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The Quail is the place to go for hypercar reveals
There is a raucous rave of V12s with the Aston Martin Valkyrie and the Ferrari Daytona SP3. It’s crowded in the V8 vestibule where you’ll find the Red Bull RB17, a couple of Koenigseggs, the Czinger 21C, the Venom F5 and the Aston Valhalla. While out on the V10 veranda taking a breath of cool air are the aforementioned Solus GT and the Rodin FZero. The V6 AMG One is on its own in the kitchen, while the Bugatti Mistral is just brooding with a cigar in the W16 wing.
Sounds like fun. But sometimes, and this feels like an odd confession, I’m not sure how I feel about hypercars. I find them hard to place in my own automotive hierarchy. Hard to rationalise. When the P1, LaFerrari and 918 Spyder were doing the rounds, I found myself thinking that I would rather have a 675LT, Speciale or GT3. Even if you took money out of the equation. And I stand by that today. The performance (certainly on the road) of that ‘cheaper’ trio is so close to that of the top-tier trinity that it makes no odds and their handling is, in almost every regard, more engaging and enjoyable.
Don’t get me wrong, I’ve absolutely loved driving hypercars when I’ve had the chance, but rationally I somehow don’t feel like they are the pinnacle. And that perplexes me, because surely they should be the ultimate in terms of driving pleasure? Even more confusingly, if I don’t think hypercars are as objectively good as their cheaper siblings, how can I justify them and why do I want to? Because, despite everything, I do.
"Surely these cars are too extreme, too wrapped up in numbers that are meaningless and unusable? If you actually care about driving, then you’re better off looking lower down the price lists"
What’s more, as hypercars have become ever more hyper in the subsequent years since the LaF, 918 and P1, so I feel the argument against them has strengthened. The RB17, Rodin, Valkyrie AMR Pro and Solus GT aren’t even road-legal and unless you have the skills and neck muscles of a seasoned racing driver, it’s unlikely that you will be able to get anything approaching the maximum out of them.
For those cars that are able to wear a number plate, there is the feeling that they simply won’t be any fun on the sort of roads that I think a lot of us enjoy driving on. Fancy a road trip with a few friends? Would you really want to take the car with no luggage space and the NVH properties of a de Havilland Tiger Moth?
Surely these cars are too extreme, too wrapped up in numbers that are meaningless and unusable? If you actually care about driving, then you’re better off looking lower down the price lists. Or spending the same amount on a car like the gorgeous Tuthill 911K that was also revealed on a fairway last month. A car that will fit down a normal road and which you will have a hope of actually extending to its limits.
All of which brings me to Coldplay.
"By taking things to excess, by sacrificing some drivability and usability, by often magnifying one particular element to the detriment of others, they provide an elevated, emotional experience"
I went to see them play live in Wembley Stadium recently and it was extraordinary. Ignore the songs. This is not about whether Yellow is your cup of musical tea or you can lip-sync to Fix You. This is about the event. Set the following scene to whatever tune, baseline, anthem or aria you like.
Walking into the concert everyone was given an LED bracelet to wear throughout the show and as the first chords rang out, the stadium lit up. A sea of coloured, subtly moving light, like phosphorescence captured in a vast salad bowl. The hues would change and mingle, sometimes rippling through the audience, sometimes dimming slowly then bursting back to full brightness on a beat. And because you were wearing one of the lights you felt not merely a spectator but a participant in the performance. You were only a tiny part of the enormous whole, but nonetheless you were included, swept up and sharing in the spectacle.
To me it was a heightened version of – and therefore affirmation of – what a live event can provide. A great example of why such things are worth the money. If you were to assess it purely as a listening experience, solely on its musical merits you would be better off popping on some headphones and immersing yourself in the crystal clarity of a studio recording. Bigger doesn’t mean better. But to dismiss concerts on that basis is to miss out on the event.
And I’ve come to the conclusion it’s the same with hypercars too. To judge them and dismiss them based on their dynamic merits and limited potential use cases is to rather miss the point. They too are an event. The stadium concert of the automotive world. Perhaps imperfect but glorious and life-affirming. By taking things to excess, by sacrificing some drivability and usability, by often magnifying one particular element to the detriment of others, they provide an elevated, emotional experience.
They might scare and challenge. They might begin to deafen and even hurt after a while. They might not make you want to drive them very often, just as you wouldn’t want to pop to Wembley every time you wanted to hear A Sky Full of Stars. But despite these shortcomings, if they’ve been done right, then the infrequent occasions when you do get to experience them will be unforgettable. Not perfect, but deeply impressive in a wild way that something more usable and drivable probably can’t be.
So, although I would still rather have a Cayman GT4 RS than any of the hypercars I’ve driven, I feel like they do have their place and purpose. The key for me is not to think of them as the pinnacle, despite being more extreme and more expensive than anything else. Rather they simply hold an attraction that couldn’t be replicated by being lesser.
Or perhaps I’m still overthinking this justification. Maybe I should just accept that I’ve genuinely got goosebumps as I write this thinking about the Solus GT and imagining the sound of a race-ready V10 yowling past. I shouldn’t try to rationalise that.

