Aston Martin DB9

Being asked to review the Aston Martin DB9 is a bit like being asked to review your mother: you can only say nice things about it. The journalists who have driven it so far have declared it “perfect”, “intoxicating”, “spectacular”, “the ideal GT”, “a masterpiece” and “the most beautiful car in the world”.

Before I sat in the car, I knew I was going to adore it. I adored it when I first saw a picture of it. I adored it, very probably, before it was designed. Like many British schoolboys I had a picture of James Bond’s DB5 on my bedroom wall and have blindly loved every Aston Martin since.

But, desperate to demonstrate some sort of journalistic impartiality, I spent my four days of DB9 ownership looking very hard for problems with the car. Looking back at my notes, I can report two quibbles: first, the font that Aston Martin has used to inscribe “DB9” on the back isn’t very nice; second, it is disappointing that the words “Aston Martin” haven’t been embossed on the headrests.

Serious problems, I know. But there are compensations. For example, the ashtray is made from very pretty ground glass. The doors open at a very satisfying upward angle. Lit-up at night, the dashboard is the most beautiful thing you’ll see this side of the Manhattan Skyline.

And then there’s the sound of the engine. When you press the centre-facia “start” button (made of crystal glass, not plastic) there is a deep satisfying roar, a sound some have likened to the noise a sleeping tiger might make, if prodded. This analogy doesn’t seem quite right: the sound you get is more like the one you’d get if you threw a packet of Spam into a cage containing five tigers who had been starved for a week. It is awesome.

At the same time, the noise isn’t tiring: when you want it to, the V12 450bhp engine, which can take you from 0-60mph in 4.7 seconds and to a top speed of 186mph, will purr and throb quite gently. And this is why the DB9 is so great: it is powerful, but controllably so. The handling feels taut, responsive and precise. The acceleration is smooth. No manoeuvre, even overtaking motorbikes, is stressful.

And then there are its looks. I have never been in a car that so many people have wanted to stroke, photograph and dribble over. The nose looks like a shark. The rear conjures the image of a panther about to pounce on its prey. It is stunning. You’d get less attention if you strapped a naked Jennifer Aniston and Brad Pitt to the roof rack of a Mondeo.

Of course, unlike some of its German competitors, the hand-built DB9 isn’t packed with gadgets. And, of course, it is as thirsty as a football hooligan on match day: at one point I looked at the petrol gauge, saw that the tank was a quarter full, and decided to drive back home without stopping at a petrol station. Just half an hour later John Richards from Ash Farm in Porlock was rescuing us with a can of unleaded.

But who cares about gadgets in a car that is so beautiful to drive? Who cares about fuel consumption of 17.1mpg (combined) on a car that costs Pounds 103,000? The DB9 is so good I’d rather have it than any of its more expensive rivals, including the Pounds 110,000 Bentley Continental GT and the Pounds 170,500 Ferrari 612 Scaglietti. Amazingly, at Pounds 103,000 the DB9 is a bargain. Sell your mother if you have to, but join the queue for one.

Published 11 September 2004

Copyright Financial Times