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But it’s rarely intimidating to drive – there’s a sense of balance and flow to the M5 that allows the chassis to be exploited without being overly concerned about what might happen if you overdo it. Do us a favour and don’t fully disable the traction, though. The downside of this approachability is that the BMW never truly bares its fangs, giving it more in common with the only other V8 M5 – the E39, than its direct predecessor, the V10 E60. This could be down to the driver though, I think, as I watch Stig sling the M5 sideways and ride a slide so long and smoky that he needs to upshift to fourth partway through. Wow. If the M5 is good enough for Stig...
Thanks to Munich Legends for the loan of the old M5s. They know more about M cars than is healthy. Find out more at: munichlegends.co.uk
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Not so the M5. It’s the product of endless honing and hooning. Those buttons around the gearlever allow you to individually change the steering, suspension, engine response, traction and gearbox – three levels for each one. Often slightly redundant, here they fundamentally change the car’s behaviour from something that’ll cruise with the ease and refinement of
a 530d into something that’ll stalk supercars. -
It’s a slightly clumsier car than the BMW, the front and rear ends aren’t so together, the ride is undoubtedly firmer, as are the seats, and there’s more than a little road noise. It doesn’t have the M5’s duality, but equally the M5 doesn’t possess the rabidity of a charging E63. You get the sense that AMG got it to a point, thought, ‘Well, that’s fun’, and left it alone.
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There’s a well-founded rumour that BMW will again do a manual M5 for America. I wouldn’t have it – this just feels so well suited to the car now. The Merc’s auto has an equal number of ratios (seven), but isn’t nearly so fluid at shuffling between them. OK, Sport Plus mode does an uncanny job of being in the right gear at the right time, but manual is a dead loss due to the delay between gear selection and presentation. It’s these hiccups in the Merc that lend it a measure of both personality and frustration.
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So what of the BMW’s 4.4-litre bi-turbo? Is it a genuine M engine in the way that the 5.5-litre so perfectly captures what AMG is all about? Yes, it is. M doesn’t focus on the fripperies to the extent that AMG does, so it’s less shouty at start-up, but once up and running (and in both of these cars you have max torque from less than 2,000rpm) the BMW feels more focused – like it’s aiming at a point further down the road.
There’s a distant fizz of turbo noise, a bass-laden V8 rumble and then this immense surge of power. It’s totally remorseless, gaining strength above 4,500rpm and maintaining it for another 3,000rpm beyond that. It’s major league stuff – I suspect a 458 Italia would have trouble getting its nose back in front if either of these got a sniff of a lead. They make it so easy, especially the BMW. Its DSG gearbox is sublime.
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Don’t ask me how, but Merc has overcome every single one of these concerns. Turn the key and the 5.5-litre erupts into life, rocking the car, and from that moment on you’re swept away by its sheer charisma, barrel-chested delivery and a noise that’s pure, roaring, gargling baritone. It’s utterly, wonderfully, exuberantly rampant, an engine that plays to the gallery and has a sense of theatre that’s absent from the M5. To drive it is to love it.
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