According the official Aston Martin bumph, the “GT” in DB7 GT stands for “Grand Tourer”. No surprise there. The phrase seems tailor made for the brand. Young aristo breakfasts on kippers, hops into his Aston, blasts across France, rocks up to the Hotel Monte Carlo and ends his day at the baccarat table. Stirred, not shaken. Although traffic, radar guns and air travel have relegated the whole grand tourer shtick to a romanticized ideal, those two little letters still stimulate an enthusiast’s desire for something comfortable, sexy and swift.
Let’s start with comfort. The GT doesn’t have any. From the first iteration to this, the most recent, the DB7 remains the automotive equivalent of a hair shirt. Unless you’re 5’8”, weigh 10 stone and have longish arms and legs, you will suffer. The steering wheel doesn’t adjust for rake. The seats don’t support anything other than Aston’s bottom line. Headroom is marginal. What’s more, all the comfort and safety gizmos— cruise and climate control, trip computer, sat nav, hands-free phone, etc.— are either absent or inadequate. There’s wind noise over 70mph, engine drone at 100, and a nasty vibration at 130+.
For drivers with transcontinental inclinations, mechanical reliability is also an issue. During my twenty-four hour test drive, the GT’s seat lever snapped off and the window motor threw a hissy fit. I passed a DB7 broken down by the side of the motorway, and another catching a lift on a flatbed. If you’re looking for a triple digit cruiser that doesn’t necessitate plotting waypoints within striking distance of an authorised service centre, you’re better off in something reassuringly German.
Of course, no Teutonic marque can match the Aston’s cachet. The DB7’s cockpit may be a tasteless farrago of switchgear and materials, but its exterior remains one of the world’s most aesthetically pleasing shapes. OK, it looks a little fish-faced from the front. But from any other angle, Ian Callum’s design is a timeless blend of perfectly proportioned curves. The GT’s mesh grill adds a welcome touch of aggression to the matrix. The bespoke five-spokes are tasteful enough, and the revised boot spoiler is, um, effective. All things considered, if you’re looking to project wealth and taste in the traditional British manor, there’s only one thing better: the Aston Martin Vanquish.
Opt for the Vanquish and you’ll own a far more comfortable and charismatic (if slightly arriviste) GT than the GT. But then you’d be missing out on a truly glorious sports car. No really. Forget Aston’s ongoing aspirations to corner the market for high end automotive S&M (suave and masculine). Forget the company’s decision to sell the GT as a GT. The Aston Martin DB7 GT is no more suited to long distance travel than a Lotus Esprit. The GT is, in fact, a fire-breathing, rip-snorting English sports car.
Check it out. Shoehorn yourself into the cabin. Press the starter button. Luxuriate in the butch yet elegant sound of the GT’s 48-valve, six-litre V12. Now, let out the clutch. The DB7 GT immediately and dramatically imitates a ballistic missile. And there’s nothing subtle about the way the car’s V12 engine gets the job done; you don’t so much drive this beast as point and shoot. It’s the muscle car that went to Oxford.
The GT’s quad cam powerplant cranks out 15 more horses and ten ft. lbs. more torque than a “standard”, slouchless Vantage. The journey from standstill to sixty is down from an entirely respectable 5.2 seconds to a deeply admirable 4.8 seconds. More significantly, the sprint from 50 to 70mph has been trimmed from 5.4 to 3.7 seconds. No matter how you slice it, this is one seriously addictive, fantastically accelerative sports car.
Astoundingly for a DB7, the fun continues in the twisties. Uprated dampers, stiffer bushes, a revised sub-frame, a brake boosting system borrowed from the Vanquish and improved aerodynamics— someone at Newport Pagnell has had a serious rethink about the DB7’s cornering. The GT feels light, tight, right. Turn in is delightfully crisp. The limits of adhesion are way, way out there. Roundabouts are dispatched with contemptuous ease. On a proper B-road, Aston’s GT even has enough savoir-faire stave off an M3.
Mind you, the GT’s engine and handling are nowhere near as refined as the Beemer’s. If you really want to get a move on, you’ll have to have a word or two with the GT’s recalcitrant six-speed gearbox. But that’s a good thing. Aston’s GT provides owners with the kind of old fashioned, seat-of-the-pants driving experience that makes Porschephiles wistful for their tail-happy throwbacks. In fact, despite its upmarket image, despite the GT badge, the DB7 GT is a bit of rough. A posh bloke’s TVR. The best driver’s car Aston has ever made.
