“How ya gonna keep ‘em down on the farm after they’ve seen Paris?” So said the farmer to his wife about the chances that their sons would return home following the end of the First World War. The societal implications aren’t quite so large, but the same might be wondered about the redesigned-for-2012 Audi A6. Now that the sexy A7 is available, why get the staid sedan with which it shares a chassis, powertrain, and interior?

Exterior styling is far and away the largest difference between the A6 and A7. To craft a Mercedes CLS competitor out of the sedan, Audi more dramatically flared the wheel openings, removed the frames from the side windows, lowered the roof a couple of inches, and relaxed the arc of the roofline to flow it all the way to the rear of the car, creating a hatchback. None of the tweaks are eye-grabbingly radical, but together they do yield a considerably more stylish whole. The most beneficial tweak might be the upward sweep of the A7′s beltline over its rear wheel. There’s no such curve in Audi’s sedans, including the new A6, and the rear quarters appear less dynamic as a result. (Though there’s just enough metal between the rear wheel opening and beltline of the new A6 to avoid the poorly proportioned, pinched appearance of the current A8’s rear quarters.) This isn’t to suggest that the A6 is an unattractive car. It’s very tastefully styled and in aesthetic terms easily holds its own against the current BMW 5er and Benz E-Class. The problem is that we’ve now seen the A7. This makes Audi a serial offender: the A4 sedan doesn’t look so good once you’ve seen the related A5 coupe. On top of this, while I’ve never had an inherent problem with the “same sausage, different lengths” German design philosophy, and even believe that a high level of design consistency is good for a brand, the current trio of Audi sedans might carry this philosophy too far. They’re hard to tell apart at a glance.

Some interior details vary between the A6 and A7, but as with those that have too often been relied on to differentiate the sibs within GM’s litters they’re the sort of differences you’ll only notice when directly comparing the two cars. For example, the triangle of wood trim on the front doors has a high trailing point on the A7 but a low trailing point on the A6. Both interiors are attractive in the same tastefully restrained way, especially when fitted with the same trim options (such as the naturally finished wood trim on the tested A7 instead of the glossy timber on the tested A6). Both cars are available with the same impressive electronics, including a nav system that employs Google maps to display a satellite image of your location and front-and-rear obstacle detection systems that display the closeness of nearby objects by quadrant in addition to the typical beep.

Coupes that are more stylish than their sedan counterparts are far from new. But about 30 years ago manufacturers realized that they could craft sedans that looked and drove more like coupes, and coupe sales consequently plunged. Over the past decade there has been a mild revival in coupe sales, if we’re willing to grant that the Mercedes CLS and Audi A7 are “coupes” despite their rear portals. But why offer both a “four-door coupe” and a sedan? Ostensibly, for the same reason you’d offer both a coupe and a sedan: the latter will be roomier, easier to get in and out of, and altogether more functional. No problem here in the original Mercedes case: the first-generation CLS was certainly far less functional than the E-Class on which it was based.

The problem with the Audis—admittedly not a bad problem to have: the A7 isn’t significantly less roomy than the A6. The A7’s roofline might be a couple inches lower, but somehow headroom is only reduced by a few tenths up front and by less than an inch in back. Shoulder room and legroom similarly differ by only a few tenths of an inch. The A7 is also just about as easy to get in and out of as the A6. People getting into the rear seat don’t have to engage in contortions to avoid banging their head on the header. Once they’re ensconced, either car’s back seat is adequately roomy and comfortable. Nothing impressive, lest the A8 lose its raison d’etre, but little to complain about, either. The A7’s primary interior limitation is entirely artificial: there’s no center seating position. On the other hand, the A7 is actually the more functional car when cargo hauling is called for, given its large hatch.

If you’re not feeling much need for speed, and care more for keeping the initial outlay and fuel bills low, the A6 sedan is available with Audi’s ubiquitous 211-horsepower 2.0-liter turbocharged four-cylinder engine. I actually requested an A6 with this engine, but none was available. So the tested A6’s four wheels, just like those in the A7, were driven by a 310-horsepower supercharged 3.0-liter V6. The supercharged six isn’t dripping with character even in 325-horsepower tune in the performance-oriented S4, and has even less personality in the A6/A7 application. But driving all four wheels through a ZF eight-speed manually-shiftable automatic transmission it certainly accomplishes the task of moving the car, feeling much more powerful than its official power ratings suggest in the process. Tipping the scales at just over two tons, the A6 3.0T is about 150 pounds lighter than the A7, and consequently might be a little quicker. Though the BMW 535i xDrive manages to point a little higher, the A6 3.0T’s EPA ratings of 19 city and 28 highway are nevertheless impressive given the car’s curb weight, performance, and all-wheel-drive (if far off the 2.0T’s almost shockingly good 25/33). The trip computer’s reports were in line with these ratings.

Much like its powertrain, the Audi A6’s chassis is supremely competent. Understeer creeps in later and less heavily than with older Audis and body motions are well controlled, with just a hint of bobble from time to time. Thanks to the all-wheel-drive system, even unwise throttle applications mid-turn don’t upset the car’s composure. The harder the sedan is pushed, the better it behaves, inspiring confidence. Within the segment, only the BMW arguably handles with as much precision and poise, and even the 5er now has less communicative steering. Compared to the A7, the A6 rode a little more smoothly, but how much of this was due to the lower profile tires on the former (265/35YR20 vs. 255/40YR19)? The A7’s optional sport suspension might be a little firmer than that in the A6, but the difference is not dramatic. Especially when so equipped neither car provides the sort of smooth, quiet, insulated ride you’ll find in a Lexus. Older A6s had higher interior noise levels, but the new ones continue to trail the ultra-low segment average. And yet, compared to the S4 with which they share an engine, both the A6 and A7 also feel considerably larger and much less overtly sporting. The A6 is about eight inches longer and nearly two inches wider than the S4, but it’s only about 200 pounds heavier, so the difference in driving feel isn’t entirely a matter of physics. One factor: the S4’s optional active rear differential isn’t offered in the A6 or A7. In either of them you’re clearly driving a largish four-door. Perhaps a more overtly sporty driving experience should have been part of the A7’s role. If so, consider this an opportunity lost. For better or worse, the A6 and A7 drive nearly the same. Competence to spare, but limited passion.

So far we’ve got no compelling reasons to buy the A6 instead of the A7 unless you’re a knuckle-dragger who believes hatchbacks are only suitable for subcompact economy cars. But how about this one: Audi charges over $7,000 extra for that fifth door. Equip an A7 like the $57,470 tested A6, and the sticker will read $64,845. How attractive does that A7 seem now? Should the A6 instead be seen as offering all of the goodness of the A7, save the sexy sheetmetal, at a considerably lower price?

Well, this depends on how the 2012 Audi A6’s price compares to those of its direct competitors. Equip a BMW 535i xDrive with everything on the tested Audi A6, and it lists for over $10,000 more. But it also includes more stuff because of how BMW packages features and options: things like power-adjustable seat bolsters, adaptive shocks, a power-adjustable steering column, and keyless access and ignition (a standalone option not on the tested Audi). Adjust for these using TrueDelta’s car price comparison tool, and the Audi’s price advantage shrinks to a mere $6,670. Skip the sport packages and this difference is cut in half (BMW charges much more for its more comprehensive package). No longer $10,000, but no matter how you slice it the Audi is considerably less expensive than the 5er as well as its prettier sister.

The usual caveat at this point: compared to anything German, you can spend a lot less by opting for something Japanese. Yet compare the Audi A6 to the Infiniti M37 and you’ll find that they’re within $1,000 of one another, with the modest advantage usually going to the Audi. In this light, the A6’s price seems very competitive.

Ultimately, it’s hard to find fault with the 2012 Audi A6 based on any objective criteria. It might not be as fun to drive along a winding road as an S4, but then no sedan with an adult-friendly rear seat is. The A6 3.0T’s engine is strong yet efficient. Its chassis handles with poise and precision while also riding fairly smoothly and quietly. Its interior is stylish and adequately comfortable, if short of luxuriously plush (that’s just not the Audi way). We’re back with the problem posed initially: the A7 performs the same, accommodates people about as well, accommodates cargo better, and has a sexier exterior. How, then, to get excited about the A6? We’re left with its much lower price, but how exciting is that? The A7 proves that it’s possible to offer a more stylish car with no significant tradeoffs. So why not do it? Or, taking a different tack, if you’re going to offer two models, why not style and tune the A7 to make it far edgier than the A6? One possibility comes to mind: even though it’s nearly as conservative as the A6, the A7 is just too sexy for too many luxury car buyers. After all, many doughboys DID return to the farm. For those luxury car buyers who cannot handle the sleek hatch (and those who simply don’t want to pay the excessive premium for it), the A6 does just about everything very well.

Audi provided the car with insurance and a tank of gas.

Michael Karesh operates TrueDelta.com, an online provider of car reliability and real-world fuel economy information.

I needed a suitable car for a spirited 500-mile run to the “coolest small town in America,” and back. One leaped to mind: the Audi S4 with its optional active differential. In our first encounter, the current “B8” S4 underwhelmed me. Though quick and capable, it just didn’t feel special. “A4 3.0T” seemed more apt. But that car lacked the trick diff. And metro Detroit’s roads aren’t the most challenging. A re-test was warranted. The roads of Southeastern Ohio and West Virginia would provide it.

My first reaction upon seeing the imola yellow sedan: “So much for stealth.” I needn’t have worried. Though subtly attractive, the S4 is nevertheless a four-door sedan that’s decidedly less sexy than the related S5 coupe. Even in yellow it doesn’t attract unwanted attention from law enforcement the way a sports car would. Scratch the “even in yellow:” against a background of fall foliage the bright hue serves as camouflage. The wheels’ $150 “titanium” finish attractively contrasts with the yellow, but could be obtained for free by simply not washing the regular 19s (the brakes’ plentiful dust is nearly the same color). The tested S4’s black leather interior is similarly tasteful to a fault and all business, with only some dark gray alcantara and aluminum trim to liven the place up. (Silver/black and red/black are available interior color options, though the latter does nix the butt-restraining alcantara and require another $1,000 for this favor.) Audi’s “MMI” interface is much easier to operate here than in the Q5 crossover, as the shifter serves as an armrest while working the system’s knob and foursome of buttons.

The biggest problem with the drive from Detroit to West Virginia: with roads running straight to the horizon (and far beyond), the first 250 miles are mind-numbing. The S4’s performance tires clomp and roar on Michigan’s pockmarked concrete highways, less so on Ohio’s smoother asphalt. Luckily even the S4’s base sound system is quite capable of drowning them out without distortion. The car’s ride, though far from harsh, jiggles enough that putting off rest stops is not an option. Every ripple gets reported to the ears and bladder. Even the S4’s rearview mirror is stiff. The driver’s seat includes four-way power lumbar and provides very good lateral support, but I can’t get comfortable in it. Put less delicately, the seat often puts my ass to sleep. If there had been passengers in the back seat, they would have found it livable but tight. Though the S4’s body structure and interior possesses the solidity and refinement expected of a premium car, it’s not the ideal turnpike cruiser.

A bright spot: hitched to a six-speed manual and driving all four wheels in a 3,847-pound sedan, the 333-horsepower supercharged 3.0-liter V6 covers 25 highway miles on each gallon of gas (the trip computer reports 25.8 while driving nearly 80 MPH, but manual calculations suggest it’s about one MPG high). Drive it like you stole it down a mountain road, and you’ll still observe mid-to-high teens. The previous-generation S4’s 340-horsepower 4.2-liter V8 was far thirstier, with EPA ratings of 13/20 vs. 18/27. Unfortunately, what the engine giveth the fuel gauge taketh away: the latter reliably reported a 0-mile DTE with about three gallons left in the tank.

Once south and east of Columbus the roads become increasingly entertaining, and with Ohio 555, full of tight curves and blind knolls, the fun really begins. The V6, though it lacks the soul of the previous-generation S4’s 340-horsepower 4.2-liter V8, produces an encouraging mechanical whir when revved, some of it courtesy of the supercharger, along with a modest amount of exhaust roar. (With no lag, the blower’s muted whine is the only sign that boost is in play.) The “3.0T” engine is louder here than in the A6 and A7, but still far from too loud. There’s no drone when cruising at highway speeds. Oddly, the six is least refined at idle, where it suffers from a touch of the shakes.

The V6 is so strong through its wide midrange that deep downshifts are rarely called for—a sharp contrast to the Mazda RX-8 I’ll drive the rest of the long weekend. Push down on the accelerator, and the six rockets the car smoothly out of curve exits. This broad torque curve proves especially welcome on West Virginia 14, which is much more heavily traveled than I had hoped. Half the state drives pickups, the other half drives Chevy Cavaliers (which I hereby nominate as the Official State Car of the mountain state). The blown six is ever ready to jump past clots of them whenever the briefest passing zone pops up.

If you need to shift, or simply want to, the S4’s slick, solid, moderate-of-throw stick serves better than Audi shifters of years past. Second can be a bit hard to hit when rushing a downshift, but this is the full extent of its shortcomings. Unlike in late model Volkswagens where the tach was numbered in hundreds, the S4’s rev-meter is numbered in the thousands with a large font and is consequently far easier to read at a glance. A light and/or beep 500 rpm short of the redline would be even better, but wasn’t much missed. Don’t care for a clutch? A seven-speed dual-clutch automated manual is optional here—and the only transmission Europeans can get. On the other hand, they can still get an S4 wagon, while we’re limited to the sedan. An S4 wagon with a manual transmission? No longer offered anywhere.

I take a side trip to hilly Charleston to sample a couple of R-Design Volvos—you’ll read about them later. Afterwards, the S4 is a perfect match for the more convoluted sections of US60 east of Gauley Bridge. At Rainelle I take a shortcut, miss a turn (no nav in this lightly optioned $49,625 car), and end up on a delightfully undulating single-lane ribbon of asphalt. Later, on the way back to Detroit, with a nav system lifted off my old man to warn of impending hairpins, the S4 chews up WV16 (with an especially glorious stretch after it splits from 33) and OH26 once across the Ohio. If anything, the S4 makes driving all but the twistiest bits of these roads too easy.

The Audi’s steering deserves only second billing in the credits. It’s fairly quick, naturally weighted, firm at highway speeds (especially in “sport” mode), and finds its voice as the car’s high limits are approached. Placing the car precisely never poses a challenge. But luxury was clearly a top priority, and the system doesn’t feel as nuanced or as direct as the best. You do your part, and it will do its. Melding as one? It’d rather not.

The S4’s suspension takes up some of the steering’s slack. As mentioned above, though far from harsh it’s communicative even when you don’t care to chat. Firm springs and taut damping keep body motions under control, with just a hint of float in quick transitions to remind you that this isn’t an extreme sport machine. Partly because the V6 weighs less than the old V8, and partly because the differential is now ahead of the transmission (enabling a 55/45 weight distribution), the current S4 doesn’t plow through tight curves like the previous one did. Instead, it feels almost perfectly balanced. The 255/35ZR19 Dunlop SP Sport Maxx tires grip the tarmac tightly as long as no snow is falling. Add in all-wheel-drive and strong, firm, easily modulated brakes, and even the most challenging roads can be tackled with extreme confidence.

The resulting lack of drama can get a bit boring, as discovered in my first drive. But with the optional active differential, progressive, easily controllable oversteer is just a dip into the throttle away. Unlike with the Acura TL’s SH-AWD system, driving sideways isn’t happening without an unpaved road surface or extreme steering inputs. But a tighter line is there for the taking, just dial in the desired number of degrees with your right foot. This agility enhancement should be standard equipment in an “S” car. As is, it’s $1,100 very well spent. I would not buy an S4 without it.

Ultimately, the S4 proved a perfect choice for the trip to Lewisberg. Some other cars would have been more engaging and entertaining. Others would have been more isolating and comfortable. But for moving rapidly along an unfamiliar twisty byway with never a wheel out of place, rain or shine, the S4 could hardly have been beaten. It’ll get you there, quickly and securely and even somewhat efficiently, with plenty of smiles along the way.

Audi provided the vehicle, insurance and one tank of gas for this review.

Michael Karesh operates TrueDelta, an online source of automotive pricing and reliability data.

Tick off all the boxes on an Audi Q5 order form, and you’ll find yourself staring at a $58,350 tab. Too much for a compact crossover? Well, the example seen here will set you back $20,000 less. Now I know what you’re thinking: “A mere $38,400 for a right-sized chunk of German engineering? Sign me up!” Not so fast—to save twenty large you must give up something. But what?

The Q5’s outer shell is very much current Audi…except it also strongly resembles the latest Cayenne. (And the latest VW Touareg for that matter. Time for a Fortune cover?) If these lines are viable for the far pricier Porsche—and dealers can’t keep the peppers on the lot—then certainly they’re sufficiently upscale for this Audi. One wrinkle: the full tab nets the twenty-inch five-spoke wheels the designers had in mind when they penned the Q5’s exterior. At the other end of the spectrum, you get the 18s seen here. Not bad rims, and certainly far from tiny by historical standards, but ensconced in a clean-to-a-fault soap bar with wheel openings sized for dubs they take the whole downmarket.

When optioned with the Luxury Package, the Q5 contends with the Infiniti EX35 for the segment’s best interior, with soft leather covering not only the seats but also the door armrests and the hood over the instruments. But with this package the price jumps well into the fifties—it’s only available with the V6 and top trim level. The base interior, though it shares the same Teutonically tasteful design and solid construction, is a decidedly less opulent place. The door armrests are molded soft-touch plastic with hard plastic door pulls, and the seat upholstery, though technically leather, like much automotive cowhide easily passes for vinyl. (In fact, I have in my notes that “the vinyl isn’t as convincing as some.”) All-black with a smattering of wood trim not your thing? Any of the three two-toned color schemes, offered at no additional cost, warms the cabin up considerably. But even then the interior doesn’t have the cozy, custom-tailored ambiance you’ll find inside the Infiniti (assuming you can fit). My wife loved that Infiniti. She was not a fan of the Audi, to put it politely.

Keeping the price under forty means the standard audio system (pretty good, but no 505-watt 14-speaker Bang & Olufsen, that’s another $850) and no nav. The latter omission isn’t a problem for me personally, except it also means that the primary “MMI” (climate, audio, etc.) control knob and its surrounding buttons are on the center stack, where they’re not nearly as comfortable to reach or as easy to operate. With the nav these controls are much more ergonomically located aft of the shifter on the console. My wife’s comment on the controls: “Every time I had to do something new I had to sit there and think about it.” Even starting the Q5 poses a challenge for the unfamiliar. I was baffled for a number of minutes (I don’t want to admit how many) until I noticed a slot tucked up next to the center stack’s air vents. Stick the entire fob into it, push till it goes click, and—what do you know—the car starts. Want to keep the fob in your pocket? Then spring for the V6.

In general, automotive infotainment systems won’t let you do various things while driving. Click over to the Q5′s phone dialer, and you’re informed: “Distraction causes accidents. Never enter data while driving.” Click to accept this…and the next page lets you enter a phone number. Better than not being able to do this at all, but making habitual liars out of drivers one click at a time.

You get the same firm but supportive seats regardless of how the Q5 is optioned. If you want to feel like you’re sitting on a sofa, an Audi is not the car for you. The high, unobstructed view forward from the driver’s seat is a key reason people buy this sort of vehicle instead of the wagon (“avant” for those who speak Audi) most driving enthusiasts would favor. Huge mirrors do the same for the rearward view. The Q5 is only 182 inches long, about the same as a BMW X3 or Infiniti EX35 but much less lengthy than a Cadillac SRX or Lexus RX 350, which really compete with the others in terms of price rather than size. Still, unlike in the Infiniti there’s plenty of room in back for the average adult. A high-mounted cushion provides good thigh support and the seatback reclines. The compact exterior has a larger impact on cargo space, but there’s still more of it than in the Infiniti. More of a bother: the artfully shaped tailgate affords no good grips and opens so high that women of below-average height will need a step ladder to reach it. Or get one of the upper-level trims, which include a power tailgate.

The stopwatch will tell you that the 2.0T’s 211-horsepower turbocharged four-cylinder engine is nearly as quick as the 3.2’s 270-horsepower V6, thanks to a plumper midrange (peak torque of 258 foot-pounds at 1,500 rpm vs. 243 at 3,000) and two extra cogs in the autobox (for a total of eight). But the six feels smoother and sounds far sweeter. The turbo four is more than capable of moving the Q5, but the six is much more likely to move the driver. With eight speeds, manually downshifting to second or third for a turn requires a lot of taps. The solution: shunt the shifter into S and the transmission will find a suitably low gear (or an even lower one) on its own.

The advantage of the turbo four + eight-speed combo: fuel economy. The EPA ratings of 20 city, 27 highway are tops for the premium compact crossover class, though BMW’s mighty turbocharged six is close behind. In casual suburban driving the (possibly optimistic) trip computer reported high twenties and low thirties.

Last winter I attended a comparison drive for the new BMW X3…and came away impressed with the Q5. The BMW had a steadier, more composed ride and more balanced handling, and when fitted with a (conservatively rated) 300-horsepower turbocharged six is much quicker. By any objective measure it’s the best performer in the segment. But the Audi’s chassis felt livelier and somehow more natural, and on curvy roads I enjoyed driving it more. The biggest difference: steering that clearly communicated what was going on at the front contact patches. This was the standard steering and suspension: a $2,950 “Audi Drive Select Page” offered only on the top trim substitutes active steering and adaptive shocks, but unlike on some other Audis doesn’t include an active rear differential. With the moderately rear-biased all-wheel-drive system and conventional rear differential a heavy right foot can coax the rear end to step out, but this is a more practical possibility with the BMW.

I wasn’t quite as impressed with the Q5’s steering this time around. Part of the reason could be that I didn’t have the other vehicles (X3, RX, SRX) on hand for a direct comparison. But the Q5’s steering also isn’t as exemplary during daily driving as it is when hustling along a curvy road. When driven casually, steering effort varies dramatically and somewhat unpredictably, and the feel is more artificial. The positive spin: when you most need the steering to talk, it talks. The Audi wants to be driven hard. Ignore its needs, and (like the high-strung, high-maintenance mistress I don’t have) it misbehaves while refusing to talk to you.
One mystery: the tested vehicle was fitted with W-rated Goodyear Excellence tires. Such “grand touring summer” tires, though commonly fitted as standard equipment in Europe, rarely appear in the all-season-loving U.S. On the Q5, we get performance-oriented rubber only with the “S Line” package, which is only offered with the V6. By accident or otherwise, the press fleet Q5 2.0T was wearing relatively sticky Euro-market treads.

So, to get to a $38,400 sticker (up $400 from the tested 2011 model), you’ve given up the wheels the designers intended, leather that feels like leather, ergonomic controls, a broad array of conveniences, the sweet sounding six, the trick shocks, and sticky tires. But do other cars offer more at this price point?

Not the related A4 Avant wagon, which lists for $800 more while including fewer features as standard equipment. You get a standard panoramic sunroof with the wagon—one’s an option on the Q5—but no power lumbar on the passenger seat, no wood trim, no three-zone automatic climate control, no automatic lights, no rain-sensing wipers, no trip computer. Tally up the differences using TrueDelta’s car price comparison tool, and the Q5’s price advantage widens to about $1,500. Detroit’s product strategy favored SUVs because they found car buyers were willing to pay more for them than for a wagon. The Germans didn’t get the memo. By this yardstick, the Q5 is a bargain: 380 pounds more car (4,090 total), less money.

The Infiniti EX35 that seduced my wife lists for $1,800 more, but includes a standard 3.5-liter V6. So is the Q5 3.2 a more appropriate comparison? Load up both the Infiniti and a Q5 3.2, and the Japanese crossover ends up about $5,500 less. The Germans charge top dollar for options, who knew?

A similarly-equipped BMW X3 xDrive2.8i lists for about $4,000 more, partly because you must specify the “Premium Package” to get the leather, wood trim, and dual four-way power lumbar adjustments standard on the Audi. This brings along some features not on the tested Audi, most notably a panoramic sunroof. Adjust for these, and the Audi retains a roughly $2,200 advantage. Enough to sway some buyers? Maybe. At a minimum the Audi is competitively priced.

So, with the Audi Q5 car buyers face a quandary. It’s fun to drive compared to any other compact crossover save the BMW, but anyone who makes this a top priority will (or at least should) go with the A4 Avant or BMW 3-Series wagon instead. So the Q5 is more likely to sell to those seeking the perceived superior comfort and convenience of a crossover. But a sub-forty Q5 lacks many comforts and conveniences. Check off the boxes to get these, and the price tag rapidly ascends into the mid-forties and beyond, at which point the Q5 isn’t as good a value.

Audi provided the vehicle, insurance and one tank of gas for this review.

Michael Karesh operates TrueDelta, an online source of automotive pricing an reliability data.

Large four-door cars with the style of a coupe aren’t a recent innovation. But early attempts, like the 1995 Oldsmobile Aurora, failed to captivate car buyers. It fell to Mercedes to launch the “four-door coupe” segment with the 2006 CLS. Though sales have long since dwindled to exotic car levels, back when the CLS was new about 2,000 of them left dealer lots each month. This apparently provided sufficient motivation for other manufacturers to offer their own “four-door coupes.” Volkswagen didn’t stray far from the original with its CC. Audi, on the other hand, has taken a very different approach with the new 2012 A7.

To begin with, Audi appears to have figured that, if you’re going to sweep the roofline nearly to the trailing edge of the car, you might as well make it a hatchback. The American market has rejected large upscale hatchbacks in the past—the Rover 3500, Acura-based Sterling 827, and Merkur Scorpio come to mind—but tastes have broadened in the intervening decades. The Porsche Panamera certainly has its critics, but the car’s hatchback configuration hasn’t figured highly in their critiques. And the BMW 5-Series GT? Its aesthetic shortcomings similarly extend beyond the hatch to the car’s bulky proportions.

If the Audi A7 were a stunning car, few would mind the hatch. Unfortunately, while the A7’s thoroughly tasteful exterior is far more attractive than the Porsche’s or the BMW’s, it’s a conservative design unlikely to inspire doubletakes the way the swoopier CLS did, even still does six years on. In a bid for “coupeness,” the A7’s side windows are frameless and its roofline is a couple inches lower than that of the closely related 2012 Audi A6 sedan (and nearly a half-foot lower than that of the 5-Series GT). Audi’s latest design language, with a focus on crisp horizontal lines, suits the A7’s more balanced proportions much better than it does the A8 sedan’s. A double crease along the shoulder of the car often provides the illusion of a pinstripe. The overall appearance might not inspire passion, but it exudes technical perfection. This car couldn’t be anything but German.

The Audi A7’s interior is similarly very tasteful without making a strong design statement. A line arcs from one door along the instrument panel top to the other door, but you’ll find the same in a relatively pedestrian Buick. Unlike in the first-generation CLS, nothing here seems inspired by classic Jaguars or wooden watercraft. Audi has long been known for the quality of its interiors, but the rest of the industry has been catching up. Notable in their absence: upholstered instrument and upper door panels. The seats’ stitching does not contrast, and their leather isn’t especially soft. The door pulls are, typical of Audis, hard plastic. In general the interior seems of very high quality, but not quite luxurious. The riskiest interior choice: the tested car’s ash trim is minimally finished and has a heavy grain that can actually be felt. I liked it. Others who rode in the car weren’t so sure about the matte finish. Glossy wood is available for them.

An advantage of the sensible design: though not the limo substitute the BMW GT is, there’s nearly as much passenger room inside the Audi A7 as in the related A6. So four adults fit comfortably. The front seats are moderately firm and properly supportive but less cosseting than those in some other luxury cars. They also provide minimal lateral support. Perhaps because this is an A7 and not an S7, no sport buckets or power-adjustable bolsters are offered. On the positive side of the ledger, the headrests adjust fore and aft, a rarity these days. Unlike with the first-generation CLS, contortions aren’t required to get into and out of the rear seat. One functional shortcoming: the rear bench is split by a low, integrated console, so three people cannot sit back there. For a family of five this car won’t work.

The cargo area is constrained by the car’s low tail, but it extends well forward, especially once the second row is folded. A two-piece package shelf effectively seals off the passenger area from the cargo area. It’s not nearly as heavy or overengineered as the bulkhead in the BMW 5-Series GT, but is nevertheless a little fiddly (and also reflects badly in the backlight). After removing it I was easily able to fit a bicycle with the front wheel removed (and probably would have fit it with the wheel attached if loaded in the opposite direction). Up front, the A7 isn’t as accommodating. There’s not enough room in the glove compartment or the center console for my SLR-style camera, so it rolled around the passenger footwell all week.

Some of the Audi A7’s toys impress, others not so much. The LED headlights ($1,400 if ordered a la carte) are the latest thing, but my eyes failed to detect a significant advantage over Xenons. Since they aren’t standard, the units musts be the same size and shape as a conventional headlight. Things will get more interesting when cars are designed around standard LED lights. The 1,300-watt Bang & Olufsen audio system sounds so crisp and so clear, even at high volumes, that its $5,900 price almost seems justified. My old man declared it far superior to the Mark Levinson system in his Lexus LS 460. He was less crazy about the tweeters’ acoustic lenses that remain in their somewhat obtrusive upright position even when the system is turned off. The Internet-connected nav system uses Google maps to display satellite images. A regular nav screen just doesn’t seem sufficient afterwards.

You can also search the Internet for addresses. The MMI system, with a knob, a half dozen or so buttons, and a touchpad that recognizes letters written with a fingertip, is usually easy to operate on the fly, but programming the nav system could be much easier. One ergonomic flaw that continued to confound me at the end of the week: the button to start the engine is located to the right of the shifter. The optional head-up display can include navigation information and night vision warnings (there’s a pedestrian detector), but not a tach or song titles (both of which I enjoyed having in a Buick). The display for the optional night vision system is located between the speedometer and tach, too low to be continuously viewed. The blind spot warning system seems designed to only signal if a car is overtaking you from the rear quarter. If one is parked at a steady speed in your blind spot it assumes you know it’s there. Other such systems light up in a wider range of circumstances. The adaptive cruise control works better than earlier systems; it’s even viable in stop-and-go traffic. Though the A7’s concept and design seem a natural fit for a panoramic sunroof, the roof portal is a standard-sized unit.

Currently only one engine is available in the U.S.-market Audi A7: the same 310-horsepower 3.0-liter supercharged V6 available in the redesigned 2012 A6. Officially the related mill in the Audi S4 kicks out another 23 horsepower, but the A7’s engine feels stronger than its power rating. The six’s quiet, refined character is better suited to the A7 and A6 than the smaller, sportier car. There’s no sensation of boost and no sound from the supercharger, just impressive V8-style torque (the 325 foot-pound peak runs from 2,900 to 4,500 rpm). Sixty arrives in just a bit over five seconds.

The Audi A7’s ZF eight-speed automatic shared with many other luxury cars (and soon some Chryslers) has excellent ratios for quick launches, relaxed highway cruising, and everything in between. It reacts quickly, but shifts are usually noticeable, with the occasional odd bump when braking to a stop (I noticed the same in some BMWs). Europeans get a seven-speed DSG dual-clutch automated manual instead. Did Audi judge this transmission insufficiently refined for American luxury car duty?

The 3.0T / automatic powertrain achieves excellent fuel economy for a powerful, 4,200-pound, all-wheel-drive car: the trip computer generally confirmed the 18 city / 28 highway EPA ratings. On one highway run to the airport the car managed nearly 30 mpg, about as good as my much lighter, much less powerful Mazda Protege5. In the suburbs I observed between 15 and 25, depending on the frequency of stops.

When equipped with the optional sport suspension (which lowers the car 0.4 inches) and 20-inch high-performance Yokohama tires, the Audi A7 handles about as sporty as it looks. So supremely competent, and more direct than in the typical luxury car, but short of thrilling. Steering firmness can be set to “comfort,” “dynamic,” or “auto.” The difference between the modes is noticeable. In any mode the steering gets firmer as speeds increase. You need to be travelling 70+ before it feels tight even in “dynamic.” The similar system in the larger Audi A8 feels a little firmer and tighter, if memory serves. Feedback is better in smaller Audis. The A7 feels significantly less nose-heavy than earlier Audis—perhaps because it is, with the differential positioned ahead of the transmission to enable a 54/46 weight distribution. But even with this, the AWD system’s initial 40:60 rearward torque-bias, and a braking system that intervenes to counter understeer the A7’s dynamics aren’t those of a rear-wheel-drive car. The general attitude of the chassis is one of very mild understeer. Power oversteer only happens with an aggressive throttle on loose surfaces.

With the sport suspension at least, the Audi A7’s ride is most decidedly firm, with the occasional jostle, but far from punishing. Noise is more of an issue. Though the A7’s interior certainly isn’t loud, it’s considerably louder than that of other luxury cars. The optional 20-inch tires contribute, especially on concrete; the standard treads should be less noisy. The hatchback configuration might also contribute. But the bottom line is that Audis have tended to suffer from more road noise than other luxury cars, and this remains the case with their latest.

Pricing starts at $60,125, and tops $80,000 when all the boxes are checked (the tested car lacked only heated rear seats). A 535i xDrive Grand Turismo lists for within a few hundred dollars when similarly configured—but you’ll receive a much larger discount with the slow-selling BMW. (The BMW is a quarter-ton heavier, so an argument could be made that the 550i GT is more comparable.) The redesigned 2012 Mercedes-Benz CLS550 4Matic lists for about $12,000 more. TrueDelta’s car price comparison tool indicates that nearly half of the gap can be explained by additional features on the Mercedes, including adaptive shocks, a sophisticated air suspension, various high-tech safety features, and more extensive leather upholstery. Then there’s the matter of the Benz’s much larger engine. With the Mercedes only offered with a V8 (why?), and the Audi only offered with a V6 (for now), the two avoid a direct confrontation. Probably the toughest competition for the A7: an identically-equipped A6 lists for exactly $8,000 less. Since the two cars are very closely related under the skin, this is how much you’re paying for the A7’s sleeker hatchback body.

In the end, the Audi A7 seizes the middle ground between the Mercedes-Benz CLS and the BMW 5-Series GT in both appearance and functionality. It’s more involving than those cars, but much less so than a Porsche Panamera. So buyers who highly prioritize functionality or who buy cars for almost entirely emotional reasons will end up behind the wheel of something other than the Audi. But the entire idea of a “four-door coupe” suggests a desire to have the functionality of a four-door and the styling of a coupe in the same car. The segment is all about compromise. Those seeking an intelligent “both brained” compromise between the excesses of these other cars will find it here.

Audi provided the vehicle, insurance and one tank of gas for this review.

Michael Karesh operates TrueDelta, an online source of automotive reliability and pricing data.

The crossover is the new minivan, and in an age of $4-per-gallon gasoline, the fuel-efficient crossover is all the rage. While minivan-mommies may disagree for the sake of image, ask yourself: how is your crossover different than your parent’s minivan? The minivan sprang out of the station wagon revolt and the CUV is the result of minivan denial. As usual, the formula is the same: start with a sedan, add a taller box, toss in some optional AWD to make buyers think they are getting something rugged and you get instant sales success (unless you’re a Chrysler, but that’s a different review). This CUV formula wrought on an A4 creates the Audi Q5, one of Audi’s hottest selling models in the US market. Sales of the cute-ute soared over 70% to just over 23,000 in 2010 and show no signs of cooling with January sales up 50% over 2010. To keep the momentum (and CAFE numbers) going in the right direction, Audi has mated the corporate 2.0T engine to the latest 8-speed auto from ZF creating the 2011 Q5 2.0T Quattro.

Editor’s note: apologies for the press shots, which were made necessary by a technical problem.

Outside, the Q5 plays the same farm girl card as the majority of the Audi lineup. The wholesome sheet metal is attractive, but completely devoid of the dramatic styling cues that grace the new X3, GLK, SRX and even the XC60. Some might even call the Q5 slightly boring. The sterile exterior was accentuated by the rental-car white paint our tester wore. Sales of the old X3 paled in comparison to the Q5, but by early indications, the X3 has the Q5’s sales crown in its sights this year. Will the wholesome farm girl beat the beauty queen with its newly found frugal practicality? Since it will take a while for the market to let us know, give us your take now in the comment section below.

In order to maintain brisk sales, the base Q5 has received an engine down-size for 2011. With the likes of the Ford Explorer sporting a 2.0-liter turbocharged engine option, it was only a matter of time before one of VW/Audi’s turbo engines was found under the Q5’s hood. Audi followers know that the TT, A3, A4 and A5 are now available exclusively with the 2.0-liter turbocharged four-pot in the USA and if the numbers tell the full story, buyers may not miss the 3.2L V6 when the option is finally removed at some point in the future. Forced induction lovers rejoice! The turbo charged fuel sipper is the base engine, not an expensive option (unlike the new the new Explorer).

While the 211HP Audi 2.0-liter TFSI engine is nothing new, the lighter duty version of the 8-speed ZF cog-swapper found under the hoods of certain Rolls Royce and BMW models is. According to ze Germans, the 2 extra cogs alone are worth an 11% improvement in fuel economy over the previous 6-speed. The result of the displacement right-sizing and extra gears means the Q5 in 2.0T guise delivers 20MPG city, 27 highway and 22 combined. On paper this is only a 15% increase, in practice during our 800-mile week-long test of the A5, we averaged an impressive 26.5MPG in mixed driving; a practical real-world 25% increase in mileage over a Q5 3.2 I drove a year ago. 26.5MPG would be good in a FWD CUV, but even better when you note that all US bound 2.0T models are equipped with Quattro.

By offering AWD standard on all Q5s in the USA, Audi succeeds in distancing themselves from the likes of the two-wheel-drive XC60 or GLK chionophobic base models. For MPG comparison, the new BMW X3 xDrive28i delivers 19/25 MPG, the Volvo XC60 3.2 AWD gives buyers 18/24, the Acura RDX spools up 17/22 and the Mercedes GLK rounds out the bottom gulping a lowly 16/22 MPG. No wonder Audi expects 60% of Q5 buyers to stick with the base four.

At the first stab of the accelerator it seems that there is a replacement for displacement after all: while the 3.2L V6 in the Q5 3.2 may deliver 59 more horsepower, it’s actually 15lb-ft down on its two-liter cousin. Torque comes on early, lag is minimal and the twist doesn’t quit until high in the RPM band. It is therefore no surprise that our tester scooted to 60MPH in 6.8 (Audi claims 7.1 officially), down only .2 seconds to the 3.2 equipped Q5 we have tested in the past. It’s worth pointing out that the 2.0T beats acceleration expectations while the 3.2 merely meets them. The numbers are close enough to make little difference to most shoppers.

The only impediment to sporting progress in the 2.0T seems to be the 8-speed transmission. The sheer number of gears seems to leave the transmission software confused about which gear is right for you. The result: acceleration can be a varied experience depending on your speed. Still, overall performance is quite good having a far more linear feel than the 3.2L I6 in the XC60 or even the 2.3L turbo four in the RDX. Buyers paying extra for the Q5 3.2 may be disappointed to find that the 3.2 is still mated to ye olde ZF 6-speed. Towing capacity is the same between engines at a lofty (for a small CUV) 4,400lbs when properly equipped.

Out on the road, the 2.0T’s suspension tuning is similar to the 3.2: stiff for a CUV. Wide tires, a wide track, beefy brakes, fairly svelte curb weight (the 2.0T is 209lbs lighter than the 3.2) and oddly well balanced weight distribution of 50.5/49.5 (TTAC estimate) and quick steering (3.2 to lock) combine to give the Q5 athletic prowess on the track worthy of a BMW badge. If you are used to your Audi plowing like a nose-heavy freighter, the Q5 will surprise you. A quick-shifting DSG gearbox or at the least some shift paddles (available on the 3.2) might even turn the 2.0T into a pleasing corner carver. Compared to the likes of the XC60, RDX and GLK, the Q5 is certainly the road feel champ but it can’t quite match the new X3 for road manners.

First released as a 2009 model, our 2011 tester brought few changes to its largely monochromatic interior. Audi’s limited and tasteful use of wood trim helped break up the large expanses of black in our tester but let you know the price tag is lower than the wood-laden Q7. Unlike some of the competition (and some Audi models) buyers can opt for lighter leather and dashboard shades resulting in a feel that is far more airy than the black-on-black-on-black theme of our tester.

The latest MMI system is the largest change inside the Q5. Along with a large high-resolution LCD in a dedicated dash binnacle, a revised MMI controller knob that now includes a mini-joystick and revised software. The high-resolution 3-D navigation screens are crisp and comparable to BMW’s latest iDrive. BMW’s wise-aspect ratio screen gets the nod for the wow factor, but Audi delivers a close second in both form and function. Bluetooth and iPod integration are both about average in the class with logical controls and fairly good media device browsing ability on the main screen or the small LCD between the speedo and tach via the steering wheel controls.

My only major gripe with the MMI system continues to be the lack of voice commands for media device voice control ala Ford Sync, in truth this is a complaint against everyone but Ford. A less critical niggle is that Audi has done nothing to address the ergonomic flaw in the button and knob layout. While you can change the volume on the steering wheel (and voice command is available for some functions) I found myself spending a great deal of time looking down at the array of buttons surrounding the MMI dial or hunting for the volume knob. In a CUV with a moderately high beltline, this poses a distraction issue. Some upgrades, including steering-wheel-mounted paddle shifters, a backup camera, and intelligent cruise control are available only on the 3.2 Prestige (the most expensive version of the Q5) so they were not available to test on our loaner.

Great, but how much does it cost? Our Q5 came in Premium Plus trim with a base MSRP of $39,400, the $3,000 navigation and parking sensor package and the $850 Bang & Olufson sound system. Only a $350 rear side-airbag option, 19”” wheels and some sparkly paint remained un-selected on our nearly loaded $44,600 tester. While the navigation system wears a big price tag, even for the luxury market, the functionality of the MMI is worth it. To achieve the lower ticket the 2.0T is “de-contented” to 18-inch wheels, a manual lift gate, and washerless headlamps. In our book these features (or lack thereof) are worth the $7,300 discount and greater fuel economy. A quick drive by my local Audi dealers revealed that all but two examples on the floor had had the MMI, so if you want a stripper, be prepared to order.

In comparison, a similarly equipped Volvo XC60 3.2 (albeit larger and more powerful) is the value leader coming in $2000 less with more interior room. A comparably equipped Mercedes GLK? $46,400. If BMW is more your style, an X3 xDrive28i will set you back an eye bulging $47,825 comparably equipped. Admittedly the Q5’s sporty dimensions (read: small) limit cargo room compared to the GLK and XC60, both which can easily swallow a 10-foot PVC pipe or 6-foot ladder from the home improvement shop of your choice. Practicality lovers note that the XC60’s fold-down front seat actually allows the Swede to sword-swallow a 10-foot ladder if you are careful. As pictures can attest, a two-tank water softener will fit in the Q5 no problem. If a sporty ride with cargo hauling capacity is what you seek, look no further than an Audi A4 Avant. If you really must CUV like the Jones’ then the Q5 2.0T is certainly a well-balanced choice.

Audi provided the vehicle, insurance and one tank of gas for the review.

Performance statistics as tested:

0-30: 2.5 seconds

0-60: 6.9 seconds

The Audi A8’s fifteen minutes of fame in Super Bowl XLV showed that Audi did not intend for its flagship to fall into the luxury sedan trap of courting mainstream aspirational lust with a stodgy, obviously “upscale” demeanor. And since America’s economic recovery is too halting to inspire over-the-top indulgence, and Mercedes owns the “bulk-and-bling” approach to luxury anyway, Audi’s attempt at a more subtle, sophisticated brand of luxury flagship makes good marketing sense on paper. But does Audi’s cleaner, leaner design aesthetic strike the right tone for a “new era of luxury,” or does it doom this A8 to the over-subtlety that kept its predecessors from breakinginto the mainstream of full-sized luxury? More to the point, does Audi’s sophisticated marketing message reflect a car that really does offer a different approach to luxury? Let’s find out…

Starting with that nose. Between the lovable tailfins on a Caddy and the Bangle-butt of a 7-series lies the polarizing grin of the A8’s drop-jaw grille. Our tester didn’t wear a front license plate, which is both a blessing and a curse: the need for the Auto Union logo sitting front and center eventually grates on the inner ADHD designer. Yet it looks like no BMW or Merc: white marker lights change to yellow when you signal a turn. The avant-garde LED headlight squares have, in the words of lighting guru Daniel Stern, “a richer spectral content in a particular range of wavelengths that facilitate visual acuity at night.” That’s true. Please believe that HID’s days are numbered.

Too bad love wanes past the A8’s fenders. It’s a plus sized A4, with more elegant swage lines. Much like a 30+ foot yacht from the manufacturer of smaller/similar vessels, the A8 looks sharp in its high beltline, with an oversized hull demanding respect. But the rear is downmarket enough to clamor for more chrome, more bustle…more of anything. As Simply Red once said, “She was so beautiful, but oh-so boring.” Ostentatious exterior design isn’t for everyone, but Audi seems to have again erred a bit too far on the side of subtlety.

But inside the A8 does scream posh, with a TV-binnacle free dashboard timelessly, effortlessly sweeps the length of the cabin. Only the console’s undefined meeting point with the dash and a DVD/Media door slapped in the center of prime real estate would make a Camry giggle with delight. Luckily, the A8’s mass quantities of woodgrain and brushed aluminum capture the heart faster than mercury-laced bread finds Huckleberry Finn. Not to mix metaphors, but the cabin’s LED accent lighting ups the ante with a TRON homage, bringing the front end’s goodwill indoors.
And from the driver’s seat, surrounded by well-chosen, well-crafted materials as well as the latest in technology, the A8′s sophisticated design brief finally begins to make sense. Sit back in a 22-way adjustable massaging throne–strong enough to pinch a nerve–and start the show. Tap the ignition button and Audi’s MMI screen elegantly pops out, along with two masterfully rendered Bang & Olufsen tweeters. The $6300 audio upgrade has best-in-class highs and imaging, but like B&O products sold in shopping malls, runs flat on mid/low bass back at home (paging Dr. Mark Levinson!).

The meaty tiller sports metal-like chrome bits, with a thumbwheel to control some of Audi’s MMI features. Not necessary, because the console’s rotary knob and fairly logical buttonage are a quick study. MMI’s unique Etch-A-Sketch-alike pad for entering addresses is cool, but stupid: a touch screen from Kenwood’s finest beats scraping a fingernail to write a street address. Still, a level of technology overload that would just seem pointless and geeky somehow feels proper when it’s located with ergonomic precision amid top-notch materials. Like the rest of the car, the technology is easy to overlook or dismiss, and yet just works with unobtrusive ease.

While the tee-bar gear lever never warmed my soul, the 8 speeds are a necessary part of the fun, if only in sport mode. It’s a close ratio box, leaving the 4.2L V8 (372hp @ 6800rpm) no chance to fall out of its powerband. Very necessary, since twin-turbo V8s are available at this price elsewhere. Even worse, Mercedes adds AWD as a relatively cheap ($3000) option.

Then again, Audi has the Kenny G commercial. And the all-aluminum A8 is far lighter on its feet than the big Benz, cornering with precision and idiot-proof poise: I couldn’t get the tires to chirp on a dry urban road. Flash the torque convertor, hammer the throttle and the A8 leaps forward, much to the fear of its occupants. Throw in a corner, hit the apex at full-tilt and still nothing: understeer creeps up and the active handling nanny taps the brakes, even with the system disengaged.

So it’s not an M5, but the A8 is a joy to drive on a twisty road, with linear steering, quick tip-in and acres of grip. It’s good enough to make A8 briefly lose power steering boost in a fast U-turn: a minor quibble, an easy fix for any chassis engineer.
So let’s chill. With the boulevardier in mind, the A8’s air-sprung ride goes flat over sharp bumps or pavement joints: no matter how beautiful, twanky-inch wheels are for children. The A8 has enough wheelbase/heft to dull impact harshness, but the endless banging from the front end on my commute to work got old in a hurry. Larger rubber might well help, but can the exterior really afford even more subtlety?
No car is perfect, not even a luxo-sedan that kisses a 6-figure asking price. And the A8 is the best in class for cornering, plus it’s a charming and timeless work of art, inside and out. If it had a pair of turbochargers and less worrisome depreciation rates, the A8 would hands down rule the competition. If, on the other hand, you can’t commit to an Audi A8 over a BMW or Merc, consider leasing one as a company car instead. Audi’s approach to luxury takes a little more time to appreciate than the competition, and even if you decide it’s not for you, it can be well worth experiencing.

Audi provided the test vehicle, insurance and a tank of gas.

Not a fan of our Facebook page? Too bad about that. For our Facebook peeps, here are your answers: Nick Roshon, not an old man’s car, MMI is easier than I expected to learn. Darren Williams: maybe the aluminum doors are why it feels cheap, so it’s a price worth paying. Adam Blank, I assume it tops out at 155mph like most German cars, you must promise to bail me out of jail before I find that out in the real world. John Walker: the lighting, MMI touch pad and massaging seats are pretty outstanding, and no, don’t tow with it. Ken Morton: every S-class I’ve been in rides better, road crushing weight perhaps? Stephen Schwarz: like so many new cars, the rear visibility is terrible, front is acceptable.

Everyone hates the BMW M3. If you need proof of that, simply look at the sheer number of times auto manufacturers compare their latest wares to the M3. The green-eyed monster is alive and well for a reason: the M3 is a performance legend whether or not you agree it’s the performance king. The M3 is Elvis, King Arthur, Robin Hood and the Fountain of Youth all rolled into one. The seemingly insurmountable task of dethroning the M3 encourages all manner of attempts from every unlikely angle of the automotive world from the former Volvo V70R to the Nissan 350Z. In Audi’s corner: the S5 coupe.

Audi has had BMW in its sights for some time, but the A5/S5 is the first real shot across the performance coupe bow in a while. Back in 2007 Audi’s R&D department seemed to suffer from the same issue Volvo was up against in 2004: designing a vehicle to battle E46 M3 instead of the soon-to-be-announced E92 M3. When you look at the S5 in this light, it makes sense that Audi didn’t deliberately take a 354HP V8 to a 400+ horsepower fight. In attempt to perhaps make up for the power shortcomings, Audi revised the S5 gently in 2010 bringing a revised telematics system (the third generation MMI), redesigned lamps and a new trick active sport differential to the party. At just about the same time, BMW announced more appropriate S5 competition in the form of the 335is. Coincidence? You decide.

Stylistically, the Audi S5 is the farm girl with perfect skin compared to the airbrushed fashion models from BMW and Mercedes. The flowing lines are undoubtedly sexy however slightly plain in comparison to the crazy bulges, flares and creases worn by the competition. For 2010 the only changes to the exterior are new LED tail lamps bringing the S5 up to date with the rest of the Audi lineup.

Inside, Audi’s recent goth trend continues unabated. Henry Ford would be proud of Audi’s interior design color palatte; buyers can have whatever color dashboard, center console, doors and carpets they desire, as long as it’s black. The monochromatic theme was slightly broken up in our tester by the creamy “Silk Napa Leather” covering everything that wasn’t plastic. Although you can opt for beige, brown or red leather, the majority of the interior will always be black. While I do appreciate a dark interior, the all-black style and high beltline may turn off some buyers. Still, interior components are all first rate in terms of feel and the available birch wood trim adds much needed warmth to the interior. Compared to the M3 and 335is, Audi’s interior parts are all of similar quality, but BMW’s more liberal use of color and optional trim allow buyers to break up the vast expanses of soft-touch plastics in a way only the more expensive Audis allow.

Audi shoppers I spoke with were confused by the S5 coupe and s5 cabriolet, so allow me to explain. Despite the fact that the S5 coupe and S5 cabrio are basically the same car, the drivetrain is totally different. The S5 coupe is motivated by ye olde 354HP 4.2L V8 that has been Audi’s V8 of choice for some time coupled to a choice of 6-speed manual or 6-speed automatic transmission, whereas the S5 sans-top benefits from Audi’s latest 3.0L supercharged V6 engine and a 7-speed DSG.

Despite the slight horsepower reduction vs the 4.2L V8 (333HP & 325lb-ft vs 354HP & 325lb-ft) the only major downside to the 3.0T is the distinct reduction in aural satisfaction caused by the missing cylinders. The upside to the new engine and transmission can readily be seen in the 0-60 times (5.1 as tested for the coupe vs 5.2 according to Audi for the cabrio) and in the significantly better mileage; 17/26 vs 14/22 for the V8. On the surface it sounds like the V8 is the better engine for the job, but the topless S5 weighs as much as a BMW 740i tipping the scales at 4310lbs almost 400lbs heavier than the coupe. While the aural purists may welcome the continuation of the V8 in the S5, I’d take the supercharged six any day.

When it comes time to hit the gas pump the 4.2L V8 proves to be a thirsty companion, I averaged a lowly 18.1 MPG over 800 miles (80% highway) with my first tank coming in at 14.6MPG. Compared to the 23.6 MPG average I recorded in the BMW 335is tester I had back in 2010, or the claimed 26MPG highway average of the S5 cabrio. Buyers should consider their gas budget before purchasing. Does that make the S5 coupe’s V8 a liability? Yes and no. If V8 sound is what you desire in a car, then look no further; the 4.2L V8’s swan song is one of the best.

Pricing and Quattro have long been Audi’s two major selling points, so how does the S5 coupe stack up? Well, $53,650 is your rock-bottom starting price (ouch). This will get the bare-bones buyer an S5 nicely featured with Quattro AWD, xenon headlamps, rain sense wipers, Audi’s Multi Media Interface (MMI) without navigation, automatic climate control and Bluetooth. Stepping up to the Prestige model for $59,550 adds keyless entry and ignition, Bang & Olufson audio system, navigation and the third-generation MMI navigation system. Our “Prestige” tester rang in at a whopping $64,375with a 6-speed manual and the $3,950 Audi Drive Select system. A comparably equipped M3 (keeping in mind the M3 is of course RWD only) rings in around 10K more before dealer markup and the335is is more or less similarly priced when you adjust for option package content. It should be noted that the Infiniti G37x AWD rings in a veritable bargain at $49,575 (comparably equipped) but its AWD system just isn’t as nimble as Audi’s Quattro.

Speaking of that third-generation MMI, while I appreciate the ability to manipulate all the various features while in motion, (mostly because I value my right to fiddle with buttons more than my own life) I do put some value in a vague attempt to make a system inherently safer regardless of your decision to fiddle. Despite revising the MMI controller to include a mini-joystick disc on top of the MMI controller, they have done nothing to address the ergonomic flaw in the button and knob layout. While you can change the volume on the steering wheel and voice command is available for some functions, I found myself spending a great deal of time looking down at the array of buttons surrounding the MMI dial and hunting for the volume knob. Still, the system’s menus are fairly intuitive and as easy to learn as much of the competition but I found the addition of the joy-stick like disk on top of the MMI knob more of a hindrance than a feature. iPod and USB device integration is very good allowing control from the MMI screen or the color screen between the tach and speedo, but it would be nice if the voice command system extended to at least minimal iPod control, after all a $14,000 Fiesta can do it.

Options and gadgets aside, it’s the drive that the S5 is all about. Audi’s clutch and shifter action is close to my definition of perfect: short shifts and a slightly firm clutch. While straight line performance and handling are not up to M3 standards, the V8 has excellent low-end grunt (something missing from the G37X, 335is and even the S5 cabrio) and epic, pucker-free grip. On my second day with the S5 the heavens opened and my rain gauge recorded 8 inches in 50 hours, this is where the Quattro system in the S5 went from fun to amazing.

There is of course a reason I’m partial to AWD; no matter how many clinics I attend I’m still a moron with RWD in an oh-shit-I-made-my-ass–spin-out-of-control kind of setting. AWD? It’s a cinch. Does that make the S5 a car that you can easily overdrive? Maybe, but that’s between you and your insurance carrier. Of course not all is rosy in Quattro-land, aside from binding in certain tight parking lot maneuvers, the AWD system makes the steering feel heavy and isolated at times. Personally, I think the increased traction is a worthwhile tradeoff but purists are bound to disagree.

A quick web search indicates that many reviews deride the S5 as a nose-heavy porker. While the S5 is undoubtedly nose heavy compared to the balanced 335is, Audi has given this little piggy a new active rear differential. Several reviews imply the general public would not benefit from this new trick torque shifter, but as often happens on TTAC: I beg to differ with the “mainstream press”. A quick trip to the local Audi dealer to wring an S5 with the active diff (our tester was not so equipped) for a quick flog on slippery mountain roads yielded surprising results.

While I would not say it turns the S5 into a tail-happy M3, it certainly does make the S5 a great deal less understeer-prone leading to a surprisingly well balanced personality in slides. This feat is accomplished with a computer controlled hydraulic rear diff that can torque vector, sending power to the outside rear wheel in a turn whenever it pleases. The S5 won’t ever feel like a 3 series, but when you stab the gas it does allow enough tail wagging fun to satisfy most drivers while maintaining epic grip and something of a safety factor. It’s this ratio of grip-to-effort that makes the S5 so rewarding behind the wheel. The M3 may have superior power, but for those of us that aren’t professional drivers, 400+HP and RWD can leave you with this sneaking suspicion that your car is trying to kill you.

At the end of the day the S5 remains something of an expensive niche vehicle. Even if it had an extra 100 horses under the hood, the S5 will really never be M3 competition, it’s just too heavy. If you want balls-out, power sliding performance and the thrill of RWD: the M3 reigns supreme. But if you are interested in something that maintains its driving personality rain or shine, the S5 trumps BMW’s 335is any rainy day. The only fly in the S5’s ointment? The V8. The problem is deeper than just weight and power; with new CAFE numbers looming it’s clear that the cabrio’s supercharged V6 is the right dance partner for the S5 coupe, so if you want a V8 Coupe with AWD to tackle the next snowpocalypse: get one while supplies last, the rest of us will wait for the S5 3.0T coupe.

Audi provided the vehicle, insurance and one tank of gas for the review.

Performance statistics as tested:

0-30: 2.0 seconds

0-60: 5.2 seconds

Average economy: 18.1MPG overall

Facebook followers. Neal S: If AWD is what you seek, then yes $15K more than a mustang 5.0 is worth it. If you just want fast, get the ‘stang. Kevin F: Yes you can, the price for refinement is at least $15K.Daniel L: Understeer is really not that bad, yes it is there if you REALLY push it, but 99% of drivers will never notice. S curves are fine until the limit, at the limit the active diff helps calm the beast.

“Didn’t he say they had only one of the new A8s?”

“That’s an A4, Dad.”

Some people will walk away at this point, refusing to even consider spending $85,000+ on a car that can be so easily confused with one costing less than half as much. A similar problem killed GM’s luxury car sales back in the second half of the 1980s. But, by walking away, are these buyers missing out on the best large luxury sedan on the market?

Personally, I’ve long been okay with the “same sausage, different lengths” design philosophy. I don’t expect a size 12 shoe to be styled differently than a size 8, at least not if I like the design. Prefer the agility of a compact? Get the A4. Need the XXL, because you and all of your buddies must duck when walking through standard doorways? The A8 L could well be the car for you.

The problem, for me: the new Audi A8 doesn’t look enough like the A4. With the latest iterations of the A3, A4, A5, and Q5, Audi seemed to have finally figured out how to attractively incorporate a supersized grille into the face of a car. With these models, the outer thirds of the front fascia extend a little lower than the center section, and a bumper bar splits the grille horizontally, keeping it from appearing too tall. Well, with the new A8 a vastly oversized, unsegmented grille extends all the way to the fascia’s flat bottom edge. And, to make sure no one somehow misses it, Audi affixed eight pairs of chrome strips. Harley Earl would have loved it. Ditto the $1,400 all-LED headlamps. A“because we can” affectation, the hockey stick pattern formed by the LEDs has no relation to the rest of the car’s design.

Then there’s the side view. With the new A4 and A5, Audi located the front differential immediately behind the engine so that the front axle could be shifted forward a half-foot, vastly improving the car’s proportions. They’ve performed no such trickery with the new A8. Combining Audi’s traditional powertrain layout with a hood high enough to meet the latest European pedestrian safety standards yields an unsightly amount of front overhang.

Lastly, the lower bodysides of latest A4 have an upsweeping character line to lend visual interest. In contrast, the bodysides of the new A8 are relatively boring. A pair of character lines do subtly curve towards each other, but this only makes the rear of the car appear undersized and underdeveloped. Only through its sheer sheer size—207.4 inches long, 76.7 inches wide—and that of its glitzy grille does the A8 possibly command the “road presence” expected of this class of sedan. The previous A8 was considerably more attractive.

The 2011 Audi A8s interior design is an evolution of the previous car’s; not a bad thing, since the previous car’s interior was Germany’s most attractive. The Alcantara that now graces the door panels looks better in richer shades than the “as-tested” light beige. The sportily sloping center stack has been further reclined to create space for the MMI (Audi for iDrive) controls ahead of the shifter (they used to be behind it). To avoid obstructing these controls, the new all-electronic shifter is a much lower, fighter jet-inspired T. Knobs continue to be employed for the most basic HVAC and audio system functions.

When not in use, the display screen retracts into the instrument panel. This cleans up the IP—but the display is almost constantly in use. Even the seat adjustments are displayed, which is actually a good thing because they are so numerous. In general, so many adjustments are available for so many things that the average owner will probably never be aware of, much less be able to figure out how to use, 90 percent of them. It’s a high-end cell phone disguised as a large luxury sedan.

Option the new A8 to the hilt and even rear seat passengers can suffer from control overload. But the tested car included a mere $8,400 in options and so lacked power rear seats, dual-zone rear HVAC, and the dual-display entertainment system. Even so, each rear door included four switches and a button to operate four sunshades (overhead, each side window, and the rear window), both power windows, and a venting rear panel in the optional panoramic sunroof.

Oddly, given this car’s mission, seat comfort front and rear is just okay. In the traditional Audi fashion the seats are firm and lacking in contour. Those seeking lateral support should kick in another $2,000 for the Premium Package, which includes power-adjustable bolsters. Roominess, on the other hand, is outstanding. In the extended length L, nearly all of the lengthier wheelbase goes to the rear seat, yielding 42.9 inches of legroom—more than in the front seat. In the Hyundai Equus I complained about the lack of toe space beneath the front seats. In the A8 L my toes couldn’t reach the front seats. Perceived roominess is even better than the specs suggest, partly because Audi hasn’t run with the crowd to adopt ridiculously high beltlines—the windows remain relatively large. Unless you and your buds all play center, or you want to feel like a child again while riding in the back seat, there could even be too much room.

Most luxury car makers have been steadily enlarging the size of their engines. BMW went from a 4.0 to a 4.4 to a 4.8, Mercedes to a 5.5. Both are now downsizing their V8s, but are adding turbos to simultaneously boost power output. Even Hyundai plans to bump its 4.6-liter V8 to a full 5.0 next year. In contrast, Audi has been offering a smallest-in-class unblown 4.2-liter V8 for nearly two decades. The engine has received various tweaks, some of them substantial, along the way. The latest revision yields 372 horsepower, up 22 from last year and nearly 100 from the original. Wringing 372 horsepower from 4.2 liters—Mercedes gets only ten more out of its 5.5—necessarily requires lots of revs, 6,800 in this case. Put another way, there’s less power at low-to-moderate RPM with a smaller engine, and the 4.2’s torque output of 328 pound-feet at 3,500 trails the Mercedes’ 391 at 2,800, much less the turbocharged V8 in the BMW 7.

Personally, I don’t miss the missing torque in the Audi. The relatively small V8 revs so smoothly, and makes such luscious mechanical noises when doing so, that the need to work it harder might well be the opposite of a problem. The A8 might not launch quite as hard as the others, but once moving feels very quick. The new smooth-shifting eight-speed automatic does its part, always seeming to select the proper gear without delay. But if you do want to shift for yourself, paddles are located on the steering wheel.

Working an engine harder often harms fuel economy, and the Audi engine has been a bit of a guzzler in the past. But the EPA rates the 2011 at 17 city, 27 highway—up from 16/23 last year and impressive numbers for such a large, powerful, all-wheel-drive car. The BMW 750Li xDrive and Mercedes-Benz S500 4Matic do far worse: 14/20 and 14/21, respectively.

Shifting the front axle forward in the A4 and A5 also improved their weight distribution. Even without this change, though, the new A8 plows much less in hard turns than the old one did, and generally feels more agile. Which is not to say agile. The A8 drives a half-size smaller than it actually is, but this is a half-size smaller than XXL. Typical of all-wheel-drive Audi’s, the A8 can feel inflexible on dry pavement. Get on the throttle, get off the throttle, it doesn’t matter: the attitude of the chassis doesn’t change. To dial the handling up another notch or two, lend some rear-drive feel to the quattro drivetrain, and perhaps all but eliminate understeer, spend another $2,300 for “Audi drive select plus,” which includes active steering and an active, torque-vectoring rear differential.

“Audi drive select” (without the “plus”) is standard, so the throttle, steering, suspension (air springs and adaptive struts), and seat belt tensioners (go figure) can each be independently set to Comfort, “Dynamic” (sport), or Auto. With most such systems the differences between settings can be difficult to discern. Not so with Audi’s. Set the steering and suspension to “comfort,” and the car floats and wallows. “Auto” and “Dynamic” should be the only options. Dial both up to “dynamic,” and the steering becomes –if anything– overly firm, while the suspension becomes much tighter. No one else in the segment offers steering nearly this firm—the difference is easily detectable even while driving straight down the freeway. Move the wheel even a fraction of an inch and the car responds immediately. But all is not perfect: like the ultra-firm steering in a 1980s Detroit-issue Audi-fighter, though certainly not to the same extent, the steering’s weightiness feels artificial and doesn’t build progressively as the wheel is turned.

Ride quality suffers a bit in “Dynamic,” but remains very comfortable. A rock-solid, quiver-free body structure helps. Especially on concrete, road noise is more of an issue in any setting. There’s not a lot of it, but some competitors are nearly silent. The tested car did have the optional 20-inch high-performance tires; the standard 19s might be quieter.

Pack a large aluminum body chock full of technology, and the price isn’t going to be low. The 2011 Audi A8 starts at $78,925. The long, with some additional standard equipment: $84,875. Even lightly optioned, as in the case of the tested car, the price tops $94k. Load it up and you’re over $110k. This might seem pricey, but based on TrueDelta’s car price comparison tool a similarly-equipped BMW 750Li costs about $10,000 more.

The new Audi A8 is easily the sportiest car in the segment. Even BMW has gone soft in comparison, and the new 7 is also considerably more expensive. Not that the new A8 is perfect. The car’s exterior could be both more distinctive (aft of the grille) and more attractive (including the grille). The relatively small V8 doesn’t churn out pavement-rippling torque; with all wheels driven, the chassis could handle far more. Even the car’s technical excellence can seem a little cold—some competitors feel more “natural.” But then no car is perfect. If you’re a driving enthusiast ISO a very large car, the A8 wins by just about any objective measure, and by many subjective measures as well.

Michael Karesh owns and operates TrueDelta, an online source of automotive reliability and pricing data.

Coupe – feminine noun. Cutting; cutting out; cut. According to the Oxford-Hachette French Dictionary at least, this is the definition of a word that always held special promise for car lovers worldwide. But the evocative nature of the term, and the fact that French is no longer the world’s lingua franca, have given today’s automakers license to apply the term to almost anything. If a car’s roof line even remotely resembles a rotten piece of a banana, it’s a coupe. Marketing, after all, is a more powerful force than grammar.

Short of running out of letters and integers, nothing will stop Audi from launching an assault on the competition’s league of French-illiterates. Its two entries in the world of un-coupes, at least at the moment I type these words, are the soon-to-be-launched Audi A7 and the Audi A5 Sportback.

Audi’s A5 Sportback is supposed to slot between its bestselling A4 and the two door A5, which is a lot like asking for a compromise between a fruit salad and a cheeseburger. Nevertheless, the good folks from Inglostadt are convinced that there is room (got it?) for a coupe-like hatchback with four doors, in the price bracket of its popular sedan. And so, the Sportback is longer by a mere third of an inch than its flat-roof sibling, one inch wider and most importantly, another inch lower.

The ‘real’ A5 Coupe is a rather handsome automobile, and the Sportback gives up nothing to its older sibling. It’s also markedly more handsome in person than in any photo. Audi have done a good job of masking the two extra doors – looking it at certain front-side angles, you’d be hard pressed to even tell they’re there, and you definitely can’t tell that this is actually a five door.

The sloping roof is surprisingly convincing, and the rest of the exteriordesign’s careful attention to detail – like the sculptured rear sides and the twin profile lines flowing over the car – is particularly impressive. The front end is carried over unchanged from the A5 Coupe, and that’s a good thing, even if you don’t find the standard Audi grille an exciting design experiment.

In contrast with the exterior design, the interior is much less exciting. In brand-typical fashion, the inside of this Audi is a well engineered, good quality effort. It’s not the prettiest in the business, but the materials, build quality and general ease of use compensate for the lack of aesthetic adventurousness.

Size-wise, things are distinctively A4 in the back, with headroom that’s surprisingly almost identical to the traditional sedan. Legroom gets a little drop – and that’s not saying much in favor of the Sportback, since the A4 isn’t exactly the roomiest sedan to begin with. Still, two adults average sized adults who haven’t called shotgun on time will find sufficient space in the second row.

Emphasize ‘two’, because there are two only seats. The Sportback is actually wider than the A4, so the omission of the third seat is purely a marketing-driven “coupe” signifier. Good news comes in the form of the trunk (literally), which is 17 cubic feet in size – exactly the same as in the A4 sedan, but with the ease of use of a hatchback.

It’s unusual for automakers to hand out base engine cars for reviews, and yet, there it is: a metallic blue A5 Sportback with a 2.0 turbocharged inline four (TFSI) producing just under a 180 horsepower, front wheel drive (gasp!) and a proper six speed manual box (double gasp!).

Let’s start with the basics: 8.3 seconds to 60 (if you can shift like superman) and a top speed of 138 mph (if you’re brave enough to veer into the left lane of an Autobahn). Not exactly numbers to set the enthusiast’s heart racing, but this is a turbocharged engine – so numbers don’t count. Come 2,000 rpm, the horses come-a-prancing to this Audi’s front wheels and the result is impressive midrange grunt. Performance is only let down by mild torque steer if you’re really, er, pushing things.

The 2.0 liter lump is a rev-happy engine that doesn’t feel anything like economy. With a heavy right foot, this free-spinner makes relentless progress all the way up the rev range, until 6,500 and beyond. The results are better than you’d expect from a four pot midsize, and definitely a more entertaining experience than the 8 second 0-60 time would lead you to believe.

But the rev-over-grunt tuning isn’t just another coupe affectation.  ”Base” now means “green”, so Audi have equipped all manual transmission A5s with a start-stop system and a shift indicator. Stop and put the gearlever into neutral, and the engine automatically shuts down. Press the clutch pedal, and it’s alive again. This sounds good on paper, but it hasn’t quite been executed perfectly. Unlike in, say, a Toyota Prius, you can feel the engine vibrating into life, and the electronics get confused during short stops.

The gearshift indicator constantly urges you to shift upwards. Follow it and you’ll find yourself cruising on less than 1,500 rpm, which is still nighttime in turbocharger country. In-gear acceleration requires great patience as the car gathers pace towards the 2,000 rpm mark and beyond.

There is a healthy payoff to these two not exactly silent passengers: fuel economy. Even while not religiously following the gearshift fairy, I had no problems getting readouts of 33 mpg on a variety of roads and close to that on mildly spirited drives.

Judging a car’s ride on smooth Bavarian tarmac is about as objective as judging a pacifist in a pillbox, but strangely this Audi demonstrated an unsettling, harsh ride. Pretty surprising, considering the GT-riding nature of the Coupe. The blame is on the S-line package and the added benefits of a sporty suspension and 245/40R18 tires. This is one option you should definitely skip, because an unsettling ride on German roads is intolerable on others.

Other than the ride, the A5 is a great cruiser on a smooth autobahn. Wind noises aren’t apparent until speeds north of 90 mph. And even then, you really feel like you’re doing about half that speed. The engine is also well silenced while cruising at high speeds, but the raspy engine note does penetrate the cabin when you’re clearly into acceleration.

I now realize I haven’t said a word about handling. That’s because there isn’t much to write home about. Even without Quattro, you could still describe the A5 Sportback with adjectives such as ‘planted’, ‘safe’ and ‘predictable’ – it can certainly take turns at high speeds, but without much vigor. Technically, most everything is sound – there’s minimal body roll and chassis responses are good. But somehow, it just doesn’t work out into a sports-sedan. The nicely weighted steering stiffens suddenly and artificially on turn in, making it hard to judge exactly where the wheels are. The dreadfully long clutch and gearbox don’t exactly make shifts a joy, either. The two exiled driving wheels are missed when you lose your manners. This is when the Quattro-less Audi will gently understeer you back into reality, reminding you of your rightful place in the Bavarian food chain.

The Sportback is not a perfect car, and definitely not the greatest Audi of the past few years. It’s not the most exciting car to drive (though the same is true for the A5 Coupe… and several other Audis), neither does it remarkably cosset its driver or passengers. Its stronger points are a quality feel, excellent powertrain and a healthy dose of style. The positive and negative bits blend into a likeable car, but it just doesn’t offer many technical advantages over its sedate sibling. Unless style is your definition of premium. In which case, you’ll have no problem calling the Sportback a coupe.

Audi provided the vehicle, insurance and gas for this review.

This review brought to you by icar.co.il

It is said of Frank Lloyd Wright that he was an unbelievably annoying and offensive man; worse than that, every home he ever built ended up with a leaky roof. More than eight years ago, the first major gathering of North American TT owners took place, not at a racetrack or in the banal confines of a convention-center parking lot, but in the shadow of Wright’s residential masterpiece, Fallingwater. It was an apt choice for an automobile which has chosen form over function since its introduction. Among the quartet of small German sportsters — Audi TT, Porsche Boxster, BMW Z, and Mercedes SLK — only the TT is a transverse-engined front-driver, only the TT is currently supplied in North America with a four-cylinder engine, and only the TT features rear seats, improbable as they may be. Those of us who remember the Sesame Street song “One of These Things Is Not Like The Other” will have no trouble picking out the Audi as the one which, indeed, is not like the others.

It is your author’s humble opinion that the TT, like most design-centric products, is most satisfying taken in basic form. The standard front-wheel-drive, DSG-shifted two-liter turbo TT costs approximately $39,000. It is usefully lighter and more nimble than the Volkswagen GTI with which it shares a powertrain, and it is absent any of the hypermacho German posturing which would ill-suit a tidy little sporting hatchback of this type. Naturally, not everyone will agree, and for those people Audi supplies this fifty-two-thousand-dollar, Haldex-driven TT-S model, complete with an extra sixty-five horsepower from a strengthened variant of the base engine.

This would be a TT to take to a track rather than to Fallingwater, so we packed it up in company with my 2009 Audi S5 and a borrowed 2009 Audi R8 “R.tronic” and went to the iconic but diminutive Waterford Hills Road Course near metro Detroit. Of the three cars, only the TT-S truly felt at home; the S5 was plagued by understeer around Waterford’s many sharp turns and the R8 was obviously too big and fast for such a small track. Which is not to say the TT-S was the fastest; both of the V8 Audis handily pulled out of sight within a lap or two. But it was the happiest and most pleasant to drive.

VW/Audi’s DSG gearbox is very probably the best mass-market self-shifter available. Around town, it’s cheerful and relaxed, slurring shifts and offering the proper gear rather more often than any torque-converter automatic. At the track, it’s a revelation. The rather peaky turbo four stays on the boil thanks to instantaneous, rev-matched swaps up and down. Adding a CG-Lock seatbelt clincher to the TT-S makes it possible to left-foot brake all the way around the racetrack, which is always an aid to going quickly. The instant change in revs every time the twin clutches trade places has to be heard to be believed and it’s very, very Formula Unnnn.

Although the TT-S carries a “quattro” badge, it’s not the traditional longitudinal engine and Torsen center differential found in other Audis. Instead, there’s a more Rube Goldbergesque arrangement that transfers power just a beat or two behind the moment when it’s needed. As a consequence, there are no tail-out antics to be had in a TT. In fact, antics of any kind are in short supply. To get the most out of a TT-S, simply floor the throttle on the straight, brake at the ABS threshold to the turn-in point using your left foot while squeezing the left paddle five or six times (it will not select too low of a gear) and then floor the throttle again as you pass the apex. The drivetrain will sort it all out and you will fire out the other side of the corner with a rather satisfying “blat” as the ignition cuts out between shifts. The brakes are not spectacular but they are sufficient, which is more than can be said for the stoppers on my S5.

After about twenty laps in the little coupe, I parked it in favor of its mid-engined big brother, which can be hooned around a racetrack in tail-out fashion and which offers an even more satisfying engine note. It wasn’t until the evening that I drove the TT-S again, this time down the freeway to Ohio.

Here the Audi truly satisfies. It’s rapid enough on the street, the sound system is outstanding, the seats are good, the steering wheel is very sporting and serious. It’s a handsome car, even if it’s missing some of the original TT’s purity, and it’s built exceptionally well. Of course, all of this is also true of the considerably more affordable base model.

Frank Lloyd Wright reportedly once asked a tall guest to leave one of his houses because the man’s height was “ruining the architecture”. The base TT is a splendid little car, but the boy-racer bodykit, extra power, Haldex lag, and staggering markup associated with the TT-S goes a long way towards spoiling the architecture. It would take more than 265 horsepower to make this car keep up with a base Cayman around a road course, and the TT-S is actually priced head-to-head with the outrageously stickered Porsche coupe. When it comes to Audi’s little architectural coupe, simpler is better.

Once upon a time, S was for Audis what M was for BMWs. A decade ago Audi took an A4, added a pair of turbos to the V6, stiffened the suspension, plus-oned the alloys, and tagged the result the S4. A special driving experience that became more special (if less moddable) when the 250-horsepower turbo V6 was replaced by a 340-horsepower V8 a few years later. The A4 was redesigned for 2009, and this year there’s a new S4. The V8 has been tossed in favor of a supercharged 3.0-liter V6 that kicks out 333 horsepower. Is the resulting car worthy of the S?

With the B8 A4, Audi rearranged the drivetrain bits to shift the front axle forward four inches. The primary goal: lose the nose-heavy feel that has long plagued Audis. But this change also improved the car’s proportions—having the front wheel opening just a couple inches from the front door cut is never pretty. Other changes included some BMW-influenced (but more tastefully done) “flame surfacing” on the lower bodysides. Even with these changes, the current A4 looks much like the previous one at a glance. It’s a handsome car. But the closely related A5 coupe is stunning.

The new Audi S4 looks nearly identical to the A4 on which it is based. The wheel design is unique, but such a subtle difference will be lost on all but the most ardent Audi fans. The fascias might also be tweaked, but I couldn’t tell. I literally checked the badges prior to entry to verify that I was indeed getting into an S4 rather than an A4.

The S4′s stealth act continues in the interior. Good thing then, that Audi has led the industry in interior design and construction for at least the last decade. While the S4’s cabin is largely up to snuff, some bits seem cheaper than in the previous car, most notably the silver plastic trim plate across the top half of the instrument panel face and the hard plastic door pulls. Other manufacturers wrap the latter, a key touch point, in leather, and it feels good. Why doesn’t “the interior design leader?”

The new S4, like the A4 on which it is based, is 4.6 inches longer and 2.1 inches wider than the old one. This larger exterior translates to a larger interior. In the front seat, you sit a bit lower behind a more imposing instrument panel than before and the cabin feels noticeably wider. These changes, together with the longer wheelbase, lend the B8 an almost midsize feel. This can be good or bad. Buying a compact sedan only because it costs less? Then good. Buying a compact sedan because you like the more agile, more intimate feel of a smaller car? Not so good.

The S4 does have standard sport buckets. The prominent side bolsters provide excellent lateral support, but are just short of uncomfortably tight for me–and I have a fairly slim build. Larger people might find these seats unbearable. My seat recalls the old S4’s Recaro buckets much more fondly.

In the back seat, knees have about an inch more space, which is significant since many adults couldn’t quite fit into the back of the old S4. As in nearly every competitor, the rear seat remains too low to the floor to provide adults with thigh support. As before, the rear seat folds in two parts to enlarge the trunk. Try finding that in a Japanese competitor.

The new Audi S4 is available with two transmissions, a six-speed conventional manual and a seven-speed automated dual clutch manual (“DSG” in VW-speak, “S tronic” in Audiese). I drove the former. Start up the new S4 and get going, and the first thing you’ll notice is that the shift lever is a too tall for comfort. First mod? Otherwise, the new car’s shifter feels smoother than that in any other Audi I’ve cogswapped.

The next thing you notice is that, when driving the new Audi S4 casually, there isn’t much to notice. In the old V8-powered S4, a sporty burble reminded you at all times that you were driving something special. In the new one, noise from all sources, including the engine, is low. In some supercharged engines (Ford’s V8 comes to mind), the blower assaults the eardrums. With this one, my ears failed to notice it.

Is the new S4 quick? Absolutely. The supercharged engine doesn’t pack the now-off-now-on wallop I recall in the old biturbo V6—power builds more linearly and without a lag—but it does pull very strongly. You’re at sixty-plus before your senses have time to process the (non) experience. Fuel economy benefits from the engine swap: EPA ratings go from 13/19 to 18/27—goodbye gas guzzler tax. The benefits don’t end here—Audi has also cut the price by a few thousand to reflect the lower manufacturing cost of this engine. And yet, something is also lost. As Baruth noted in his drive of the A6 3.0T, the supercharged V6 verges on characterless. It has none of the spine-tingling soul of the V8.

Like the new A4, the new S4 has more communicative steering and more balanced handling than the old one. The nose no longer seeks the outside curb in hard turns. Any curve taken at semi-sane speeds is carved without complaint. And yet the edge that marks the best performance sedans is absent. The driver gives orders, and the car faithfully executes them, but the two don’t meld. On the flip side, the ride is surprisingly absorbent.

A couple of performance-oriented options were absent from the “stripper” S4 I drove. An $1,100 active rear differential should lend the S4 more of the feel of a rear-wheel drive car, with (hopefully) throttle-induced oversteer on demand. Spend an extra $3,950 for the Audi Drive Select Package, and this active differential is joined by active steering, ultra-quick electrically-adjustable shocks, and a switch to alter the calibrations of both. The adjustable steering and shocks get stellar reviews in every Audi in which they’re offered. With them, the latest S4 might be the most thrilling yet.

Problem is, without them the new Audi S4 feels much like a regular A4, just with 50 percent more power. If Audi had called the car I drove an A4 3.0T, as it does when the A6 is fitted with this engine, then I’d have no complaints. But an S4 should be more special. As it is, it’s just a very quick and very competent but otherwise normal-feeling car.

My suggestion: give the car I drove the regular A4’s more accommodating buckets and rename it the A4 3.0T. The S4 nameplate should be reserved for a car with a more thrilling engine note, the trick suspension and steering, and tuning that thoroughly engages the driver in the experience. Otherwise, the S badge seems like little more than a marketing afterthought.

[Michael Karesh operates TrueDelta.com, a provider of car reliability and real-world gas mileage information]

After urbane styling and precise road manners  made Audi a real player in the luxury sports sedan market with the late ‘90s A6, the Ingolstadt Werkmeisters took a more conservative route with the third-generation A6. It became larger, more architectural than haute couture, and softer. For 2009, though, Audi decided to give the A6 an adrenaline shot right to the heart: a new engine that transforms this car from wallflower to stealth wildcat.

The current-generation A6’s style has always been understated and very elegant; subtle tweaking makes it look a little more aggressive than last year’s model. Chrome trim accents the A6’s subtle lines, and the looks substantial without being too showy. If the Jaguar’s look evokes Savile Row; the Audi’s evokes Hugo Boss, the real Hugo Boss, not the cheapend t-shirts you get from the emporium a couple streets over from Rodeo Drive.

Audi’s interior decorators have gotten their share of praise over the years; one look at the A6’s interior reveals why. This is an extremely handsome and stylish environment, with flowing shapes and exquisite detailing; look at the chrome strip around the wood trim on the dashboard, or the way the shape of the highly-legible instrument cluster fits within the arc of the three-spoke steering wheel. The interior color scheme was smashing: dark charcoal color on the dash, side panels, and seat bolsters, with Amaretto-colored leather inserts on the seats and door panels, and a matching headliner. The quality of the leather, and some other interior materials, aren’t quite up to snuff compared to the Lexus or BMW, but there’s little to argue about style-wise inside the A6. In fact, BMW were smart, they’d do whatever it takes – stock offerings, pay raises, kidnapping, blackmail, virgin sacrifices, whatever – and hire Audi’s interior stylists tomorrow.

The A6’s driver interface looks mostly solid, but some ergonomic quirks surface, in Audi’s latest attempt to delight and annoy. For instance, if you want to crank up the A/C, you have to use the temperature control to increase and decrease fan speed. Like Jaguar, Audi designers decided to invest some razzle-dazzle in the glovebox door latch, placing an “open/close” switch on the center console. And while all the cars in this test feature pushbutton start, Audi’s system has one button to start the engine and one to stop it. Why?

The A6’s ergonomics are also heavily compromised by their version of IDrive, labeled MMI (Multi-Media Interface), which works no better than BMW’s or Mercedes’, and adds a new level of silliness: no radio controls on the dashboard. To turn the radio on and off and adjust the volume, you use a rotary switch to the right of the shifter, and use the separate large rotary wheel to control inputs, settings and the like. The MMI wheel has menu buttons surrounding it to control navigation and other functions, but as in the BMW, they’re out of the driver’s line of sight, and all feel alike, so you have to take your eyes off the road to use them. As bad as the BMW and Mercedes systems are, at least they leave the basic radio controls on the dash, where God, Krishna, Allah, and Bahá’u'lláh intended them to be.

Hit the ignition switch – the one marked “start,” as opposed to the one marked “off” – and you unlock the A6’s warrior heart. Like the other truly potent engine in this test, the BMW’s twin-turbo six, Audi tuned this new supercharged engine to be a stump-puller – 310 lb/ft of torque at 2500 rpm – and the supercharger system ensures even power delivery throughout the power band. But unlike the BMW, which hits hyperdrive from a standing start, the A6’s engine pulls its punches until 2500 rpm, at which point the blower kicks in, and launches, more like the Millenium Falcon in “Empire Strikes Back” than the original movie.

The sequential-shift six-speed transmission, plays wonderfully with the devilish engine. While supercharger whine, a typical bugaboo on this type of engine, has been massaged into near-nothingness, this engine trumpets its existence louder than the BMW. The numbers show the BMW as slightly faster than the Audi, but if you’re into adolescent bursts of power, this Audi won’t disappoint.

It won’t disappoint on a winding road, either. Although the Audi’s front-heavy handling balance makes it feel less eager in tight corners than the BMW, on fast sweepers and the Interstate, the A6 is every bit the Bavarian’s match. The same is true of the A6’s steering, which is quick, accurate and communicative. The A6’s handling capabilities do little to compromise ride quality, which is first-class.The Audi is also a first-class value – the Premium model tested, with navigation, the performance package, heated rear seats, and rear side airbags, stickered at $57,000. Well, a value for this class, if you want to penny pinch, Hyundai just set up shop down the road.

So if the Audi can match the BMW on a performance basis, and best it in the styling and value departments, what’s with the second place finish? The A6’s loss is a narrow one, to be sure, but in subtle ways – the refinement of the powertrain, the quality of the interior materials, and the offbeat, gimmicky ergonomics, to name three – the Audi just doesn’t quite measure up. The Audi feels solid; the BMW feels like it’s been laser-carved straight out of Mount Rushmore.

In other words, the Audi is great to drive, but the BMW’s sublime. Still, greatness is nothing to sneeze at, especially when it’s value-priced, so this rocket-man Audi nabs second place.

Performance: 5/5

So much for the A6’s boring rep – the new supercharnged engine blasts the A6 forward with amazing urgency

Ride: 4/5

Compliant without being harsh

Handling: 4/5

Feels a little larger and ever-so-slightly more ponderous than the BMW

Exterior: 4/5

The best looking of the Germans: stylish in an almost architectural way.

Interior: 4/5

A stylistic knockout; wacky ergonomics and some cheap materials cost the Audi a perfect score.

Fit and finish: 4/5

Certainly well made, but seems more mass-produced than bespoke

Toys: 4/5

This A6 is extremely well equipped, and attractively priced.

Desirability: 4/5

A kick in the pants to drive, with a “yee-haw” factor that’s rare in this class

The process of writing a car review often feels like creating a “Mad Lib.” TTAC readers old enough to have taken a long road trip in the pre-GameBoy era may remember Mad Libs; they are little booklets with blanks for nouns, verbs, proper names and so on. One person comes up with the nouns and verbs, another person writes them into the blanks, and hilarity ensues. Car and Driver appears to be almost entirely written by Mad Lib nowadays, but those oh-so-seductive English big-format car rags aren’t above doing a little fill-in-the-blank action themselves.

One of the most common English tropes is the “(proper noun) package (verb)s this car.” Eager to demonstrate their Princess-and-the-pea powers of discrimination, EVO or CAR will solemnly swear that, although the BMW 514d xDrive six-speed estate wagon with M Package is an unspeakably horrible car, the addition of the Dynamic Badge Coloring option group “completely transforms the on-road experience.” A variation on the theme: the recommendation of a Byzantine equipment choice, with the solemn assurance that only this particular example fails to offend the reviewer’s selective palate. “The Cayman is only truly enjoyed as a 2.7 litre non-PASM car with sport springs, 18″ wheels, adaptive seats, embossed floormats, and short-throw shifter.”

With this in mind, then, I’m almost embarrassed to explain why I’m only going to assign three stars to the Audi A6 3.0T Quattro. Car and Driver, Mad-Libbing their way through another low-speed Hocking Hills crawl retold to readers as an impossible series of derring-do accomplishments, gave this Audi the top spot above the 535i, Jag XF, Infiniti M45, and Mercedes-Benz E350. It wasn’t this A6 3.0T, however. C/D’s test car had the “Prestige” equipment level, Sport package, and rang the register to the tune of $59K. Ours was a “Premium Plus” with standard suspension, more than six grand cheaper.

What do you get with “Premium Plus”? Well, you get a button on the console that says “Navigation.” Press it, and you’ll be told that “Navigation system is not installed.” Hmm. The screen between the tach and speedometer, which displays a full selection of colorful information in the “Prestige,” is recast as a Space Invaders-style monochrome readout more fitting to a base-model Rabbit. There’s no backup camera, no high-end sound system, and the car is started with the turn of a switchblade key. A Ford Taurus Limited is considerably better-equipped, and it’s twenty grand cheaper.

Some of that price difference is eloquently explained in the driving experience. I ran the car around Nelson Ledges Road Course for a day. I was well pleased at the Audi A6 3.0T Quattro’s absolutely trustworthy handling, even on the all-season tires fitted to our tester. It’s possible to do some very stupid things, like trail-braking the “Kink” at 110 mph to point the big trapezoid grille at the inside curb, without upsetting the Audi’s fundamental nose-heavy composure. The brakes are acceptable. Even if they aren’t quite up to the challenge of repeatedly stopping the car from triple-digit speeds, they’re better than what you’d find on the equivalent Bimmer.

The supercharged V6, denoted by the “3.0T” badge on the trunk and the nifty little faux-carbon-fiber “Supercharged” insignia on each fender, is merely okay. On the road, it feels characterless. The powerplant never quite as strong as Audi’s rambunctious direct-injection V8, which it’s meant to replace. Over the course of ten laps of Nelson Ledges, heat-soak makes its presence known. Each successive exit onto the front straight feels softer. If you’re in the market for an A6, or for the S5 coupe, do yourself a favor. Get the V8 while you still can. It’s infinitely superior to this blown six, in sound, power, feel and feedback.

Alternately, you might consider saving up another ten grand past the price of an A6 4.2 and picking up a base A8. The difference between the A6 and A8 isn’t readily apparent on paper, so I’ll try to explain it here. The A6 is a very good “regular car,” while the A8 is a German D-class sedan. There is an extra layer of liquid-feeling insulation in every one of the A8’s controls, from the steering wheel to the shifter.

The A6 is shaken by bumps which fail to trouble the larger car. The A6 is quiet; the A8 is relaxing. The A6 tracks down the freeway very well, but the A8 feels as if it could follow the dotted-white line by itself. Open and close the door on both cars, and you will know immediately which one you prefer.

To make the A6 the victor of their mid-size sedan test, C/D had to ratchet-up the “Gotta Have It” score. It’s ironic. The Audi mid-sizer fails to exude any sense of “Gotta Have It” whatsoever. It’s a pleasant, handsome, somewhat anodyne automobile, nearly completely devoid of passion. With a V8 and the Prestige equipment, it has a powerful sort of techno-presence. As a mid-liner V6, let’s just say that “the (noun) fails to stir the (noun).”

One of the enduring lessons of the car game is that good vehicles don’t always sell well. As a car writer who took on news analysis before ever getting manufacturer-sponsored time behind the wheel, this lesson can’t help but tinge my impressions of a road test. So when my first week-long-test vehicle arrived in the form of a Q7 TDI, I felt no desire to justify Audi’s decision to bring the thing to market. After all, by any reasonable analysis, the brand built by Quattro wagons should have been the primary beneficiary of America’s SUV craze. Or at least, its worst enemy. Instead the Q7 showed up for the party fashionably dressed but fashionably late. And very few wanted to buy it. With the high price of luxo ute party fuel already killing the festive vibes, is switching to a new drink enough to make Audi’s SUV sales party like it’s 1999?

On its face, diesel is the least sexy non-gasoline fuel out there. Sure, it’s packed with hydrocarbons and, sure, biodiesel has a certain following, but the American experience with diesel has not been a love-in. Even for those of us who are young enough not to remember the bad old diesels of the last energy crisis, oil burners bring up bad memories.

The most common impression is of full-on sensory assault: sitting at a stoplight while the jackhammer idle of a Cummins-powered Ram rises to a ground-shaking roar, having your hair blown back by an apocalyptic cloud of sooty smoke exhaled from howitzer-sized exhaust. In short, not the kind of impression one likes to leave with observers of ones expensive German chariot.

If you’re a diesel aficionado, you know that the current generation of European “clean diesels” have put many of these stereotypes to rest. The reality is still shocking. Fire up the Audi’s three liter turbodiesel V6, and the cockpit fills with sound . . . from the climate control. Roll down the windows and a faint sound might tempt you to think that internal combustion is taking place. Only parked by a brick wall is the idle noise even properly identifiable: a newborn Cummins, murmuring to itself in a barbiturate coma.

This aural timidity belies the engine’s humble on-paper proportions. You’ll note that Audi has refrained from putting 3.0 anywhere on the Q7 diesel’s badging. That’s because folks who spend the national median household income on a family hauler think numbers below 4.0 are bad luck. It’s TDI Quattro, thanks. (Massive graphics available on Audi press fleet models only.)

Lucky then, for these already lucky people, that this ain’t yer uncle Lou’s Olds diesel V6. To say the least. Thanks to basic engineering competence, common rail injection, and a Google server farm worth of computers, this V6 performs its luxobarge duty with distinction. Its (whisper it) 225 horsepower and (shout it) 406 pound-feet of torque are earned with a 17/25 mpg EPA rating. In fact, the only thing that should remind you of the Olds diesel era is the fact that diesel prices are again cheaper than gas.

But they won’t be forever. In the mean time, take the opportunity to go to new places and meet new people. I did and saw beautiful things. And met kind gas station employees who told me that they only sold low sulphur diesel. I would need to drive a couple of miles to the 76 where they sell ultra low sulphur diesel.

And, no, you can’t just top off at the Chinese restaurant’s grease dumpster. The TDI’s manual states firmly that fuels with more than five percent biodiesel are verboten. The upside is that with a 26-gallon tank and a 600 mile range, you’ll only have to fill up about 17 times before your clean diesel confronts you with your new urea addiction. Wait, is that an upside?

No, to understand the upsides of the Q7 TDI, you really have to drive it. On the open road you completely forget that the main nitrogen-containing substance in mammal urine is even being used to scrub your exhaust into compliance with 50-state emissions standards. Torque has a way of concentrating the mind on the task at hand. Tasks such as picking up the kids from the Academy or heading for the hills like your tail’s on fire. I recommend the latter.

After all, the Q7 TDI isn’t particularly exciting to drive around town. It’s competent, but it fails at the two primary in-town activities of the luxury SUV: stunting and the traffic light Grand Prix. Competency at showing off is obviously a subjective and controversial issue. I will simply say that in my week with the Q, the only two comments I got from strangers were “never seen one before” and “what’s the mileage?” A luxury ute that subtle will need to earn the peasant’s respect at the green light.

Sadly, this one doesn’t. The Q7 TDI accelerates to 60 mph in about 8.5 seconds, roughly the same as a Saturn Vue Red Line. Or a Mercedes R320 Bluetec. The problem is that the engine isn’t really happy until it has a good head of steam spinning its turbos. Until then it’s just three liters working against 5,512 pounds. There’s only a brief pause before the twist starts flowing, but it’s enough to keep you from feeling like, well, sixty grand.

Part of the problem is that the Audi’s Tiptronic transmission tends to short-shift through the first two cogs unless you keep the throttle pinned. Happily, dialing “S” for sport mode tightens up the whole drivetrain, improving response and acceleration which match well with the Q7′s firm steering and epic grip. Even with minimal use of the competent but unremarkable brakes, Mr. Q easily focuses on a tight line going into corners. Stab into the engine’s sweet spot, hang on tight, and the giant ute hurtles around bends with minimal body roll. Only the tightest S-bends at the most foolhardy speeds are able to confuse the chassis and induce understeer.

Munching miles on arrow-straight desert highways is where the TDI starts to feel properly at home. The engine’s computers seem to keep a thick wave of torque just below your right foot; and a muffled, gusty whoosh accompanies any surrender to the torque’s temptation. Very muffled. In fact, rumbling from the S-line’s 20-inch wheels are more of a disturbance than engine noise. Over freshly paved surfaces, the dubs add to the Q’s taut, poised handling and the ride is impeccable. On rough roads, they break the cabin’s eerie calm with road noise and chop.

Look for the cruise control and you become aware of this Audi’s one other major shortcoming as a tourer. The same S-Line package that saddles the Q with oversized wheels and unsubtle side badging also upgrades the standard four-spoke wheel with a two-spoke helm. Unfortunately, the left spoke perfectly covers the cruise control’s stubby stalk during straight-ahead cruising. Once you confirm that it is in fact there, you still have to pull over to familiarize yourself with the control. Save yourself $1,200 and improve the Q7′s cruising manners by not checking that box. Flappy paddle downshifts and brushed aluminum interior trim might be missed, but neither is an imperative.

Audi’s interiors are polarizing and whether you find them dour or refined, the Q7 won’t change your mind. In the first class front row, you get firm, supportive seating with an aristocratic vista and endless distraction courtesy of Audi’s Multi Media Interface (MMI). In second class and the steerage third row, things are less plush. The second row bench is too low, and the six foot club should expect knees to end up around ear level. Over eastern Oregon’s washboarded dirt roads, the back seat shudders and flails, threatening to shake free from its anchors. The effect on passengers is something between a “Magic Fingers” vibrating bed and a peak-condition Mike Tyson working your kidneys like a speedbag.

But the impromptu shiatsu won’t have anyone looking longingly at the third row. Only the panorama sunroof option ($1,850) keeps the way back from feeling like a Guantanamo Bay holding cell. And unless you are a four-foot yoga master, the distraction doesn’t last long. Even as  emergency seating for unexpected passengers, the third row comes up short. The rolling cargo cover must be removed to raise the seats, and once converted the bulky unit no longer fits in the remaining storage area.

Not that you run into many hitch hikers or unplanned carpoolers climbing the gravel logging roads of Southern Oregon’s Rogue-Umpqua Divide. The Q7 maintains a paved-road clip through steep ascents and winding turns, each wheel keeping in constant communication with the loose road surface. Stability control is turned off and a slight twitchiness comes into the controls; electronic flattery, not skill, makes the storming pace possible. Barreling around a corner, a Suzuki Sidekick suddenly appears, its driver frozen in awe of the Wagnerian apparition bearing down on him. Considerable nose dive and pumping ABS accompany the Q’s sudden braking, but crisis is averted.

The OHV tracks leading into Newberry Crater didn’t inspire similar gravel-stage heroics, but, again, the Q7 felt confident and capable. Even with expensive paint, oversized wheels and no special off-road equipment, the TDI makes for a willing partner through rougher terrain. At the deliberate speeds necessary to thread through sharp rocks, deep ruts and undulating ascents, the oil burner’s drag racing downsides become real strengths. Power is smooth, precise, tractable and predictable. In short, everything you want when tackling the roads that don’t show up on your nav screen.

Whether prospective Q7 owners will appreciate the TDI’s many winning qualities is a question that a road test alone won’t answer. in addition to the intrinsic shortcomings exposed here, a Cayenne is sportier and a Range Rover is more statusy. A Touareg is cheaper ($8K less with the same engine) and nearly as classy. Robert Farago drives a GL. The list goes on, but one thing is for certain: if you’re going to buy a Q7, the diesel is the one you want. The gas V6 suffers the same status and low-end pickup deficits, while the V8 is thirstier, heavier and more expensive. Besides, the TDI matches the Q7′s anonymously unique character perfectly. If you are considering showing up late for the luxury SUV party, the Q7 is one of the more intriguing guests still getting down.

[Audi supplied the vehicle, insurance and one tank of diesel.]

On paper, the Audi A3 TDI is an exercise in futility. The model shares platform bits with a Golf Rabbit. It’s smaller than a Jetta Sportwagen. It carries a lofty price premium; the diesel-powered A3 “boasts” the same engine that can be had across the street at the Vee-Dub for thousands less. It’s not as fast, sporty or capacious as the rear wheel-drive BMW 335d. By any rational measure, the A3 TDI is an answer to a question that few Americans even thought about asking. Which is why it’s better to judge the A3 TDI “in the flesh.”

The A3’s styling is becoming old-hat for us Yanks. The ’09 nip-tuck of the A3′s airdam, and the headlights, and the tail lamps update (complete with Audi-requisite LED blingery) have done nothing significant to either increase or decrease the model’s aesthetic appeal. The “new” A3’s “Sportback” shape still finds a comfortable middle ground between A5 sexy and Jetta Sportwagen dorky. Rumor has it that Audi is contemplating a trunk-ified sedan version of the A3 for US shores. And rumor it should remain lest Audi’s product planners receive the same swift blow to the back of the head I’ve given the Germans responsible for the ungainly BMW 1er. Metaphorically speaking.

There’s nothing new to see inside the A3 TDI. In fact, it’s hard to see anything inside the A3′s all-black interior. (Unlike this photo, our tester had cloth seats and no steering wheel controls.) Purists will continue to relish the Audi’s affectation-less cabin, with its robust materials, Teutonic haptics and simple, tasteful and effective ergonomics. That said, A3 TDI well-heeled buyers can opt for the same froo-froo wood inlay, chrome trim and “ambiance” color harmony decorating the car’s bigger siblings.

The A3′s bolstered and comfortable front buckets swallow six-footers with ease. The rear seats do not. A quibble: the Audi’s trip computer bongs after two hours elapse on the trip meter. I can only surmise that this means that it’s time to break for bier und schnitzel. (I obliged.)

The A3 TDI’s engine is only new in terms of Audis. The VW group’s 2.0-liter transversely-mounted four-banger stumps up 236 lb·ft of [3.2-liter V6-matching] torque. The lackluster 140 horsepower is irrelevant—unless you’re planning Baruthian speed runs. (Sixty miles per hour appears from rest just shy of nine seconds, though your calibrated rump will suggest that it’s a faster sprint.) For the other 100 percent of driving, torque’s where it’s at.

The engine’s usability is its real beauty. Lugging is a sport in a TDI; its Kansas-flat torque plateau spans 1750 to 2500 RPM. Swift, short-shifting of the long-throwing, yet precisely-sprung six-speed manual keeps the car in a constant forward acceleration. It’s not clear whether Audi will sell the A3 TDI mit stick stateside; the chances of a “stripper” A3 TDI joining its up market brethren on the showroom floor are, unfortunately, slim. The six-speed DSG paddle shift gearbox is sure to make an appearance. Sampling VW’s paddle shift gearbox in the Jetta TDI suggests that A3 TDI DSG buyers will sacrifice little enjoyment to the gods of automation.

In any case, the manual gearbox’s sixth cog keeps the TDI’s turbo on the boil, ready to pounce into the overtaking lane. Flat-out blasts on the Autobahn are a tiring exercise in mental awareness in any vehicle, but the little Audi feels relaxed and stable at its max speed of 129 mph.

The A3 TDI’s handling dynamics provide an excellent reason to trade up and leave Das Auto zu dem Volk. Body motions are well damped. Even with power fed to the front wheels, the A3’s Goodyears cling through corners with admirable if not inexhaustible tenacity. Even with a significant shove on the gas pedal at an inopportune moment, you’re more likely to see torque-induced wheelspin when exiting corners than plow at turn-in. In general, torque-steer demons are noticeable only by their absence.

The A3 TDI’s electric-assist steering is gratuitously boosted at about five mph and absolutely numb above 45 mph. While the helm is tight and reasonably precise, it offers little in the way of tactile feedback. So much for a non-Quattro helm feel bonus.

Whether or not the A3 TDI’s elevated sticker price (relative to VeeDub’s oil burner) proves an insurmountable barrier to American sales success remains to be seen. Audi sees this car as filling a vacant niche: “The Audi A3 moves into a market space presently unoccupied in the luxury segment, that of a highly efficient diesel small luxury car.” Again, who asked?

If price be damned, the Audi A3′s damned good. A thousand merciless miles of Alpine thrashing, traffic jam lugging, Black Forest dancing and wide-open Autobahn blasts set up the A3 TDI’s no-excuses punch line: 40 mpg average. Around 600 miles on a single fill-up. Diesel and Audi premium aside, that’s what I’m torquing about.

Audi is pitching its late-to-the-party Q5 against Lexus’ recently refreshed RX350. Audi’s ad men would have you believe that the Q5 buyer is making a forceful statement of individuality and taste—in contrast to the RX buyer’s safe, boring, follow-the-herd mentality. It’s a strange play during these times of economic uncertainty but understandable. The Q5 is preaching to the choir. The majority of the Q5′s buyers will come from within the brand’s established audience, who consider Audi’s products the automotive equivalent of an Armani suit. Which makes the Q5 yet another fine young cannibal preying on whatever sales the Q7 may have generated and stealing business from the gotta-have-an-A4-on-stilts crowd. Hang on. Whose product line is this anyway?

Audi marketing punditry aside, the Q5′s exterior is breathtaking . . . for all the wrong reasons. You know you have problems when Audi’s website displays retouched renderings that make Playboy’s centerfolds look like Diane Arbus photographs. The discrepancy between the pictures and the actual car is shocking. The 2D representation seems more agile, angular and, well, better looking.

Unlike some, I quite like Audi’s shield grille (a.k.a. Billy the Big Mouth Bass). But it’s become an excuse for poor design. Audis were once known as the best-proportioned cars on the planet. In fact, you could say Audi’s proportions were their design. Not so here. So not so here. It’s too squat at the rear and too bulbous at the front. Although the Q5 is based on the same platform underpinning the A5 coupe, it’s not even in same league. Founding member, the League of Extra-Ordinary Gentlemen?

Fortunately, the Q5′s interior is a brand faithful rendering of the A4′s posh cabin. If there’s one reason to choose an Audi product over anything else at a similar price point, here, again, it is. Suffice it to say, the Q5’s color scheme, textures, fit and finish, lines and shapes upstaged my wife’s Coach Bag. I’m not a fan of wood inlays (too stuffy), but I’ll take mine in Cardamom Beige, please. The Q5′s rear seats offer fore-and-aft adjustment and recline. Although there’s not enough movement to provide any significant comfort advantage, and THE KIDS WILL DRIVE YOU NUTS, it’s a nice touch to impress nosy neighbors. As is the 3D sat nav, which is no more useful than a 2D system but a whole lot prettier.

Bonus! The Q5′s wider than big brother Q7 AND gives occupants more legroom. But lurking in the Q5′s rearview mirror: the ugly part of the horizontally truncated crossover equation. The Q5 has no more real usable trunk space than the A4. OK, the Q5 trumps the A4′s cargo capacity by five cubic feet (accommodating 29 cubic ft of luggage) you have to stack stuff to the rafters to do it. Needless to say, that’s an excellent way to kill whatever rearward visibility the Q5 can muster. And braking hard with said stuff stacked, well, one Briggs & Riley to the head can ruin your whole day.

Moving back to the front, all US trim levels are equipped with a 270hp TSI V6 and Quattro. The power provided is no more than merely adequate (i.e. perfectly suitable for a 4178 lb five-passenger vehicle that gets 18/20 mpg). Infiniti’s EX35 feels infinitely punchier, but so be it. Like Volvo’s XC60, the Q5′s strong suit is stability. A heavy crosswind sweeping the test course moved our sedan with an irresistible force; the Q5 was an immovable object. As you’d expect, the Q5′s handling dynamic is understeer über alles, Schätze—despite all this torque about rearward bias and repositioned engine weight.

As you’d expect, wheel size is critical to the Q5′s ride quality. The bigger wheels create a harder ride than you’d expect for one not-so-svelte. And once again, still, an Audi is let down by its steering. The Q5′s variable ratio steering is far too light, with about as much visceral feedback as a videogame. Dare I say it? Women. Parking.

The motoring press is ga-ga over Audi Drive Select, a press car standard option that blesses the Q5 with adjustable shocks and transmission settings. It’s a pointless $3000 expense given that the Q5 is what it is: a vehicle that likes being hustled about as much as an American tourist changing money in a Turkish bathhouse. That said, when you install the Q5′s roof rack’s cross-members, sensors tell the computer to adjust the ESP handling nanny to account for a higher center of gravity. In other words, the Q5′s stability control becomes more intrusive, earlier. Or, as Audi says, less intrusive without the cross members because the designers don’t have to account for the safety implications of roof mounted items that aren’t there. How great is that?

Put it all together and it’s clear that the Q5 is an excellent place to sit that’s a much better than the vehicle it replaces: the Q7.

Throw out your copy of WardsAuto “Interior of the Year” awards. The Audi A5 with the S Line seats is four-wheeled Hammer time: the world’s best automotive interior. Nobody can touch the way this cabin looks, works, feels and smells. OK, when you use the Audi A5’s thumbwheel to scroll through your iPod tunes, if you don’t select a new tune within the allotted time, the menu reverts to the song playing, which could be six clicks back. Other than that, I can’t think of anything wrong with the A5’s cabin. Yes, even the dreaded MMI mouse thingie has won me over. If you want a reason to admire/buy/worship/savor the Audi A5 3.2 Quattro, there you go. Otherwise, well, I have issues. For example . . .

The Audi A5 has been hailed as a design masterpiece in various quarters. Arguing the point is pointless; if an enthusiast loves a car’s sheet metal, nothing a reviewer can say will alter the machine’s aesthetic appeal. So here are my two bits: the A5 lacks the minimalist classicism that elevated its predecessors to art. The A5’s gangsta greenhouse is too fly for a white guy, the swage line is too swoopy AND too angular, the flame surfacing is forced and I will never forgive Audi for NOT modifying their Billy The Big Mouth Bass maw for U.S. license plates. Admittedly, the A5 is drop dead sexy from the rear. But I’ve never been much of an ass man. So there you go.

Speaking of go, our Quattro press car was motivated by a 3.2-liter six. Ingolstadt’s mill delivers max power (265 hp) at a lofty 6500 rpm. But there’s plenty of shove (243 lb·ft) on the down low (3250–5000 rpm). In fact, the direct injection six-pot feels like two engines in one. It’s a torquey beast that wants to shift early; the dashboard display actually tells you to change gears. At the same time, there are professional sewing machines that aren’t as smooth as this engine at wide open throttle. You can rev the beJesus out of the A5′s powerplant, [potentially] accelerating the 3737 pound two-door from zero to sixty in just 5.8 seconds. The question is: why would you?

The A5 six-speed manual transmission is, as TTAC reviewer Jack Baruth put it, “not Audi’s finest hour.” Less diplomatically, it’s crap. A ponderous clutch and a light throw create a major pistonhead buzz-kill. Just for [no] fun, there’s also a dead zone between the gears, which slot home with all the precision of three-year-old’s coloring. It’s virtually impossible to make a smooth one-two shift in the A5, no matter where you are in the rev range. You end up shifting at low rpms just to be done with it. Given the A5 cog swapper’s suckitude, the tiny percentage of Americans who can operate a stick shift, and the fact that Audi has access to the world’s best transmission, Ingolstadt should have fitted all A5s with DSG and called it good. The A5′s manual gearbox is the dynamic definition of not good.

Should you persevere, the A5’s handling is exemplary. Our tester came with all the S-Line bits and the Drive Select package. The latter puts 19″ summer tires on the pavement, connects them to a stiffer suspension and lets you dial out the resulting hard ride. So equipped, the A5 corners without any appreciable body roll and endless grip at enormous, extra-legal speeds. And? Even with the helm dialed-up to maximum sensitivity, even with a 40/60 front/rear torque split (i.e., a rear wheel-drive bias), you might as well phone it in. The polite engine noises entering the A5′s otherwise hushed cabin are similarly de-motivational. Note to the police: anyone hustling the Audi A5 is doing so because they really are in a hurry.

Try as I might, I couldn’t find the A5′s ”happy place”: driving conditions where the press car was completely comfortable with itself. Cruising was hard work; hair-on-fire hoonery was unrewarding. A plain Jane automatic A5 mit Tip would eliminate the shifting and ker-thumping tire problems, freeing its owner to not give a damn about corner carving (although they’d miss the perfectly shaped tiller and endlessly comfortable sport seats). I’m also reasonably sure the 354 horse (at 6800 rpm) V8 S5 is a giant killer (although I’d seriously consider an autobox in that application as well). As the Brits would say, this A5 falls between two stools (as in furniture).

All that said, if someone told me they’d bought/leased a A5 3.2 Quattro with the S-Line package because they loved the way the car looked, inside and out, I wouldn’t begrudge their choice. A car can’t do everything well—even if it’s on the “there goes my annual bonus” side of expensive. To achieve genuine excellence, an automobile simply has to do one thing better than anyone else. In the A5′s case, it’s what’s inside that counts.

[Audi provided the vehicle reviewed, insurance and a tank of gas.]

Imagine you’re looking for a $41k imported sports sedan. You want something fun to drive. Sayonara, Lexus. You were traumatized by an orthodontist. Aloha to Acura’s tin grin TL. You appreciate the difference between having it and flaunting it. Auf wiedersehen, BMW and Mercedes. That leaves the Audi A4 3.2 Audi and Infiniti G37 6MT. Oddly enough, I recently sampled those two exact cars. Funny how these things work out.

The moment Audi introduced the A5 last year, the A4 became a victim of its own dowdiness. Audi saw that one coming; they redesigned the A4 for 2009. It now looks like a four-door A5. (Cynics might see it as Germany’s answer to the Impala/Monte Carlo, but I couldn’t possibly comment.) The A4′s exterior and interior are new; the 2.0-liter turbo and 3.2-liter drivetrains are not, although the 2.0t offers 11 extra ponies and some welcome low-down grunt. As before, customers can purchase the 2.0t with or without quattro, while the 3.2-liter is four wheel-drive only.

In 2007, Nissan redesigned the G series for an even more modern look, then blessed Infiniti’s sedan with the same 3.7-liter V6 engine serving time in the snout of the G37 coupe. The 6MT refers to the standard six-speed manual transmission. The package includes upgrades to the suspension and the brakes. Most of the good stuff is also available as a Sport Package on the “Journey” model, but the shift-it-yourself tranny’s only available on the 6MT.

Both the Audi and the Infiniti show strong family ties to their more expensive siblings. The G37 wears Infiniti’s trademark windswept look well. That said, from some angles, the G37 comes off as an Altima that went to finishing school. The Audi shows up at the ball with the pissed-at-the-world glower previously seen on the R8 and A5. Audi’s LED eyeliner looks overwrought, as if the designers had to figure out how to incorporate BMW’s “angel eyes” into a car without round headlights. More than one person asked me about the row of lights. Other than attracting attention (which they certainly do). I couldn’t provide a single reason for their existence.

Although the A4 and G37 appear to be about the same size, the Infiniti is two inches longer. The A4 has a two-inch advantage in width. Interestingly, the G37 is classified by the EPA as a mid-size while the A4 is considered a compact. With the front seats positioned for my 6′3″ frame, both cars suffer from a severe lack of rear legroom.

When you’re firmly ensconced in the driver’s chairs, concerns about the rear passengers’ discomfort quickly disappear. The G37 features highly-bolstered front seats; the driver’s throne adjusts a dozen ways. The side bolsters on both the back and bottom adjust in and out and there’s an extendible thigh support on both front seats for those long of limb. As a bonus, the instrument cluster moves up and down when you tilt the steering wheel, so everything stays in clear view.

The A4′s seats may not be as Gumbi-fied as the Infiniti’s but they’re still quite comfortable. Since they aren’t as aggressively bolstered, those whose derrieres have been ambushed by gravity may find them a bit more accommodating than the G37′s.

The G37 offers plenty of toys for for your forty large. Unfortunately, the center stack was designed by the same symmetry-OCD-affected engineer that tidied up the Murano. The G’s main controls are located on a shelf in front of the touch screen, an arm’s length away. The system incorporates the readout for the radio and HVAC settings—controlled by buttons and knobs further down the center stack. Thankfully, the radio and sat nav voice control have redundant controls on the steering wheel. Once you learn where everything is and what it does, you’re OK. Until then, not.

Audi doesn’t give you a nav system at this price point. But you do get Audi’s MMI mouse-driven controller, which adjusts everything from the bun warmers and sound system to the sensitivity of the automatic headlights. The basic controls are mounted in the A4′s center stack, but you have to reach past the shifter to get to them. While the MMI is easy to learn, I reckon a car’s primary controls should be mounted on the console where they’re within easy reach and don’t require eye time.

Both the Audi A4 and the Infiniti G37 6MT sport the very latest in recycled beer can aluminum trim technology with the metal applied to the dashboard and the door panels—like every other car with performance pretenses. At least it’s real metal and not silvery plastic.

Unfortunately, both automakers just said no to real-deal cup holders. In the Audi’s case, they’re different sizes. The smaller one won’t hold anything larger than a soft drink can or small bottle of water. The Infiniti’s cup holders hide under a sliding cover. The square indents don’t offer a lot of support for round beverage containers.

Audi and Nissan’s drivetrain engineers have done their level best to make your caffeine-free transportation worthwhile. In the G37′s case, they deployed the same rear-wheel-drive FM platform underpinning the 370Z. Push the G37′s smart key Start button and the 3.7-liter, 328 hp V6 responds with a sinister snarl. Running it up to the redline is both anti-social and aurally gratifying.

The G37′s clutch action is light and precise. Rowing through the gears at speed can propel a G-man or woman from 0-60 in just over five seconds. Driven a bit more conservatively, the G37 delivers a reasonable 17 mpg in the city and 25 on the highway. Nissan says this engine marks the first application of their VVEL (Variable Valve Event and Lift) system on a production vehicle in the American market. If that’s what makes this engine so sweet, they need to spread the wealth.

The G37 6MT’s standard sport suspension keeps you glued to the road. I may infuriate a few Bowtie Blowhards, but there were times when scurrying around a switchback resulted in flashbacks to my Corvette-driving days.  Just make sure the sprogs are well secured in the back seat; any curve becomes a challenge to better your personal best.

Performance-wise, the Audi A4 is outclassed. Put the key fob in its slot, then push it in another quarter inch and the 3.2L 265 hp V6 purrs to life. Ingolstadt’s engine gives up 60 hp to the G37 AND it has to haul around an extra 240 lb. The Audi takes a full second more to perform the 0 to 60 benchmark. At least the fuel mileage is comparable at 17/26. The six-speed automatic transmission is silky smooth when left to its own devices. However, if you feel compelled to take things into your own hands, paddle shifters are noticeable by their absence.

Audi’s quattro all-wheel-drive system is as seamless as ever. In normal conditions, it sends just over 50 percent of the power to the rear wheels. When traction becomes an issue, the A4 sends the torque to whichever wheels need it. You can’t beat the control and security in inclement weather. The trade-off: in the dry, you never feel quite as one with the road as you do with the rear wheel-drive G37.

The A4 3.2 quattro and G37 6MT both sticker within $500 of our arbitrary $41K price point. For $41.3K, Audi gives you the A4 and not much more. Our test car had but one option: the $425 “Aruba blue pearl effect” paint job. Your forty large buys you rain-sensing wipers, Bluetooth, and HomeLink, but upmarket, mission-critical sat-nav runs an additional $2.5K.

The G37 6MT starts at just over $34K. The $2.5K Premium Package which brings it even with the A4 3.2 toy-wise, includes a sunroof, memory settings and power lumbar support for the chairs, a premium Bose sound system, Bluetooth and other toys. The G37 6MT’s navigation package adds another $2.15K. Tick the boxes for a couple other “gotta-haves”  (e.g., rear spoiler and lighted kick plates) and you’re still $400 below the A4.

Either of these $40K-ish cars will get you from point A to point B rapidly, in comfort and style. If your driving routine includes a lot of snowy or rainy weather, the A4 3.2 quattro is an excellent playmate with a feel-good cabin that makes mincemeat of mondo mileage. However, when the going gets twisty, the twisted get going in a G37 6MT—it’s far and away the better driver’s car of these two. Before you dismiss the G as more performance than you need and less safety than you want, I suggest you take it for a test drive.

M, RS, V, F, AMG. The alpha alphabet represents five manufacturers’ best efforts to create something unique, exciting and memorable from their more prosaic mainstream motors. The resulting “performance tuned” sports sedans are so powerful, so capable, so versatile, that they’re the ground based equivalent of the all-weather fighter jets that battle for control of the skies. While the shibboleth “there’s no such thing as a bad car” applies here, there are always going to be winners and losers. And it’s our job to sort the wheat from the chaff.

Each car symbolizes the corporate culture that crafted it. Each car possesses a unique personality. And each vehicle has a clear mission profile. BMW’s M3 seeks to defend and extend proven road-going superiority through maximum thrust and maneuverability. Audi’s RS4 sets out to shoot down the BMW. Mercedes’ C63 AMG embarks on a low-level bombing run. Cadillac’s CTS-V simply wants to defend its home airspace. And the Lexus IS-F tries to prove it can create the world’s fastest luxury jet.

I was privileged to drive these cars. Despite the universal G-inspired facial rictus, I walked away liking some of these uber sedans more than others. In the final analysis, my preferences stem as much from my own personality as they do from each car’s aesthetics, ergonomics and driving dynamics. I’m a Type-A aviator that breaks things for a living and abhors mediocrity. Mea culpa. So what follows is Capt. Mike’s ultimate guide to $60K super sedans. Nothing more. Nothing less.

5th Place — Mercedes-Benz C63 AMG

If you think it’s OK to buy a car for its engine, the C63 is a highly defensible choice. The AMG-fettled V8 generates 451 bhp @ 6,800 rpm. Even in this highly-horsed company, that’s an awful lot of thrust. There’s nothing wrong with the way the mighty Mercedes mill propels pistonheads towards perdition. Equally important, the C63′s sonic signature is the best of our fearsome five. It bellows and roars with the best of them. In fact, it IS the best of them, if unbridled aural sex is your thing.

Did I mention the C63′s deeply contoured Recaro seats, or an automatic transmission that snaps off gearshifts like a high-speed Nikon camera changes frames?  Unfortunately, the C63′s interior falls well short of its natural competitors’ cabins. The C63′s plastics are top notch and the switch actions are sublime. But something’s missing. Some sign that the librarian is about to take off her cheap plastic glasses, shake loose her hair and muss yours.

You really lose faith when you steer the car; the C63 AMG doesn’t mask its weight like the others super sedans. The helm precision delivered by every other car in the comparo is notably absent in the C63 AMG. Sure, you can throw this bad boy around. And it’s easy enough to hang the tail out in clouds of tire smoke. But the Mercedes-Benz C63 AMG feels a bit like the world’s fastest, best-handling Mustang.

Theme song: “Deuces Wild” by Link Wray

4th Place — Lexus IS-F

The Lexus IS-F lacks a manual transmission, looks odd and offers less badge appeal than a Trans Am. However, focusing on these elements detracts from the IS-F’s amazing accomplishment: straight out of the box, the Japanese luxury brand’s first F is the fastest AND most comfortable sports sedan money can buy.

All the other cars in this comparison seek that hard edge, that extreme sportiness that proclaims them the King of the ’Ring. The Lexus just sits back quietly and invites you to enjoy a surround-sound journey into the world of 416 hp (@ 6,600 rpm).

Around town, the IS-F’s V8 remains hushed and tranquil. Slam down the pedal, crest 3,000 rpm and the exhaust baffles open. All Heaven breaks loose. Although the Lexus IS-F is every bit as capable in the corners as, gulp, the BMW M3, the smooth ride remains.

In this group, the IS-F is the car you’d choose to drive from say, Atlanta to Providence, RI. But it’s not the car that would whisper in your ear, “Before we park up, there’s this nice little twisty road out by the reservoir . . . .”

Theme song: “Don’t Touch my Hat” by Lyle Lovett

3rd Place — Audi RS4

The Audi RS4 is the oldest car here. Not that you’d not know from looking at it. The RS4′s creases, gigantic snout and look-at me-bulges are all of a piece, but it’s increasingly difficult to decide what whole the parts are supposed to form. The RS4′s cabin holds the top slot for fit and finish. Sad to say (and see), the RS4′s omnipresent grays lack the Caddy’s joie de vivre and the BMW’s technologie mach frei.

Fire it up, push the RS4′s “S” button and it’s like you’ve poked a dozing tiger with a pointy stick. It’s ferociously pissed and it’s not even awake yet. When Ingolsdtadt’s 420 hp (@ 7,500 rpmm) V8 rouses from its slumber, you’ve got the proverbial tiger by an unwagging tail. And it’s got you by the balls. There may be a harsher riding sports sedans (cough, GT-R, cough), but it’s not in this group.

Yes, the RS4 has genuine steering feel. Yes, you can drive it like a Porsche C4S: just point and shoot. But there’s no excuse for a $60K German luxury carmaker’s sports sedan to offer so little luxury.

Theme song: “Hurts So Good” by Herr John Cougar Mellencamp

2nd Place — BMW M3

The BMW M3 was pipped to the post by the Cadillac CTS-V for one main reason: too much technology. I’m a man whose world is defined by acronyms, who depends on computers to keep me alive. Yet I got lost in the e-gadgetry foisted upon the Bimmer’s 414 hp (@ 8,300 rpm) V8 chassis. iDrive, MDrive, handling nannies, traction nannies and an ECU smart enough to clone dinosaurs on its own—the Bimmer’s brain created a corner carving concert that made it a the consummate sports sedan. But somewhere along the line it lost some it its character.

No question: that spark of genius remains buried deep within the M3′s box of tricks; the spirit of the original E30 M3 struggles to get out. When I stopped fiddling with all the gadgets, set everything to automatic and let loose the dogs of war, I could just about recapture those glory days, glory days, glory days.

Which is a bit like complaining that watching “Battlestar Gallactica” is never as good as it was the first time. The BMW M3 was, is, and most likely will be the most feelsome sports sedan in the world. Those who prefer finesse to raw thrills are free to transpose my top two choices without any debate. Well, from me.

Theme song: I take Beethoven’s fifth.

1st Place — Cadillac CTS-V (Manual)

The other mad machines in this comparo made the sheetmetal leap from mainstream to insanestream via louvers, brake ducts, spoilers, exhaust pipes and more exhaust pipes. The Cadillac CTS-V simply adds some chrome to the aggressive original (v. 2) design and meshes around with the front end. Inside, the Caddy proves once and for all (unfortunately) that General Motors can make a class-leading interior. Taken as a whole, the Cadillac CTS-V comes across as the brash American, fitness-trained by Hollywood’s best, wearing a perfectly tailored who’s-the-[Hugo]-boss suit.

When the pinks are on the line, the ultimate Caddy delivers the goods. At our 60 large price point, the Cadillac CTS-V has 100 bhp worth of extra Bimmer-bashing oomph under the bonnet. The 556 hp (@ 6,100 rpm) rip out of the back wheels, while the engine snarls with enough ferocity to send the Germans to the local tuning shop for some fortifying kaffe und kuchen.

But it doesn’t stop there and neither do you. The CTS-V’s gearbox (automatic or manual), suspension and brakes may lack the M3′s delicacy of touch, but they work with equal harmony and precision. This is one of those rare cars that creates confidence even as it unleashes accelerative and lateral mayhem.

Theme song: anything by Stevie Ray Vaughan.

“Lola” was a 1998.5 (as Audi always introduces models in the half-year cycle) A4 2.8 V6 with quattro and a 5-speed manual. The blue paint and khaki interior with matching blue piping on the seats really set off the beautifully proportioned car, despite numerous rock chips from several Colorado winters. She was German to a T, right down to the goofy lever by the turn signal to turn on the lights, and the complete lack of cupholders.

I fell in love at first sight. The joy continued as we blasted down I-70 in the cold snow towards Breckenridge. Having driven Plymouths, Dodge Neons and other ChryCo products growing up, I was astounded by the Audi’s steering feel, suspension taughtness and the little Audi’s sheer verve whenever a curve presented itself. I was sure I’d found the perfect car, front-wheel bias be damned.

But as with all affairs, this one didn’t last. Lola loved to torment me with her various “glitches,” for which Audi became justifiably notorious in the late 90’s. Sometimes the climate control would become possessed, and the taillights would refuse to work (at least only one side at a time). However, it was the sunroof that doomed her. The novel rotary dial switch would malfunction, opening the roof at random. It was this problem that led me to find her insides full of two feet of snow. There was no hope after that, and she left me on a tow truck, and I left her in a Mazda6.

If the new A4′s front end looks vaguely familiar, it’s because you’ve already seen it (essentially) on the A5. I’ve never been a fan of the A4’s slightly bulbous looks (too much like a fancy-schmancy Passat). The new version is a cheeky twist on the old one, like a sci-fi cinematic remake that acknowledges its predecessor even as it blows it away. The new car’s wider track gives the A4 a more menacing look than before, and the rest of the design returns Audi to its recent understated aggression remit. Now, if they only modified Billy the Big Mouth Bass for U.S. license plates…

Inside, the A4′s impresses at one of the most important touch points: the steering wheel. Granted, the fat helm isn’t as ergasmic as the GTI’s tiller, but I’ll have what she’s having. Unfortunately, the rest of the Audi driver’s zone has been afflicted with the same button-itis infecting Acura’s offerings (paging Steve Jobs). Learning to master the farrago of functions puts drivers on a learning curve on par with differential equations. Fortunately, the A4′s fit and finish maintain Audi’s unique selling point. And thanks to a longer wheelbase, the A4′s rear compartment finally offers what Americans call “legroom.”

As before, the A4′s engine bay packs either a 2.0T four or a 3.2 V6. Despite making a class trailing 265 horsepower, the six-pot’s been tuned to deliver more of what pistonheads like at lower rpms. Combined with direct injection, both fuel efficiency and driveability are improved; there’s none of that nasty lag commonly associated with drive-by-wire throttles. Not even when you’re trying to recreate the official zero to sixty sprint of six point nothing seconds.

The A4′s automatic transmission is a very fine thing indeed. The six-speeds come and go with such ease that you’d be forgiven for thinking the A4 was packing a DSG instead of ye olde Tiptronic. Better yet, the slushbox rev-matches downshifts so smoothly they’re literally imperceptible. So, wafting.

The A4 sits on the model’s first new platform since the Manic Street Preacher’s singer walked away from his Vauxhall Cavalier (1995). There’s a better balanced body and a new Quattro all-wheel-drive system. The latter now splits torque 40 percent front/60 percent rear, making the A4 feel more like a rear wheel-drive car. While understeer isn’t banished entirely, it’s no longer the A4′s defining dynamic response.

And then there’s “Audi Drive Select.” At the touch of a button you can modify the vehicle’s throttle response, shift points, suspension, power steering boost and steering ratio. Switching between ‘comfort’ and ‘dynamic/sport’ changes the A4 from comfortable cruiser to corner carver. No really. You can also let the car decide: automatic mode reads your inputs and tightens or loosens all those variables as the car sees fit. Or, you can customize all your settings (good luck with that).

Audi brags that they adapted the A4′s steering system from the NASA moon rover program. On the dark side, you’re good to go. At speed, the ECU reduces the steering ratio such that barely a half turn of the wheel is required to follow even the tightest of hairpins. In “dumb down mode,” on long straight stretches of road, the A4′s steering wil leave you craving the slightest hint of gravity. Yes, the system eliminates the over-correction some sports-oriented sedans experience during an ‘OHSHIT’ situation. But Quattro or no Quattro, on-center feel is something Audi should, finally, fix.

It’s really too bad that you can’t buy/lease a BMW 335xi for the same amount of money as the A4 3.2 and have the fist of an angry God under-hood. But you can’t, so there. Besides, who needs all that power (other than you and me)? And the Lexus, Infiniti and the Caddy equivalents lack Audi’s Germanic, uh, stolidity. Anyway, the Audi A4 still has a big question mark over its reliability, but it’s a fine steer. And it no longer carries the stigma of offering less for more. It is, once again, a sensible choice for sensible people who want to appear slightly sporty in a sensible way and might, on the rare occasion, in bad weather, be late for a dentist appointment.

The Q7 is huge. It shares familial DNA with VW's Touareg and Porsche's Cayenne. The key difference: the Audi's platform's been stretched to add an Audi-exclusive third row of seats. Dimensionally, it's within two inches of a Chevrolet Tahoe in every direction. The Q7's hood is as high as a TT's roof. Form follows gigantism. 

The Q7's front end is dominated by Audi's now-familiar, still-voracious trapezoidal grill. The flanking headlights are pulled tighter than Joan River's eyelids. Smaller grills below the headlights help visually balance the beast, but stick a U.S. license plate on its snout and the whole thing falls apart, At the back, power-operated tailgate wraps around the Q7's curvaceous butt, carrying a pair of "eagle's head" taillights.

The Q7's cabin offers the usual Audi haptic heaven/haven. Audi festoons the "4.2 Premium" version with enough luxurious surfaces and standard toys to takes you to Infiniti– and beyond! Our loaded tester added panoramic sunroof, voice control and parking assist. Like all but the cheapest Audis, a Multi-Media Interface (MMI) controls the Q7's toys, sound and HVAC. While the MMI is A-OK for techno-literate– it's the easiest of the joystick-style control systems to master– there are "complications." Directing AC to a specific vent, for example, requires push, twirl, push, push. And then repeat if you want to do the same on the other side.

The Q7 driver and front passenger ride in supreme comfort. The rest, not so much. Well, at all. To provide a flat load floor, the SUV's second row seats are set so low that summer thigh-sticking is a non-issue. The center chairs also recline: a one-way ticket to backache city (they're articulated about three inches above the ideal location). A bar directly overhead separates the front and rear sunroofs; anyone knocking-on six feet tall risks spinal compression.

Make sure anyone older than ten headed for the third row doesn't have a personal injury lawyer on speed dial. To their credit, Audi does its best to prevent legal trouble; good luck threading through the second row for way back access. Once there, the chairs are as low as the second row AND there's all of five inches between the front edge of the seat cushions and the back of the center row (center row denizens can slide forward to provide a few extra inches, if they're generous). Still, fourteen cup holders.

Under the hood, Audi's sweet-spinning 4.2-liter V8 churns out 350hp and 325 lbs. ft. of torque. That's enough oomph to propel the two-and-a-half ton behemoth from rest  to the nearest gas station 60mph in 7.1 seconds. With the optional towing package, she'll pull 6600 lbs. The downside: EPA 12 mpg in the city, 17 highway. It doesn't take long to suck the 26-gallon tank dry. Regularly refilling the Q7 with the recommended premium fuel requires a corundum credit card.

I didn't take the Q7 into the wild, despite the $2.6k Adaptive Air Suspension's "offroad" setting. Rock climbing in $2k summer performance tires sitting on 20" chrome wheels struck me as a particularly easy way to break/scratch something VERY expensive. The Q7 was at home navigating the switchbacks on narrow two-lane roads in the Georgia mountains. It was fast, sure-footed and, despite the shoes, comfortable.  Just be careful choosing the suspension setting. Selecting anything but "dynamic" makes the steering feel twitchy and over-sensitive.

Effortless highway cruising is the order of the day. With George Benson's guitar stylings slipping from the 14-speaker BOSE surround sound system and the cruise control set to a [theoretically] extralegal speed, the Q7 leaps long stretches of asphalt in a single tank of gas. Bound. I mean bound.

Audi's given us a $67k SUV that can do what SUVs do. Which is something of a problem. If you need a vehicle that'll carry seven people while towing three tons, and you can do without the technotoys, you could buy a used Chevrolet Suburban. And then use the money saved to buy an A6– a damn fine automobile– to drive the rest of the time. But hey, that's me. If you like the idea of an Audi-on-stilts, and can afford the freight, well, here it is.

[Audi furnished the car, insurance and a tank of gas for this review.] 

I've been pining for the Audi R8 since I first laid eyes on the "Le Mans" show car five years ago. Last February, I test drove Audi's 911 redo in Vegas (baby). Although I found the R8 lacked some of the the Porsche Turbo's user-friendly OMG WTFitiude, Audi gave their everyday supercar a far more appealing wrapper than the ass-engined Nazi slot car (thank you P.J. O'Rourke). Yes, I knew the movie Ironman would define R8 ownership for non-owners. But I was willing to take the risk of being associated with an actor who's spent more time in rehab than any five celebutantes you can name. So I placed an order and arranged for delivery of my R8 at the Neckarsulm factory.

While the foreign delivery experience as a whole was unforgettable, the actual production process is a bit dull. The car is essentially hand-assembled; most of the time you watch the vehicle's skeleton move very slowly, if at all, awaiting craftsmen in red overalls to return from their various beer breaks to hang parts and pieces on the frame. The test garage was the only interesting section. Boffins place finished products (that's R8s to you and me) on a treadmill which are then "driven" up to Autobahn speed. My guide warned me that I shouldn't push my R8's box fresh engine above 6,000 rpm during the break-in period. That would be 140mph in top gear.

I achieved terminal recommended velocity later that day without drama. I've already expounded on the R8's virtues on this esteemed site. But now that I've spent a few months living with the R8, I thought I'd give you the TTAC equivalent of the buff books' long term test– the difference being I actually spent my own hard-earned money for this car. Anyway, here are my top five likes and dislikes. We start with the sunny side of life…

1. The Audi R8 is one of those rare machines that makes anyone driving it instantly desirable. (My wife is not happy about this– unless she's driving the car.) Yes, the R8's contrasting "side blades" are a bit goofy. But then so are Marissa Miller's freckles.

2. The R8's tweaked 4.2-liter V8 engine note is perfectly judged. It's not excessively NASCAR, but still aggressive enough to make revving it at a standstill an thrill for pedalists and pedestrians alike. The R8 has a clear case of aural bi-polar disorder; eargasms are only a determined foot press away.

3. The ride quality is superb. At speed, the R8 glides where Corvettes fear to tread. Even the Porsche Turbo can't match the R8's combination of cornering confidence and magic carpet cosseting. 

4. While I'm no fan of manual transmissions (gasp!), the R8's gated six-speed is as much fun to clack around as a Ferrari's. The Audi's clutch effort is light and take-up is easily modulated. Pedal placement allows for throttle blips between downshifts.

5. The handling and steering are sublime. The faster you go, the faster you go. In other words, I haven't been able to provoke understeer or oversteer during extreme cornering. Only a braver man than I or a max track attack could reveals the R8's on-the-limit dynamics. Suffice it to say, if you're looking for trouble, you've come to the wrong place. 

Of course, not everything is sweetness and light in Audi R8 land. There are a few issues which my friends in Neckarsulm should address ASAP:

1. There is no other way to put this: the [avoidable] R-tronic automatic transmission sucks. Audi, please engineer the dual clutch S-tronic for the R8 STAT. There's no excuse for putting the world's best gearbox in a TT, and then putting this turkey in your top-of-the-line performance model. 

2. It's my fetish, and I'll cry if I want to. The R8's minuscule sun visor is an insult to all sun visors. It's a fashion accessory like those tiny purses my wife sometimes carries because they look cool. I end-up with all her things in my pockets and the sun in my eyes.

3. The R8 has power seats but no way to store your favorite position. What's up with that?

4. The fuel filler cap dangles dangerously on $2k worth of carbon fiber side blade because Audi forgot to provide a place to hang it when refueling. What's German for D'oh?

5. It's damn difficult to get one. While I'm sure some of you view my car buying habits with contemptuous envy, I would be delighted if more pistonheads could experience the R8's magnificence. Given the German brand's cliff face depreciation, an adequate supply at the sharp end is all they need to spread the love further down the food chain. 

There are faster cars than the R8. There are certainly cars with real sun visors out there. But none can match the R8's combination of driver satisfaction, sex appeal and everyday livability. Why Audi was allowed to build a better 911 is anybody's guess. And my pride and joy. She's my sweet little thing and I'm her little lover boy.

T’is true though. The TT’s no sports car. The German two-door is very much in the mold of its predecessor. In other words, it’s a VW GTI that’s done South Beach, donned a slinky black dress, and become a rather more expensive date.

But I’m getting ahead of myself. Looking back on my negative predisposition, the fact that the TT is now in its second generation accounted for much of my recalcitrance. It’s a tough gig being a second-gen model of an iconic nameplate. Change too little, and enthusiasts accuse you of resting on crumbling laurels. Change too much, and you’re shunned for losing the plot.

Audi’s stylists walked the tightrope well. While the new TT retains the original’s inverted-bathtub shape, but its fascias are squintier, angrier. Its body sides wear angular slashes that eliminate the old push-me pull-you symmetry, and advertise the model’s liposuction.

That’s an illusion, of course. The TT has actually packed on a few pounds, for a total of 2,965. It’s more than enough to make a Miata driver’s head hurt, but Audi is well-versed in masking fat with chic. To wit: the chromed roll hoops behind the TT occupants’ heads, which transform milk runs into Mille Miglia. Still, the new TT won’t sweep Pebble Beach in 2050, as its forebear may well do. But you’ll still crane your neck to spot yourself reflected in shop windows.

Swing open the TT’s long, heavy driver’s door, and the aesthetic seduction begins anew. Typical of Audis, the TT’s cabin reeks of expensive-looking design details, with dimpled aluminum jewelry adorning the squishy, creased instrument panel. Feel the Wilson 2000 baseball glove-soft leather of the fat steering wheel rim. Click the slick, curvilinear switches. Smile, and repeat as desired.

There’s also been some ergonomic progress. VAG neophytes may need a day or three to adjust to the sternly-padded, square-cornered seats, but the chairs offer firm road-trip support. The high, enveloping cowl and low roof lend a whiff of artillery emplacement to the view out, but that’s easy enough to fix: thumb a rocker switch on the console, and the cave-like gloom gives way to open sky in twelve seconds.

That covers looks. So… is that it, then? Do the TT’s Golf-sourced underpinnings deny the two-seater the driving pleasure of its lighter, tighter rear-drive rivals? In a word, yes. But it really depends on the kind of driving from which your pleasure derives. There’s a lot to be said for a car that delivers a cohesive driving experience, regardless of its flavor. And while the TT’s flavor sways more towards heavy, Grenadine syrup, it’s undeniably a tasty little four-wheeled libation.

Make no mistake: if you demand Xtreme adrenal thrills and freakin’-sideways compatibility from your roadsters, the TT is so not for you. It’s a car to be poured down a winding highway, driven from the fingertips with calm, measured inputs. The TT’s smooth, well-oiled steering offers just enough weight to inspire confidence, while its front-drive chassis tracks like a slot car. Response to turn-in is a linear function of speed: below 7/10ths, it’s all class; rush it, and it scrubs. Big time, if you insist.

The powertrain that hurries things along is lifted intact from the GTI: a 2.0-liter direct-injection turbo four mated to VAG’s vaunted S tronic, nee DSG. The 2.0T’s midrange fizz and punch more than make up for its hollow low-rpm drone and slightly dilatory throttle response. Want a fully manual transmission and/or all-wheel-drive? Tough schnitzel. They’re only offered on the step-up TT 3.2, priced some $7,700 north of my $36,800 2.0T tester.

I know, I know, the DSG is a manual, and it shifts in so-and-so many milliseconds, which allows you to do… what, exactly? Unless you’re on a racetrack, this is like boasting about reducing the elapsed time of sex. I’ll take the traditional lever and three-pedal layout and add a little toe-tapping, rev-matching pleasure to my daily commute, thanks.

Interesting car, the TT Convertible, and one that’s without truly direct competition. Its drive doesn’t compare with the engaging, physical Z4, S2000, or Boxster. But then, it doesn’t require nearly as much concentration when your other half craves a balmy evening’s cruise. At the same time, the TT avoids the “Florida Rental Special” stigma of four-seat ragtops like Volvo’s C70.

In the end, the TT satisfies the two most essential top-down design briefs: it makes the driver look and feel exceptionally good. Sigh. I drive corrected.

It sure it is gorgeous. I understand Audi's decision to graft goatees onto the front of their cars– the big mouth bass look differentiates their vehicles from Bimmers– but that doesn't mean I've ever liked it. Until the A5. Fine, the corporate snout looks pretty slick on the A8, too. But the A5's gaping maw is, finally, perfectly balanced with the flanking headlights and air intakes. It's also the coupe's least sexy bit. The tail is double-take eye candy, with muscular haunches that [should] haunt Jag designer's dreams.

With flowing fender lines, trick surfaces and a masterful roof line, the A5 puts Bavaria's Bangled Bimmers to shame. Our tester's goofy [optional] wheels not-withstanding, design-wise, de'Silva nailed it.

Inside, Audi must have replaced their regular junta of haptic sticklers with out-of-work Citroën engineers. Virtually every control lives somewhere other than where you'd expect. The stereo's volume knob hides to the right of the gear lever (thankfully there's a thumbwheel on the steering wheel). To adjust the fan, you have to push a button to let the HVAC controls know you're interested in changing the fan speed, and then change fan speed. After a week, I still have no idea (let alone a theory) on how to switch air flow between vents. While BMW's iDrive gets more bad press than Kim Kardashian, Audi's MMI (Multi-Media Interface) requires its own adult education class. After an hour of pushing and swearing, I still couldn't reset the average MPG.

As for comfort, the A5's front seats are perfectly suitable for long journeys or lateral Gs. Unfortunately, 2+2 doesn't equal four; that pretty, sloping roofline is a literal-minded advertisement for Spinal Tap.

The A5's powered by Audi's ubiquitous 265-horse 3.2-liter FSI V6. The "fuel-straight" direct injection technology engenders more torque (243 ft.-lbs. of twist) and a cooler planet. It also requires 12 spark plugs and a gangly maze of wires under the engine's three plastic covers. Audi claims the A5 can hustle itself from standing still to 60 mph in just a tick over 6 seconds. That's fast enough for government work. But unless you stand on the pedal, you'd still be left filling-out forms.

Under normal acceleration, the A5's six-speed slushbox puts you in fourth gear at 30 mph. Obviously, the early-and-often shifting is an attempt to surmount the four-wheel-drive vehicle's inherent weight penalty (3737 lbs.) to deliver CAFE-pleasing mpg. That it does, but at the cost of driver satisfaction. True, you can select cogs by sliding the gear lever to the right for some up and down action, or whack the paddles behind the wheel. But then why not get a manual A5?

The word on the street is that Audi's new B8 platform– which positions the engine further away from the front bumper– has eliminated Audi's mainstream vehicles' notorious propensity to handle like a Mercedes with an anvil strapped onto the hood. The word on the street is wrong. Well, half wrong. The A5 Quattro's snout doesn't go truffle hunting at the slightest whiff of a corner. But sling it into a bendy bit and the chassis heads off for a nice long nap. The fact that the cog-swapper constantly guesses wrong– you can have any gear you like as long as it's the next one up– doesn't help you tackle corners, either.

In short, confidence is high. Speeds are slow. Well, unless you're on a long stretch of highway, where miles melt like snowflakes on a hot tongue. Only your whole body is melting because you can't adjust the fan. But then you stop to read the manual get gas, look at the A5 and you find yourself biting the back of your hand because it's such a beautiful machine.

Around town, the Audi A5 feels every inch the $30k entry level luxury car fashion statement. Only it's $50k. Given the sticker shock, the coupe's questionable low speed handling and the transmission's mileage uber alles programming, Ingolstadt should thank its lucky design stars that emotion trumps logic. The world is a better place for having A5s in it, but there are better places for an enthusiast to sit.