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On the road in the Singer Classic Turbo: is it still the best restomodder out there?

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On the road in the Singer Classic Turbo: is it still the best restomodder out there? | Top Gear

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On the road in the Singer Classic Turbo: is it still the best restomodder out there?

# data.attributes.metatag[].attributes.content
On the road in the Singer Classic Turbo: is it still the best restomodder out there?

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If you were to pick a road on which to have a go in a classic Porsche 911 Turbo, it wouldn’t be this one. Time has chewed hard on this landscape, leaving the edges of the B6278 ragged and cracked, cambers drooping, tumerous bumps the rule rather than the exception. It looks like the tarmac had a tantrum and left itself exhausted – any lack of suspension will get found out within metres. And let’s face it, old 911 Turbos are bitey, famously unforgiving of inattention or a skills gap. It’s enough to give you palpitations.

And that’s not all. Although it seems appropriate that we’re in a Californian car in Holliwood – the misplaced consonant equates to the North Pennines in the UK rather than America – it means weather changes like a mood, and sheep have the self preservation instincts of peculiarly woolly rocks. But as we begin, it turns peaceful. The days up here often get blown out by a scathingly cold wind that pours down the hillsides like an impending argument, and yet today we are gifted the orange and gold of summer. And it is good. As is the car.

It’s a Porsche 964 that’s been ‘reimagined’ by Singer Vehicle Design in the US, stripped to its components and DNA rewritten into something else. But this time it’s a homage to turbocharging, specifically the legendary 930 Turbo of the mid 1970s. Suspiciously good timing, since we’re staring down the anniversarial barrel of half a century of turbocharged Porsches. But this isn’t one of Singer’s flashier daydreams like the DLS Turbo. It’s a homage rather than a caricature. And if there’s a more photogenic sports car right now, I’m not sure what it is.

Photography: Jonny Fleetwood

It’s probably a reaction to the endless triple tier wings, dive planes and fins, the peevish fluoro colours just for the ‘look at me’ and Insta attention, but this 911 looks spectacular in white with a few light graphics. The madness in the detail, rather than the shock value. The body is entirely carbon fibre, leaving only the door's steel to retain some thunk to the closure. The iconic details are all present and correct, but massaged and translated into a subtly more pleasant form.

So you still get the basic format of the front bumper, but it’s slicker and more aerodynamic. The corner bellows are now vents, the ‘shark fin’ side elements intakes for the rear-mounted flat six. That iconic rubbery whale tail of a rear spoiler is now carbon based, longer and taller, but there for elegant stability rather than brutal downforce. And, yes, there are LED headlights, but they’re not the jazzy, twinkly nonsense that makes an old car look inappropriate. Classic Fuchs wheels but in a more modern fitment, fettled perfectly into the arches – this isn’t slammed, but the stance is just about perfect. Bluntly, if tastelessness is a disease, this is the cure.

And that’s before we get inside. As with every car Singer applies itself to, the options list is basically an exercise in choice paralysis. It’s a classic Porsche 911 interior – every 911 owner on the planet would recognise the basic layout – but reworked. You can have a stripped out version with a half cage and race belts, light on the carpet and heavy on the fixed back carbon buckets, or you can go for plump electric sports seats, sound deadening and a rear wiper, plus myriad other tweaks. Any material, every colour, brain hurting complication. But always, always a 911 at heart, tightened and refreshed, with Bluetooth and connectivity – albeit subtle – and aircon that actually works.

In the back is a 3.8-litre Mezger flat six from the 964 with a pair of variable vane BorgWarner turbos lifted from a 992 with outputs ranging from a basic 450bhp to 510, a similar 400lb ft for both. With weight tipping the scales at some 1,300kg depending on spec, these are not particularly lardy cars, and there’s something about picking a generous but not excessive output here rather than simply adding 750bhp for internet points. There is also a lot to be said for a little set dressing when it comes to an engine, because this is one you’d be proud to show off to fellow car nerds. Pipework and looms concealed, intercoolers tucked into the intake plenums, it’s clean enough to eat your dinner off, pretty enough to display on its own. Details. It’s all about the details.

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The nerves are still there though. A bare couple of days to figure out what this car is really about, on really challenging roads. So I slide the slim key into the barrel, and fire up that motor. The usual slightly industrial chunter, a heavy but manageable clutch and steering combo, and we’re off. Unfortunately, the initial impression of the Turbo is that it might be a little bit too focused. It’s not soft. It picks up on enough detail to know whether a bump has an angle or radius, can identify the crowns and cambers blindfolded, reading the road through rubberised braille. It’s a bit punchy.

But as the speed rises, so does the refinement. It’s a weird one, but the faster you go, the smoother and more agreeable it gets. That’s not an excuse for driving like a lunatic, but a present reality. If you’ve ever seen a rally car or Trophy Truck battering along off-road with the body still and the suspension pumping away insanely below the midline, you’ll have an idea. Essentially, this rethought Turbo feels like it has rally damping. And once you get used to it, it’s time to start letting the engine have its head. Which is when it all gets a bit vintage scary.

Like the old Turbo there’s still a bit of lag – it doesn’t really get going until 3,500rpm – but instead of the classic 930’s landslide, the power and torque arrives in a wave that builds through the rev range. It’s so smooth that I would prefer a hard limiter to bounce off, rather than the energy sap of the soft limiter fitted to this car, but it’s addictive. Brake, turn in from the forearms, early on the throttle get the boost up, hang the hell on. It’ll stick, but you can’t second guess it – commitment is king.

And you get all of the noises. From the flat six grumble at idle to the breathy inhalation of the turbos, to the chuff and light twitter of the electric wastegates. It will pop, bang and crack, but far from being the digital operatics of the fake stuff, this is fuel and hot exhaust doing their thing. You never get the same sounds twice, you can’t predict it (other than if you accelerate hard through the gears and do a big lift – it pretty much always belches then), and it’s fun with a capital F. You have to drive it, mind. This one doesn’t give up its edge for free.

The thing is, in a world of emotionally cheap electric speed, everything else gets put into perspective. There’s a physical connection to having to drive a car well and smoothly, a dance and cadence to it. And getting it right in a car like a manual, boosted 964 Porsche 911 lends its own special flavour... from the way you address the upright steering wheel to the angle that you push the floor hinged pedals. The way the little, delicate seeming gearstick always seems to drop into the fleshy bit of your palm, the sense of the car’s natural pivot being a bit further back than you might be used to. And if you have time, you start to absorb the character quirks as friendly fire.

The car handles marginally better with a full tank of fuel. Sport traction mode is best for a little oversteer feeling without too much risk. If you turn in slightly on the brakes, the front end feels more confident. If you let the steering wheel writhe in your grip on a bumpy road instead of trying to fight it, the car will work it out without input, and if you’re really slamming on the brakes, the car will move around a bit. It settles, but it takes some exposure to translate the language. You don’t get that in a lot of more modern supercars, whose electronic lockdown of any quirky behaviour robs them of personality, and this is a car that sweats character like a cold glass of beer on a hot day. It’s hard work on these back roads, but worth it.

The real magic of Singer is that it has managed to enhance the Turbo experience without robbing it of its basic identity. There are wider modern tyres and suspension kinematics, steering angles and Bosch traction control and all that good stuff, but a 930 owner would be right at home. After 48 hours with this car, I only really started to scratch the surface. And I enjoyed that challenge.

This is the physical manifestation of progress not perfection

There’s a pleasure to it that classic car owners will recognise. Modern cars tend to require a lot of speed to be exciting, but simply stringing together a set of bends with perfect lines and sweet gearchanges – and yes, heel and toe is easy in this 911 – even if you’re only going moderately quickly, is joyously satisfying. And after a couple of days of exposure, that’s what comes across in the way that Singer has polished up the Turbo experience. It’s more GT-ish, less racy, less committed than cars like the DLS. But in being a bit more gentle, it unfurls extra wings of ability. The DLS might be much faster and shouty in specific circumstances, but the Turbo allows you to access 85 per cent of that charm much more of the time. In a smiles per mile battle in the real world, the Turbo will win. This is the physical manifestation of progress not perfection.

So what’s the point here? This is a faintly ridiculous $1.1 million rethink (that’s £851k, not including the donor 964, shipping or taxes) which is enough to give even rich people pause for thought. It’s not the fastest car in the world, hasn’t got the most grip by modern supercar standards, goes underappreciated by 98 per cent of the population bar ‘that’s a nice old Porsche’. For most, the obvious question is whether a Porsche 911 Turbo fettled by Singer is worth roughly eight or nine times what it costs to pick up a nice original 930 Turbo. And the simple answer to that is that it’s worth whatever people are prepared to pay.

Singer says that there are already 300 cars on order – that’s a three-year waiting list – and, even given a little wastage, that’s exceptional business. So it depends on what you want and need from a car as to whether a 964 genetically engineered into a modern Turbo is for you. Ultimately, this isn’t the kind of car you can justify by papery stats, efficiency indexes or even value. You wouldn’t pick these roads for a go in an original 930 Turbo, but when Singer gets involved, it turns out that any road is a good one. It’s not a perfect car by any means. But for me, even on these roads, on this couple of days of a sleepy British summer, it’s pretty damn close.

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If you were to pick a road on which to have a go in a classic Porsche 911 Turbo, it wouldn’t be this one. Time has chewed hard on this landscape, leaving the edges of the B6278 ragged and cracked, cambers drooping, tumerous bumps the rule rather than the exception. It looks like the tarmac had a tantrum and left itself exhausted – any lack of suspension will get found out within metres. And let’s face it, old 911 Turbos are bitey, famously unforgiving of inattention or a skills gap. It’s enough to give you palpitations.

And that’s not all. Although it seems appropriate that we’re in a Californian car in Holliwood – the misplaced consonant equates to the North Pennines in the UK rather than America – it means weather changes like a mood, and sheep have the self preservation instincts of peculiarly woolly rocks. But as we begin, it turns peaceful. The days up here often get blown out by a scathingly cold wind that pours down the hillsides like an impending argument, and yet today we are gifted the orange and gold of summer. And it is good. As is the car.

It’s a Porsche 964 that’s been ‘reimagined’ by Singer Vehicle Design in the US, stripped to its components and DNA rewritten into something else. But this time it’s a homage to turbocharging, specifically the legendary 930 Turbo of the mid 1970s. Suspiciously good timing, since we’re staring down the anniversarial barrel of half a century of turbocharged Porsches. But this isn’t one of Singer’s flashier daydreams like the DLS Turbo. It’s a homage rather than a caricature. And if there’s a more photogenic sports car right now, I’m not sure what it is.

Photography: Jonny Fleetwood

It’s probably a reaction to the endless triple tier wings, dive planes and fins, the peevish fluoro colours just for the ‘look at me’ and Insta attention, but this 911 looks spectacular in white with a few light graphics. The madness in the detail, rather than the shock value. The body is entirely carbon fibre, leaving only the door's steel to retain some thunk to the closure. The iconic details are all present and correct, but massaged and translated into a subtly more pleasant form.

So you still get the basic format of the front bumper, but it’s slicker and more aerodynamic. The corner bellows are now vents, the ‘shark fin’ side elements intakes for the rear-mounted flat six. That iconic rubbery whale tail of a rear spoiler is now carbon based, longer and taller, but there for elegant stability rather than brutal downforce. And, yes, there are LED headlights, but they’re not the jazzy, twinkly nonsense that makes an old car look inappropriate. Classic Fuchs wheels but in a more modern fitment, fettled perfectly into the arches – this isn’t slammed, but the stance is just about perfect. Bluntly, if tastelessness is a disease, this is the cure.

And that’s before we get inside. As with every car Singer applies itself to, the options list is basically an exercise in choice paralysis. It’s a classic Porsche 911 interior – every 911 owner on the planet would recognise the basic layout – but reworked. You can have a stripped out version with a half cage and race belts, light on the carpet and heavy on the fixed back carbon buckets, or you can go for plump electric sports seats, sound deadening and a rear wiper, plus myriad other tweaks. Any material, every colour, brain hurting complication. But always, always a 911 at heart, tightened and refreshed, with Bluetooth and connectivity – albeit subtle – and aircon that actually works.

In the back is a 3.8-litre Mezger flat six from the 964 with a pair of variable vane BorgWarner turbos lifted from a 992 with outputs ranging from a basic 450bhp to 510, a similar 400lb ft for both. With weight tipping the scales at some 1,300kg depending on spec, these are not particularly lardy cars, and there’s something about picking a generous but not excessive output here rather than simply adding 750bhp for internet points. There is also a lot to be said for a little set dressing when it comes to an engine, because this is one you’d be proud to show off to fellow car nerds. Pipework and looms concealed, intercoolers tucked into the intake plenums, it’s clean enough to eat your dinner off, pretty enough to display on its own. Details. It’s all about the details.

The nerves are still there though. A bare couple of days to figure out what this car is really about, on really challenging roads. So I slide the slim key into the barrel, and fire up that motor. The usual slightly industrial chunter, a heavy but manageable clutch and steering combo, and we’re off. Unfortunately, the initial impression of the Turbo is that it might be a little bit too focused. It’s not soft. It picks up on enough detail to know whether a bump has an angle or radius, can identify the crowns and cambers blindfolded, reading the road through rubberised braille. It’s a bit punchy.

But as the speed rises, so does the refinement. It’s a weird one, but the faster you go, the smoother and more agreeable it gets. That’s not an excuse for driving like a lunatic, but a present reality. If you’ve ever seen a rally car or Trophy Truck battering along off-road with the body still and the suspension pumping away insanely below the midline, you’ll have an idea. Essentially, this rethought Turbo feels like it has rally damping. And once you get used to it, it’s time to start letting the engine have its head. Which is when it all gets a bit vintage scary.

Like the old Turbo there’s still a bit of lag – it doesn’t really get going until 3,500rpm – but instead of the classic 930’s landslide, the power and torque arrives in a wave that builds through the rev range. It’s so smooth that I would prefer a hard limiter to bounce off, rather than the energy sap of the soft limiter fitted to this car, but it’s addictive. Brake, turn in from the forearms, early on the throttle get the boost up, hang the hell on. It’ll stick, but you can’t second guess it – commitment is king.

And you get all of the noises. From the flat six grumble at idle to the breathy inhalation of the turbos, to the chuff and light twitter of the electric wastegates. It will pop, bang and crack, but far from being the digital operatics of the fake stuff, this is fuel and hot exhaust doing their thing. You never get the same sounds twice, you can’t predict it (other than if you accelerate hard through the gears and do a big lift – it pretty much always belches then), and it’s fun with a capital F. You have to drive it, mind. This one doesn’t give up its edge for free.

14 minutes 48 seconds

The thing is, in a world of emotionally cheap electric speed, everything else gets put into perspective. There’s a physical connection to having to drive a car well and smoothly, a dance and cadence to it. And getting it right in a car like a manual, boosted 964 Porsche 911 lends its own special flavour... from the way you address the upright steering wheel to the angle that you push the floor hinged pedals. The way the little, delicate seeming gearstick always seems to drop into the fleshy bit of your palm, the sense of the car’s natural pivot being a bit further back than you might be used to. And if you have time, you start to absorb the character quirks as friendly fire.

The car handles marginally better with a full tank of fuel. Sport traction mode is best for a little oversteer feeling without too much risk. If you turn in slightly on the brakes, the front end feels more confident. If you let the steering wheel writhe in your grip on a bumpy road instead of trying to fight it, the car will work it out without input, and if you’re really slamming on the brakes, the car will move around a bit. It settles, but it takes some exposure to translate the language. You don’t get that in a lot of more modern supercars, whose electronic lockdown of any quirky behaviour robs them of personality, and this is a car that sweats character like a cold glass of beer on a hot day. It’s hard work on these back roads, but worth it.

The real magic of Singer is that it has managed to enhance the Turbo experience without robbing it of its basic identity. There are wider modern tyres and suspension kinematics, steering angles and Bosch traction control and all that good stuff, but a 930 owner would be right at home. After 48 hours with this car, I only really started to scratch the surface. And I enjoyed that challenge.

This is the physical manifestation of progress not perfection

There’s a pleasure to it that classic car owners will recognise. Modern cars tend to require a lot of speed to be exciting, but simply stringing together a set of bends with perfect lines and sweet gearchanges – and yes, heel and toe is easy in this 911 – even if you’re only going moderately quickly, is joyously satisfying. And after a couple of days of exposure, that’s what comes across in the way that Singer has polished up the Turbo experience. It’s more GT-ish, less racy, less committed than cars like the DLS. But in being a bit more gentle, it unfurls extra wings of ability. The DLS might be much faster and shouty in specific circumstances, but the Turbo allows you to access 85 per cent of that charm much more of the time. In a smiles per mile battle in the real world, the Turbo will win. This is the physical manifestation of progress not perfection.

So what’s the point here? This is a faintly ridiculous $1.1 million rethink (that’s £851k, not including the donor 964, shipping or taxes) which is enough to give even rich people pause for thought. It’s not the fastest car in the world, hasn’t got the most grip by modern supercar standards, goes underappreciated by 98 per cent of the population bar ‘that’s a nice old Porsche’. For most, the obvious question is whether a Porsche 911 Turbo fettled by Singer is worth roughly eight or nine times what it costs to pick up a nice original 930 Turbo. And the simple answer to that is that it’s worth whatever people are prepared to pay.

Singer says that there are already 300 cars on order – that’s a three-year waiting list – and, even given a little wastage, that’s exceptional business. So it depends on what you want and need from a car as to whether a 964 genetically engineered into a modern Turbo is for you. Ultimately, this isn’t the kind of car you can justify by papery stats, efficiency indexes or even value. You wouldn’t pick these roads for a go in an original 930 Turbo, but when Singer gets involved, it turns out that any road is a good one. It’s not a perfect car by any means. But for me, even on these roads, on this couple of days of a sleepy British summer, it’s pretty damn close.

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Since a Californian startup began reimagining 911s 15 years ago, the popularity of restomod Porsches has exploded. Does Singer still do it best?