lets you count the ways.

2015 Opel Range Is Too Good To Be True

GM Technical Centre, Warren, MI

GENERAL MOTORS is about to go chasing after Dacia. That's the latest news according to the US company as it attempts to increase profitability at Opel and regain market share in Europe. That means a cheap hatchback and a cheap SUV either entering the current Opel line-up or being put within a parenthetic sub-brand. 

Meanwhile, Opel's are styled as though dropped in from a higher price point. The Astra and Insignia are handsome, well-sculpted cars with some expensive-looking detailing. The Monza concept took that to another level, with a sophisticated bodyside and tremendous stance. 

The previous Astra got it right too: a clean, machined and neatly detailed design with each element interlocking with the next. It looked expensive, and also simple. Look at the past two Golf generations, and it is easy to see how Opel could have carried this precise machined aesthetic across the range. Instead, Opel abandoned clearly defined boxiness and chased emotive surfacing to pursue premium-ness.

Here's an easy way to define premium-ness: which car looks the most expensive? Now divide perceived price by retail price and you have an equation for defining value. Parallel to this, however, is the matter of expectations. Do you expect an Opel to look pricier than an Audi? This scenario doesn’t allow much room for authenticity, which is problematic for two reasons. Authenticity is confirmation that the product delivers what was promised. 

Thus, authenticity is trust, which builds relationships. By producing affordable cars that look too good, Opel risks creating a mismatch between customer and product. Only they haven’t: a new Vauxhall Astra costs $30,000. You could by an Audi for that. 

2015 Opel Karl

I believer in using existing consumer behaviour to define strategy. But Opel is tricky. Not even emotive designs can alleviate the dire un-sexiness of the brand, denting prospects for private ownership. Price and products are not going to be enough to sustain. There is, however, an unlikely silver-lining their large customer base in the rental market. Instead of pursuing design-led exclusivity, Opel could harness car-sharing inclusivity with emphasis on service as much as product. DriveNow and Uber show how is being done. Until then, the Opel Karl will have to do.

1981 Mercedes-Benz SLC Is In A Class Of Its Own

IT HAS taken 32 years, five cars, and a lot of Google Translate, but at last I own a Mercedes-Benz. Yesterday I said yes to a beautiful sage-green 380 SLC. Or 380 SL C, to be precise. The kerning is important. A separate 'C' shows that it was a coupe derived from the SL. When SLC replaces SLK in a couple of years, you can be sure that space will have disappeared. Ironed out. Homogenised. Perhaps the most appealing aspect of the C107 SLC is how for so long it appeared an anomaly in the Mercedes range.

With no direct heir or precedent, the SLC was for a long time the distorted version of the splendid roadster. In developing the SL, Mercedes’ styling team worked hard to visually lengthen the short-ish wheelbase of the roadster: cue an abundance of chrome and ribbed flanks. These elongations complemented the more limousine-like comfort levels that the car introduced. Trouble is, the SLC added a foot to these lines, and those tricks were stretched beyond their intent.

Yet look at today’s cars: hatchbacks are enormous, and the wheelbase that once seemed too much on the SLC is now comparable to that of a C-Class. Suddenly those proportions leave the SL looking stumpy, and the SLC in a class of its own.

Class. An important word to describe the sage Mercedes. When I first drove her (and it is a her), I can only describe the feeling as if gently commandeering a stately dowager. Inputs were suggestions, for which you would be glad of a response. Turn the wheel clockwise, and she would consider, before deigning to swoop to the right. Press your foot closer to the thick carpet, and hear her sigh ‘must we?’ before kicking down and huffing along. She sweeps down the road as though descending a marble staircase, her chrome hanging with the effortless superiority of pearls.

The model we found is a 1981 model originally registered in Switzerland, and until recently resided near the shores of Lake Constance in Germany. Constance, as we now address her, sports a beige leather interior, electric windows and sunroof, plus ABS. Naturally, her alloy V8 is complemented by the 4-speed automatic, and naturally, any performance gusto one might expect can be bettered by, say, a Honda Jazz. We tried earnestly to encourage a degree of alacrity, to which she responded by doing everything she had been doing, but more loudly. By that time there was more speed it did not seem quite so necessary; better to flick the cruise control lever up and nestle into the squishy chairs at 3000rpm. Now that you have been introduced, don't be surprised if you meet Constance in future.

2016 Audi Q7 Has Weight Of World On Its Shoulders

2016 Audi Q7

THREE WORDS make-up the marketing mantra:  consistency, consistency, consistency.  It helps brands build recognition by relentlessly consolidating identity. Never deter. Momentum mounts, a rising tide of inevitability and permanence befitting premium-ness. Audi has practiced this for twenty years, with frequent brand-boosting concepts such as the Avus. Each car builds upon its predecessor with ever-enhanced proportions and quality. Investment in LEDs asserted the brand further, championing the role of the detail designer. Underlying all of this is perfect stance, Atlas' shoulders for planet Audi. But in developing the new Q7, Atlas shrugged.



That Audi kept the same sketch of the out-going Q7 and used it for the new model is not the issue: the translation to 3D is. How did such a poised and slick design become so leaden? The new Q7 has always been a heavy car, and now looks it. Slab-sides span high shoulder and low rocker: no black-out here or deep shoulder to carry the mass. Surfaces hang heavily, like soaking sheets. All the depth of the bodyside has been used for chunky arches, leaving the shoulder a peculiar frown of creases. The greater Audi's efforts, the greater the car bears down on its wheels. Audi must re-find its spirit.

2013 Opel Monza Concept Is Brake Without Tradition

THANKFULLY THE Opel Monza concept has little to do with the bluff coupe made 30 years ago. Instead Opel has produced a sleek shooting-brake. Cleanliness is the key here: only one cutline visibly interrupts the shoulder; there are no seals, and the glass runs into the shoulder line. The careful positive door-section is inclined to reflect the ground to convey lightness, billowing out for the rear wheel, yet with a rocker that is teardrop in plan. Two chrome strips frame a single large door, the upper strip running the length of the cant-rail, featuring a neat scalloped section, before hooking into the tail-lamps. 

The rear is notable for the absence of any corner, with a high slim metal trunk face the rearmost surface, instilling lightness and newness despite the familiarity of the layout. The front eschews the rounded section of production models for a squared Y-zero (what hip designers call the centre-line). Anthropomorphic headlamps have been replaced by a more severe, less expressive face that focuses on the tight mesh texture, grille bar and running light. This is tone-on-tone and nuanced detail design used to excellent, if sober, effect.

The interior is a compelling example of how projectors can replace screens for an immersive interface experience, liberating flat screens into shapes that correlate with screen content. Next to the dancing displays, the seats seem a little static, though the door card captures that fleeting, wind-blown lightness of the bodyside with a white sail running beside the driver.

Like the Citroen C4 Cactus and Cadillac Elmiraj concept, the Monza first gets the dimensions right. After years of ever-growing cars, the reductionist result is startling: the product feel sustainable, personal and efficient. It is a year since we first saw the Monza (apologies for the wait. Ed); I hope we are a year closer to seeing similar on the links.

2015 Citroen C4 Cactus Gets Lady Lumps

  

WOMEN REJOICE! A car that can take the knocks and scrapes from trolleys and bad parking has arrived. Citroen has listened to you and AirBump is the answer, a grid of lumps covering the flanks. Marketing will love it too: the appeal of an overt design solution is how easily digestible the conundrum is, that an everyday problem can have a solution so easy to articulate. That it is easy to get into and has great visibility establishes it not just as brand vision, but a clear illustration of bullet-points gathered from market research. 

This rational approach extends to a pebble-clean body uninterrupted by light-catchers and creases. This could have been a stodgy design, yet there is a grace and lightness afforded by a carefully considered gesture in the shoulder and perfect wheel-to-body relationship. The front and rear graphics uses today's popular separated headlamp concept, and revives the pill/lozenge trend exemplified by the 2006 Mazda Ibuki concept. This geometric approach is equally appealing inside where a sturdy IP gives the impression of a solid extrusion from which precisely hewn switchgear and vent details are hung. 

The Citroen C4 Cactus marks a concerted effort to differentiate Citroen from the DS line-up, not just through the glitz of the latter, but through the grounded consumer-centricity of Citroen. The question is not its success in achieving that with the C4 Cactus, but whether the niche-by-niche approach is in danger of destabilizing the range. A glance towards Volvo shows how effective a traditional package is at supporting an aesthetic argument: a vision of the next C5 might just do that, with or without lumps.

In Memorium: Car Window Stickers

I LOOKED in every window. Through every screen I peered. Each pane was a barren expanse bereft of logo, address, or birth place. Car windows used to be bulletin boards of memories and journeys lived, recording sea-side trips and impromptu weekend jaunts. They were bearers of our journeys, aides memoire to the distance we have traveled.

A fading BMW E9 resides close by. Its rear screen bears a garland of stickers of dormant counties from when a journey ended somewhere other than where you departed, symbolizing the moment when your mind grew ever so slightly broader. The rear screens of modern cars have no such story. Amnesic windows stare blankly back, just the silent digits of the speedometer testament to roads traveled.  So many years of motoring, and no memories. A mantelpiece with no photo frames.

The dearth of car stickers is a sad reflection of the relationship we now have with the car. No longer do we name our cars or strew gee-gaws around. The phone has replaced the car as our companion; a Volvo a Labrador no more. The quiet pleasure of recording journeys with stickers gave soul to our machines. But in a market where cars are more likely leased than sold, how can we embrace something that is never truly ours.

2015 Kia KX3 Concept Is Perfect For BRICs

SHAKESPEARE SPOKE of the infinite variety of life. Looney Tunes said expect the unexpected. I don’t think either would have foreseen in 2003 a cash-strapped Lego becoming the Mattel-vaulting phenomenon it is today. Lego started its rise when it bought rights to Star Wars to produce yellow-faced merchandise. Harry Potter soon followed. In fact, much of the popularity of Lego is founded on taking established products and given them the brick treatment. 

In making friendlier versions of established rivals, the strategy of Kia under design director Peter Schreyer is similar to Lego. Want a Golf but find it too stiff? Buy a C'eed. Corsa too conventional? Rio please. And why buy a clip-on Mondeo when you can have a silk-knit Optima? Each Kia model has a youthful vibrancy worthy of Lego, with details given product-like attention. It is a refreshing approach: Kia doesn't take itself too seriously, yet the professionalism of the design execution is self-evident.

The latest car, the KX3, seems likely to be the next Sportage and is the cutesy cover version of the Cayenne. Highly perched lamps, sunken bonnet and low grille faithfully ape Porsche proportions. The expression is fun toy, which could easily dissolve to spurious cheapness were Kia not so adept at generating bold volumes that warrant a sense of pride. 

The bodyside has a Rio-sourced bodyside with chunky arches, although the shoulder that Kia usually gets so right lacks a little assertion (budget-consciousness excuses the skinny chrome). Equally the back of the car, though pleasantly resolved, doesn't quite match the funkiness of the front. 

The small SUV is hot property in developing markets, yet there is still a motley crew of profferings. Ford blew it with the EcoSport; the 500X Fiat is for 500-fans only, and Dacia is a bit too Crocs for me. Only the Honda and Volkswagen offer any style. Everything is awesome for Kia, then? Not quite, but close enough. If Lego can up-stage Barbie, then Kia bettering VW is not such a distant fantasy.

2015 Porsche Macan Is Even Better Than The Real Thing

TWO COWS standing in a field. One says to the other Are you worried about Mad Cow Disease. The other replies No, I'm a squirrel. I often think similar of car-makers, when one brand promises success in a sector where everyone else has failed. In 2002 the SUV market was still getting used to its new nomencalture: hitherto it had always been 4x4 or off-roader, or sometimes Jeep. Porsche changed all that. Where Range Rover was dutifully carrying hunters toward grouse, and The Duke of Edinburgh around his estate (possibly the same thing), in came the Cayenne with an adversion to rocks and an predilection for speed. Cheshire and Chelsea loved them, and Porsche became associated with another acronym: WAG.

These were pre-Kardashian days, when television's Big Brother was still a novelty and the financial crash inconceivable. How we ridiculed Porsche! We were so obsessed with rational, plausible products that represented easy extrapolations of our preconceptions, that the appeal of a sporty 4x4 was initially overlooked. But the Cayenne was a hit. Through it we learned an important lesson: build it and they will come (hang on, that sounds familiar). Being desirable is reason enough to warrant development. Heart over head, and all that. So what could be more desirable than a smaller, faster, sportier, sexier Cayenne? Enter the Macan.

Let's start at the front. At first, the graphics fool you into believing you are looking at the scion of a 911, lamps poised dexter et sinister to a low nose bearing  Zuffenhausen heraldry. Then you see that this is atop a sedimentary layer of inlets, splitters, fogs and black-out, all keeping as quiet as possible so that your eyes don't get distracted. The cleverly sculpted fender wraps over the lamp, where it is sunk beneath a crease to give the impression of a separate volume a la you-know-what. Another crease further inboard helps lift the centre-line so that the bonnet has the necessary engine clearance for pedestrian safely. 



The body-side is another game of seeing how high the main design theme can start. Plain, geometric carbon inserts and black-out lift the main light-catcher above knee-height, but the killer feature here is just how phat that haunch is, spilling out more than any non-911 has dared. Clever, too, is that the roofline remains quite level, rather than dipping like a coupe, providing more rear head-room inside (which is a triumph, interior fans). The fast rear-screen and metal bustle give tremendous accelerative shunt to the car, finished by tail-lights that give the finger to Mercedes, who invented, then dropped the whole rib thing long ago. 

This is the first new car in a long time that I would re-mortgage for. Bold, voluptuous, simple, detailed. Porsche has absolutely nailed it. In some ways the styling looks even more comfortable on this package than the 911. That the Porsche Macan is too heavy, too expensive, too thirsty seems to not really matter when it converts so ably the aesthetic currency of the 911 into a more usable proposition. Everything you could ever want? You'd be nuts to buy anything else.