#the official versions are too clean and feel too digital and fake and like they weren't meant to be heard this way

[james-stark-the-writer]

Some music just sounds better crunchy, I'm sorry. Like, whatever the actual sound is that you would hear when something gets like a remaster or whatever like a song from like the 50s or something, will never make up for what your brain thought it sounded like when you first heard it and the crunchiness of the music helps your brain fill in the gaps more and that's why some crunchy music is superior.

[faejilly]

malec + concilliabule

Concilliabule - A secret meeting of people who are hatching a plot

Whispers stop when he enters a room or hallway. Every single time. 

Alec had expected it here in Alicante, at least a little, but he’d really been hoping it would have gotten a little better by now. He’d hoped that his position would finally be strong enough that not everyone would think that they could get away with gossiping in public anymore.

He knew better than to wish that they’d stop gossiping at all… but apparently even a polite fiction of acceptance is too much to hope for. Apparently he’ll never be free of this, of side-long glances and fake smiles and shadows of distaste in people’s eyes.

He’s survived it this long. No reason to give up and let it bother him now… but he’s just so tired.

He wants a break.

He needs a break.

He gets back to his assigned rooms and checks his schedule. Everyone has ever so politely ducked out of the meeting he was supposed to have tomorrow. Alec sighs. He considers ever so politely declining back; there’s only one more conference tomorrow afternoon, and it isn’t anything that important.

He blinks.

It really isn’t important.

He checks Izzy’s and Underhill’s schedules back home, and he feels the knot tightening between his shoulder blades start to unravel.

He could take a break?

He taps his stylus on his desk as he stares at the calendar on his tablet. He should talk to them first, ask them, warn them. But if there’s something they haven’t put on the schedule that they actually need him for, that’s their own damn fault, isn’t it? If there’s a mess, they’re more than capable of cleaning it up without him.

He can do this.

He’s going to do this?

Alec grins.

He’s never done anything like this before, but even just considering it is liberating. Magnus would be so proud.

Magnus will be so proud… if it works out. There is one person he does have to talk to before Alec makes it official.

“Alexander!” Magnus’ voice lifts in obvious delight. It isn’t often that Alec logs into the landline network in order to make a call from Alicante, usually making do with the occasional fire message; he hates the weird echo from by-passing Idris’ wards, but he wants to hear Magnus’ voice for this. “What a pleasant surprise?”

Alec snorts softly. There’d been a hint of doubt in that question, a smidgen of worry, wondering why Alec was doing something a bit out of character.

“No bad news, I promise.”

Magnus lets out a soft sigh of relief. “Then to what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Are you doing anything the next few days?”

“Hmm.” There’s a pause as Magnus thinks, or possibly summons his calendar; he’s inordinately fond of the thick paper day-book he keeps in his apothecary, rather than a digital version. “I’ve got some safe-house wards maintenance, but that can be done anytime in the next few weeks, and everything else is research or translation work, nothing that’s terribly urgent or has a hard deadline. Why?”

“I was wondering if you’d be willing to whisk me away on a whirlwind vacation.”

Magnus gasps, loud and dramatic. Alec can picture him pressing his hand to his heart in exaggerated shock. “Really?”

Alec lets himself laugh, and realizes as he does so that it’s been several days since he’d managed even a proper smile. “Really. There’s no point in hanging around here after the formal dinner tonight, and the Institute’s covered ‘til the end of next week.”

“Anywhere in particular, or would you like me to surprise you?”

“I like it when you surprise me.” Alec leans back in his chair with a sigh. “No mountains though, I’ve been staring at them enough while pretending I can’t tell everyone’s whispering behind my back.”

“Of course. No mountains, check.” Magnus’ voice is sympathetic, and warm enough Alec can feel it all the way down his spine. He sighs again as he relaxes just that little bit more. “Clothing optional?”

That startles another laugh out of Alec, short and sudden enough it’s almost more of a snort, and it takes a moment before he can manage to answer. “Sounds perfect.”

“Excellent. You leave everything to me then, until tomorrow?”

Alec starts to nod, tapping on his tablet to take himself off the Institute’s schedule as he does. He looks down at what he’s done, and realizes he doesn’t even have to wait that long. “I’m going to snag a portal to the Institute tonight, actually?”

“Even better!” Magnus sounds almost giddy, and Alec wonders why he never thought to try something like this before now. “But that means I need you to get off the phone so I can get everything ready.”

“I love you.”  It only takes a few more swipes to pull up his out-of-office message, and Alec’s all set to disappear for a few days. With Magnus. What a wonderful prospect.

“I love you, too.”

[bigskydreaming]

AU where in the first season of each of their respective shows, Scott McCall and Tyler Lockwood run into each other after they both skip town and go off on their own because literally every other werewolf they know is an asshole. And like, granted, Tyler’s an asshole too at that point, but in a ‘he’ll grow out of it’ kinda way, and I mean...enter Scott McCall. Hashtag Growth happens immediately for both. Tyler’s like “No dude, you gotta be more selfish. Look out for number one, you know?”

Scott squints. “I’m number one?” He says slowly, in classic ‘I’m the hot girl?’ tone and cadence, as though the idea has never occurred to him before. 

“You’re totally number one, champ,” Tyler says affirmatively, because like...he has eyes, and also has known Scott for longer than five minutes now and thus its pretty obvious that this is in fact true. Also, Tyler is at this point still the kind of asshole who says things like “champ”, and like....not even in an ironic way.

Then the next day Tyler’s an asshole to someone who doesn’t deserve it and Scott looks at him sadly.

“I don’t know how to tell you this dude, but like, you gotta care about other people,” he says. Tyler frowns. Contemplates this.

“Okay,” he says and shrugs, and its pretty much that simple because I mean, he legit literally just needed someone to tell him that. Have you met his parents? They’re AWFUL. I mean they were. Haha, they died. I mean oh no. Much sadness.

They form their own pack and its awesome and eventually that gay werewolf dude from The Originals, Aiden, joins up with them - but only because he brings his vampire boyfriend Josh along with him. I don’t really care about Aiden, but Josh was cool, ergo, I guess Aiden can stay. What is it with white werewolf dudes named Aiden anyway? There are other names, guys. Branch out. Live a little.

They then go to Canada for awhile and run into the werewolves from Bitten. 

“Yeah, this seems like a whole mess,” Tyler says, gesturing vaguely in a way meant to encompass every fucked up thing that is wrong with the werewolves in the world of Bitten.

“I just remembered I left the stove on. Sorry, we gotta go,” Scott says, backing away slowly. Their pack turns and leaves *vague hand gestures* All That behind.

They then go to New York and meet the Shadowhunters and Downworlders. Shenanigans ensue, and in the process, they wind up in like, Valentine’s dungeons where they stumble across and rescue Luke Garroway. 

“Wait, aren’t you that werewolf cop?” Josh asks, confused. Luke frowns.

“What? Why the hell would I be a cop? Oh, you must mean that doppelganger Valentine hired to be me to keep any of my old Shadowhunters allies or Clary’s mom to look for me. Wait, he’s a cop? Man, FUCK that guy.”

“Fuck doppelgangers, dude,” Tyler agrees, nodding sagely. Scott cocks an eyebrow at him in query.

“They just really suck,” Tyler says, with feeling. Scott nods. Well okay then. Fuck doppelgangers.

Luke joins their pack and the novelty of knowing an adult werewolf who doesn’t completely suck isn’t wearing off any time soon. Who knew that was a thing? They begin to have hope that being a werewolf isn’t synonymous with turning into a douchebag on your twenty-first birthday. Especially Tyler. He like literally JUST un-douchefied himself.

They then go wherever the fuck that show The Gates was set. There’s a whole pack there, and they don’t seem completely awful, but then there’s this one werewolf kid named Brett. Scott goes still. 

“Do you have a twin brother?” He asks Brett. Brett scowls.

“What the fuck kind of a question is that? No.”

“Oh, sorry,” Scott says. “It’s just you look a lot like this guy I knew back home, Jackson.”

“Well I’m not him and I don’t have a twin brother,” Brett says with unnecessary aggression that is doing nothing to assuage comparisons to Jackson. Like, chill. It was just a question.

“Oh no! He must be a doppelganger! Sorry, we have to go, we left the water running in the sink,” Tyler yells, standing up and sweeping Scott off his feet and over one shoulder while hollering over the other as he runs off into the night. The rest of their pack look at each other in confusion, shrug, and run after them. Because like, that probably means something, they figure. The Gates pack stares after them with varying expressions of wtf.

“Fucking weirdos,” Brett scoffs then. He goes back to being just The Worst Ever.

Then they wind up in Seattle, where they meet the roommates from Being Human. The American version obviously, I mean, not to be US centric but they’re not going to fucking London just to run into more werewolves, An American Werewolf in London honestly just wasn’t good enough to justify the endless jokes about American werewolves going to London, like, get over it already, let it go.

Werewolf Josh is decent enough. They consider inviting him to join their pack. Then his vampire roommate Aidan gets home, and he’s like, a whole serial killer and a half. So.

“Oh no, I left an unwrapped burrito from 7-11 in the microwave, its gonna go bad!” Vampire Josh shouts in horror, throwing Scott over one shoulder, Tyler over the other, sweeping his boyfriend up in his arms bridal style and then backing into Luke until the older man sighs, hates everything, makes plans to buy a gas-economical SUV because being a werewolf suburban soccer mom is still less undignified than being given piggy back rides by their token vampire when he runs out of arms and shoulders. Then Josh sprints all the way outside the Seattle city limits before stopping and dropping his passengers off as the rest of their pack gathers around them.

“What was wrong with this one?” Asks Tommy Dawkins, the werewolf from Big Wolf on Campus. He and Scott make up the pack’s “Wholesome Jocks In Recovery Post Asshole BFF-endectomy” club. Luke told all the teens that home-schooling was fine, but they still needed extracurriculars. This was not what he had in mind, but well. Baby steps.

“Terrible judge of character,” Scott explains. “Has philosophical debates with his vampire roommate about said vampire roommate’s triple digit body count.”

“Ahh.”

“Am I the only vampire who isn’t just ‘oh look at me, I can go homicidal at the drop of a hat and kill scores of people and then click my heels together and go whoops, all better now, man, THAT was a bad decade for me, huh?’ Am I? AM I?” Josh wails, hiccuping between sobs. Like all vampires, he is very pretty 90% of the time, but he’s a super ugly crier. It’s wonderfully humanizing. Gross, and like, dude gets snot everywhere, but there is an Official Pack Rule. Nobody tell Josh about the ugly crying. Plus, its just a cheap shot, you know? Its not his fault 99% of other vampires use their Pretty for evil.

“Josh,” Tyler says solemnly, putting his arms on both the vampire’s shoulders and looking him gravely in the eye. “I hate to have to tell you this, but I think that like. Yeah. You might just be...The One.”

“Wait no, I heard about this one vampire who’s supposed to not be awful? Down in LA I think,” says Mark, from Lost Girl. He’s not actually a werewolf, he’s a shapeshifter who turns into a black panther. They ran into his dad first, a werewolf named Dyson, but they all sensed he was Horrible within the first five seconds. Except before Luke could say he forgot to feed his goldfish, they gotta go, they bumped into Dyson’s non-awful bisexual panther teenage son and well like. They had to save him from the Horrible then. Like, technically they kidnapped him? Whatever, all their role models were terrible people.

Josh looks up, hopeful. He rubs at his face with his forearm but doesn’t really clean up the snot so much as get it everywhere. Several werewolves wince and look away politely. Mark is scrolling through something on his phone, seemingly oblivious.

“Did you seriously just leave that on a cliffhanger?” Luke scolds. Mark looks up belatedly.

“What? Oh, no. Its just supposedly he only has a soul sometimes, and when he has a soul he’s supposed to be like, a pretty decent guy, but when he doesn’t have a soul, he’s like....a maniacal ax murderer on murder-steroids. Its this whole thing apparently. I follow this demon on twitter who owns a bar down there. He posts weekly updates on whether or not the guy has his soul this week....calls it Soulwatch. I guess the last couple times the dude didn’t have his soul he almost ended the world or something? So anyway, lotta people like updates on that, since I guess he and that vampire are good buds or whatever.”

“He doesn’t have a soul sometimes?” Tyler scowls skeptically. “That sounds fake.”

“Do you have a soul?” A nameless werewolf extra from True Blood asks Josh. 

Josh hiccups and gropes around at his chest, frowning. 

“I think so? Nobody ever told me I might not, I don’t know. Like I mean, I feel like I have a soul, I’m pretty sure?”

“He clutches his stomach and goes ‘ow my heart’ when that Sarah McLachlan commercial with the sad puppies comes on TV,” his boyfriend says helpfully. 

“That’s not where the heart is....” someone starts to say, but they’re quickly shushed. Scott, Tommy and Luke are all clutching their stomachs and nodding in understanding. Tyler rubs his temples.

“Josh, you have a soul. You literally burst into song every time you see a baby smile, and last month you guilt-tripped us all into volunteering with you at that pediatric hospital which means we heard nothing but you singing showtunes and Christmas carols for an entire week straight. In July. Mark, does your demon twitter follower say this vampire has his soul this week or not? Are we going to LA next? And someone please hit me for having to utter that sentence in the first place, it’ll make me feel better, please just do it.”

Sophia Donner, the only decent werewolf from the almost entirely werewolf-populated town of Wolf Lake, helpfully kicks him in the shin.

“What?” Mark looks up again, baffled. “Dude, he doesn’t follow ME on twitter, are you kidding? He has like, six hundred thousand twitter followers.” 

“Really? Why so many?” Tommy asks.

“He has this thing where he can like, see your future or your aura or some shit like that when you sing. So karaoke night at his bar is always packed with lots of A-List celebs obsessed with the occult. Its like, impossible to get into cuz of that unless you know someone, but it means everyone who’s anyone in Hollywood follows him on twitter and is always trying to hit him up and get on the list, and so like, of course all their followers follow him too even if they don’t know why everyone follows him, they just figure obviously he must be someone important?”

“Ahh.”

“People,” Tyler barks. “Focus.”

He looks around for Scott, wondering why the hell he’s the only one trying to get a handle on this. He eventually finds Scott at the edge of their little gathering. Fucker’s holding up his cell phone and recording everything. He shoots Tyler a thumbs up and mouths “You’re doing amazing, sweetie” at him. Tyler would be pissed, but like, he was the one who made it his mission to get Scott to occasionally be more of a selfish asshole specifically so....nah. Fuck it. He was gonna be pissed anyway.

“Ummm,” Mark hedges some more, still scrolling through his phone. He frowns then, and shoots Josh an apologetic glance. “Sorry. Looks like he’s soulless again this week.”

Scott decides to intervene then, looking suddenly concerned. “Uh...does that mean he might maybe almost destroy the world again? Should we go to LA anyway and like...I dunno. Try and help?”

“Help who?” Tyler demands, throwing up his arms in exasperation at the whole day. This is what he gets for getting out of bed, like. Ever. Nothing good comes from getting out of bed. When will he learn?

“I don’t know. Don’t get testy with me,” Scott bites out testily. “The people. Who try and...stop him from destroying the world? Obviously world’s not destroyed so somebody must have stopped him the last couple times which means someone’s probably trying to stop him this time too.”

“Or he could just be really bad at it,” Tommy suggests.

“Nope, we’re good,” Mark interrupts, still on his phone. “It says they’ve got him magically locked up in some hotel so he can’t go anywhere while they wait for their witch friend to bring his soul back and put it in him. I guess after the last time they put like, a low-jack spell on it so if it went missing again it’d just go straight to her, since she’s the only one good at putting it back anyway.”

“Well then,” Tyler says after a moment or two to digest the concept of a low-jacked soul. “That was a super efficient tangent. Are we all good here now at least? Can we move on and like....go somewhere not within range of a serial killer vampire who’s probably miffed at us for being rude and committing some hospitality faux pas?”

Josh sniffs and rubs at his face again, this time with more success. “Yeah, sorry. I’m all good now.”

“Well I’m not,” Aiden yells out then, apparently taking the all-clear on his boyfriend’s issue as a go ahead to vent his own drama. “Am I the only Aiden who isn’t just a complete asshole??”

“I mean, you’re kinda an asshole sometimes too,” Sophia says, idly chewing a nail.

“Not helpful, Soph,” Scott scolds gently. She shrugs.

“Wasn’t trying to be.”

“Let’s start a pack, you said,” Tyler growls, glaring daggers at his co-alpha. Scott smirks back without remorse. “It’ll be good for us, you said. There’s probably lots of other teen wolves in the same boat as us, you said. Shouldn’t we help them, you said.”

“I did say all that,” Scott agrees. He saunters off, you know, like an asshole.

Two weeks later they’re not far from LA. The vampire has his soul this week and everyone wants to go celeb-watching at the demon dude’s karaoke night. Luke knows a guy who can get them in, apparently. They stop to help a hitchhiking teenage werewolf in trouble because like, Scott has a sixth sense for that shit. 

“So what’s your name?” Tyler asks the kid.

“Derek Hale,” he says, and Tyler squints. Why does that name sound familiar. Next to him, Scott hisses like an angry cat. Oh. Right. That.

“You’re not Derek Hale,” Scott accuses, and the kid bristles right back at him. Tyler watches, bemused. Was this a Beacon Hills thing? Or did all of them look like that when having like....what was this, a territorial pissing match? Angsty backstory showdown? What was even happening here, exactly?

“I think I would know, dickface.”

“Look, I’ve met Derek Hale, and he’s like, twenty five, and an asshole,” Scott says. “You can’t be Derek Hale, because you’re like, fifteen, and adorable.”

“Fuck you, I’m seventeen, and fuck you more, I’m not adorable, I will fucking rip your throat out with my teeth, dickface.”

“See? I’m supposed to be quaking in my shoes right now but all I wanna do is pat you on the head and hug you and feed you, because that was adorable,” Scott says, pointing at him. “Ergo, you can’t be Derek Hale, because all I ever wanted to do to that dude was kick him in the nuts for being an asshole who’s all like breaking into my house to tell me we’re brothers now or whatever the fuck that was all about, and then breaking my arm and trashing my phone two seconds later.”

The kid goes quiet. Squints at him. “Wait. Is your name Scott McCall?”

Scott frowns deeper and folds his arms across his chest, shifting awkwardly. He has trouble maintaining his like, Righteous Ire even when he’s definitely in the right, and adorable kid being adorable and no longer even aggressive was making his temper go bye-bye.  Ugh, rude. Scotty Rage was hot, and all too rare. Tyler officially hated this kid. Why does he never get to have nice things?

“Yeah. How’d you know?”

The kid fidgets, sullen. “Heard about you. I told you, I am Derek Hale. I just got like, magically de-aged by my pedo ex-girlfriend who’s now even more pedo and creepier and like...whatever, I don’t even know what the fuck that was all about but like yeah. Apparently older me was a huge douchebag and your name came up as proof of his douchebaggery and I booked it awhile ago because like, nobody could figure out how to turn me back and I figured if I gotta be seventeen again at least I’m gonna be seventeen somewhere where people don’t all think I’m a douchebag because of what older not!me Derek the Dickhead did. You know?”

“Not even a little bit,” Tyler says.

“Kinda,” Scott says. He gnaws his lip. “That sucks. Well. You hungry? We were about to go get some dinner. Wanna come with?”

Derek the Littler Dick stares at him before shooting Tyler an incredulous glance. “Is he for real?”

“Unfortunately,” Tyler deadpans. Scott frowns defensively.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” 

“Dude, you just hated me like ten whole seconds ago.”

“I didn’t know who you were ten seconds ago,” Scott shrugs, as though that explains everything. Problem is, in his head it probably did. Freak, Tyler thinks affectionately.

“Yeah but now you do know who I am and now you know I’m someone you hate? So....?”

“No, you used to be someone I hate,” Scott explains slowly, as if to a small child. “You said it yourself, you’re not really him. Besides, I decided I’m over it anyway.”

“You decided you’re....over it. Anyway.” LDD repeats, breaking it down slowly. As if to a small child. Oh, this is going to be amazing, isn’t it. The other half of Tyler’s future home entertainment gifts him with another incredulous look, like, are you sure this guy is for real? Tyler nods in confirmation.

“He’s just...like that. It’s so weird.”  

“Fine,” Derek huffs at last, over aggressively because why stray from a theme, yeah? “But this better not be some fucked up elaborate revenge plan for older me being a dick or like...”

“You’ll rip my throat out with your teeth,” Scott says dryly. The kid sulks.

“Well of course it sounds lame when you say it like that.”

“You still have baby fat,” Scott tells him. Derek shifts into an enraged were-porcupine.

“I so the fuck do not!”

“You have like, chubby little baby werewolf chipmunk cheeks.”

“Asshole!”

“I know you are but what am I?”

“That’s so stupid! You’re so stupid! What are you, twelve?”

“No, that’s you. Look in a mirror, short stuff.”

“Oh god,” Tyler despairs, staring after the two of them walking off towards the rest of the pack. “They’re brothers now.”

[noiseartists]

New Jersey Artist Heads Up “Songs From Quarantine” COVID-19 Fundraising Bandcamp Compilation

Nothing makes diehard music nerds happier than listening to new music. In fact, within this culture, it’s generally regarded as a coup, if you are first one to share or post about a new band you heard before anyone else.

Sara Barry, a solo artist who makes indie rock music under the name “Teen Idle,” from Asbury Park, N.J., recently decided to put together a compilation CD that would not only expose more people to the songs of emerging bands, but also raise funds for World Health Organization’s COVID-19 Solidarity Response Fund (https://covid19responsefund.org/)

When we were in the early stages of this pandemic and places and events started to shut down, I was feeling frustrated that everything felt so beyond our control,” says Barry. “I noticed more and more musicians doing live stream concerts on Instagram. I wanted to bring people together in a music-related way and also raise awareness and money for coronavirus-related charities, but I felt like there was already an overabundance of live concerts on social media. Instead, I had the idea to make a quarantine album with other indie artists who I knew would join me in raising money to support COVID-19 relief.

I reached out to musicians in my local scene in Asbury Park, N.J., but wanted the scale of the project to be bigger, so I went on Bandcamp in search of smaller artists with really solid songwriting. I spent what I think was the entire day on Bandcamp listening to different artists and searching very specific keywords. I ended up sending almost a hundred emails asking artists if they’d like to write a song in a time crunch for this comp.

I didn’t want one genre to be represented too heavily so I looked for artists from all genres, even experimental, or songs sung in a different language,” says Barry.  “It just seemed exciting to have variety on there, and it was a risk I was willing to take, because I know not everyone will like every song on the compilation even if they all sounded similar.

The result is a 12-song album from artists around the globe entitled “Songs From Quarantine.” Genres include alternative/indie, dream pop, experimental/ambient, Psychedelic, acoustic ballad and full-fledged rock.

 The lineup includes:

200 Shams, pop/electronic funk, Cairo, Egypt @200shams https://linktr.ee/200shams

Deal Casino, alternative/indie, Asbury Park, N.J. @thedealcasino https://dealcasino.bandcamp.com/

Hualun, experimental rock/ambient, Wuhan, China @hualun.org https://hualun.bandcamp.com/

Japanese Heart Software, dream pop, Melbourne, Australia @JapaneseHeartSoftware https://japaneseheartsoftware.bandcamp.com/

Kraus, pop/experimental/instrumental, Auckland, New Zealand https://kraussss.bandcamp.com/

Max Connery of Sonic Blume, dream pop, Asbury Park, N.J. @sonicblumeband www.sonicblume.com

Teen Idle, dream pop, Asbury Park, N.J. @teenidlemusic https://teenidle.bandcamp.com/

The Churchhill Garden, shoegaze/dream pop, Lucerne, Switzerland @thechurchhillgarden https://thechurchhillgarden.bandcamp.com/

H E A V Y C O A S T, indie pop, United Kingdom @heavycoast www.soundcloud.com/heavycoast

Shallow Waves, alternative/psychedelic/noise, Toronto, Canada @ShallowWaves https://shallowwaves.bandcamp.com/

Sir Frances Fake, dream pop, Wall Township, N.J.

Most of these songs are new and original, except for Deal Casino’s “Just a Cow,” which is an alternate version of a song they released in March, and Max Connery’s “I Did Acid With Caroline,” which is a hybrid with the first half being original and the second half a cover of a Daniel Johnston song.

I wouldn’t have been able to pull this off without any of the incredible artists involved, so I just want to thank them for trusting me with their songs and this project, as well as some others,” says Barry. “Green Witch Recordings, a New York-based DIY vinyl and cassette label, helped with the logistics concerning the cassettes. Mark Stephenson of Clean Analog Mastering , Lakewood, Fla., mastered the compilation, and Bandcamp waived most of its share of the profits.

The compilation was officially released Thursday, April 16 exclusively on Bandcamp in a digital version ($9) and cassettes ($13), in a limited run of 35. These are available for pre-order now, and include the digital version. All proceeds are to be donated to COVID-19 Solidarity Response Fund. To listen and/or order, go to https://teenidle.bandcamp.com/ .

[jonathanbelloblog]

Unabashedly Silly, Sensationally Fast: 2019 Lamborghini Urus Prototype Drive

NARDO, Italy — The visit to the famed Nardo test track is marked red in the diary inside our heads. We’re here for our first taste of Lamborghini’s new high-flyer, to find out if it has what it takes to rocket straight to the top of the high-performance SUV charts. So come join us for some hot laps in a prototype of the all-new 2019 Lamborghini Urus, which turns the laws of physics upside down while keeping all four wheels firmly on the ground.

Wrapped in annoying swirl-foil botox camouflage, the general proportions of the Urus nonetheless eventually form a whole at third sight, though its details blur beneath the false cheeks and fake eyebrows. By 8 a.m. sharp, the three Urus prototypes and drivers have gathered here at Nardo, which was bought by Porsche in 2012. Early morning will be spent on the handling course, followed by a wild off-road loop surfaced with gravel and sand. After lunch, the team departs for the skidpad, nudging cones and putting the launch control to the test.

A Lambo must look, feel, and sound like a Lambo, even if it is the belated successor to the brick-shaped LM002 pseudo-pickup that could be had with a gun rack and falcon cage. In order for it to fly underneath the wind tunnel radar, the Urus has been draped in more drag-cutting and downforce-increasing addenda than a NASCAR racer. But instead of opting for active aerodynamics, the R & D team under Lamborghini chief engineer Maurizio Reggiani saved weight by fitting a battery of spoilers, splitters, and diffusers in fixed positions—an attack stance that also reduces rear visibility to a narrow observation slit.

The starting procedure is business as usual for a Lamborghini. Lift the red cage door, hit the growler button, lock the transmission in manual, and wait for the vehicle in front to take off. The first lap is provocatively slow. Everyone warms up the tires, the engine, and their self-confidence. Then the flag drops and it’s push-push-push. But not too much, too soon. After all, impatience is instantly penalized by soaring front tire temperatures, which provoke early understeer and frustration. So it’s wait-wait-wait until way past the apex before you can give it stick again, and there’s a lot of that. Namely some 650 hp and 627 lb-ft of torque, enough punch to drift through the fast fourth-gear right-hander and barrel down the long straight, where the digital speedo briefly touches 155 mph just before the braking zone begins. Although it’s eager to rev, the 4.0-liter twin-turbo V-8 powering the Urus cuts out a nanosecond before the analog readout in the head-up display hits the rev limiter.

While its eight-speed automatic is correctly spaced, it shifts up more leisurely and smoothly than most sequential wham-bang boxes. To give the Urus a distinct Italian flair, Reggiani invented the so-called tamburo ergonomics. Tamburo means drum, and this accurately describes the shape of the two semi-circular drive mode selectors positioned on either side of the starter button. On the left, there is Anima (soul), which lets you choose from six settings labeled strada, sport, corsa, sabbia (sand), terra (gravel) and neve (snow). To the right, the drum named Ego invites you to personalize the driveline, steering response, and suspension setting. It’s a neat arrangement, offbeat yet logical, a welcome complement to the notoriously smudged touchscreen.

The dashboard is a busy blend of trademark hexagonal air vents, the usual overkill carbon-fiber and leather treatment, and loud instrument graphics that glow pachinko red in Corsa mode. The remaining switchgear is arranged in a pattern similar to the Audi Q7 and Porsche Cayenne, with which the Urus shares some componentry—and most importantly, its MLB evo architecture, developed by its Volkswagen Group overlords.

The most obvious difference between the Lamborghini and its German siblings is the extended wheelbase it shares with the Bentayga. But while Bentley’s goal was to create more cabin space, the Italians used the extra inches to further enhance directional stability at speed, be it on a long straight or through fast sweepers. Despite the sloping coupe-like roof made of carbon-fiber at extra cost, there are oodles of head- and legroom in the Urus, though its standard front seats lack support in just about every direction.

Time for the first rotation: Three hot laps, one cooldown lap, back to the pits, change of cars, go for it. The tires need deflating three times. Regular adjustments are also advised to hone the driving style, define braking points, find the quickest line through corners, and trigger spot-on up- and downshifts. Since the Urus weighs more than 4,400 pounds, you’re better off in a taller gear more often than not. Why? Because every gear change costs time, and because riding the crest of the Urus’ mighty torque wave maintains the flow. Late braking is okay, but brake much too late and the car in front will rip open a depressing gap. One ill-timed mid-corner upshift invariably dents the flight path; one missed apex is all it takes to make it run ludicrously wide. But despite its intentions and dimensions, there is no doubt about it: this Lamborghini is a high-roof sports car with four doors and four seats. A look at the official Nardo lap times proves the point: on the handling circuit the Urus is every bit as fast as the Huracán.

This remarkable achievement required plenty of extra work by Reggiani’s team, especially in the chassis department. The Urus’ all-wheel drive system utilizes a Torsen center differential, enabling a wide front-to-rear torque split range, and a mechanical rear diff lock for a subtle left-right distribution. In other words, there is no brake-induced torque vectoring and no conventional self-locking center diff. Part of the package is a 48-volt system which powers the fully adjustable sway bars along with the air conditioning. Another item included in the list price that reportedly starts somewhere south of $200,000 are huge, 17-inch carbon-ceramic brake discs. Completing the high-tech DNA is an adaptive air suspension and rear-wheel steering. At this point, Urus customers have no choice in terms of engine or equipment pack, but there is a plug-in hybrid V-6 in the works for China and possibly the rest of the world later. We also expect a lighter Performante version rated at 700-plus horsepower.

Discover the #Urus Corsa driving mode: true #Lamborghini racetrack performance, for the world’s first Super SUV. https://t.co/jDqkOCxPvf #SinceWeMadeItPossible http://pic.twitter.com/ZuGWzRg6jW

— Lamborghini (@Lamborghini) November 21, 2017

Complaints? I already mentioned the seats and leisurely eight-speed autobox, and I’m going to add to the list the mildly irritating front end pitch through very fast corners, the not exactly superfast tip-in, the generous measure of brake dive and acceleration squat, the somewhat messy ergonomics, and the puerile exhaust note in Corsa mode. And its brawny twin-turbo V-8 is in no way as special as Lamborghini’s charismatic, naturally-aspirated V-10. That said the Urus has many talents, with its key assets being totally involving handling and raw, sports car-like performance all the way to the limit. Despite its genetic detriments—considerable dimensions, high center of gravity, substantial weight—the Urus hugs the road like a salamander climbing up a sheet of glass, it juggles power and torque like an orangutan brachiating between trees, its responses are as sharp as a chameleon’s tongue, and it decelerates like a serpent recoiling from an attack. In the exercise of these talents, it downs fuel at the rate of a Hummer H2 or a stretched black Escalade.

Said Hummer should do well on Nardo’s off-road setup, but it wouldn’t do as well as the Urus, and that’s a promise. After all, there are no serious climbs and descents, deep ruts, grooves or potholes. The surface is a mix of sand and sealed gravel, more high-speed turf than rugged surf. Riding shotgun with me is a former racing driver named Silvio who now oversees suspension development. Since the left-right-left labyrinth is lined on both sides with tall shrubs that block the view through corners, novices need directions. We’re still on road tires, ESC is fully active, and I’m advised to use only the bottom three gears. It’s a narrow track and the grip level is deteriorating lap by lap as sand starts piling up alongside the polished loam-and-pebble racing line. Once more through the mulberry bushes in an effort to memorize the hairpin and a couple of double-apex left-handers, then the fearless Silvio gives me the final thumbs up. “Fasta! Fasta!”

Silvio’s a quick-thinking, rapid-talking co-pilot. “Sharp left, first gear, grip improves two-thirds through the corner.” (Too timid, too slow, too rough.) “Third-gear right, slow in, fast out. Lots of grip.” (Better, but still way off the pace.) “You should deactivate ESC. It helps, trust me. This car has got talent. It will be putty in your palms,” Silvio urges. I wish—but for a change, the wish comes true. There’s more wheelspin now, a more pronounced rear bias, a more blunt invitation to kick out the tail and keep it there. Bingo! I tasted blood. I want more. I want fasta.

“First, you must develop a rhythm. The rest falls into place almost by itself,” Silvio says, which means tap-dancing on the pedals, twirling the wheel, and clicking through the ratios—up and down, down and up. I’m a hero, but also a fool who forgot that pride comes before the fall. In my case, the fall is a dramatic 180-degree slide that hits the greenery side on and rips off a strip camo in the process. “No big deal. No big deal at all,” Silvio says. If it wasn’t for the ears, my grin would go full circle.

As for how fast the Urus goes in a straight line on the skidpad’s clean tarmac, less than 3.7 seconds to 62 mph is the official word, but 3.35 seconds is what the digital in-dash readout says on location. Yes, that’s with launch control on duty, live from the grippiest piece of tarmac in the Roman Empire, and in perfect weather. If the readout is to be believed, that’s a hair quicker than the Huracán and only half a second slower than the Aventador. Maximum speed? In excess of 188 mph is the answer, which would make it the fastest SUV on earth, a mark that speaks volumes for the aerodynamic efficiency of this thunderbolt designed by Filippo Perini, who has since moved on to Italdesign. Needless to say the ground-effect body is virtually immune to axle lift at any speed except through the cones, when it’s wheel up and nose down, when the steering could be a touch more direct, when ESC should be off for improved waltz-ability.

The Urus is the answer to the question that about 3,500 customers are expected to ask annually once production ramps up following its launch next year, which would roughly double the marque’s production output — a vehicle that opens the door for Lamborghini to the most profitable segment of a booming market. It’s clear after our day at Nardo that those who can afford to buy this 650-hp SUV will be getting a splendid vehicle with rare pace and agility, one that can do things no other SUV can.

IFTTT

[jesusvasser]

Unabashedly Silly, Sensationally Fast: 2019 Lamborghini Urus Prototype Drive

NARDO, Italy — The visit to the famed Nardo test track is marked red in the diary inside our heads. We’re here for our first taste of Lamborghini’s new high-flyer, to find out if it has what it takes to rocket straight to the top of the high-performance SUV charts. So come join us for some hot laps in a prototype of the all-new 2019 Lamborghini Urus, which turns the laws of physics upside down while keeping all four wheels firmly on the ground.

Wrapped in annoying swirl-foil botox camouflage, the general proportions of the Urus nonetheless eventually form a whole at third sight, though its details blur beneath the false cheeks and fake eyebrows. By 8 a.m. sharp, the three Urus prototypes and drivers have gathered here at Nardo, which was bought by Porsche in 2012. Early morning will be spent on the handling course, followed by a wild off-road loop surfaced with gravel and sand. After lunch, the team departs for the skidpad, nudging cones and putting the launch control to the test.

A Lambo must look, feel, and sound like a Lambo, even if it is the belated successor to the brick-shaped LM002 pseudo-pickup that could be had with a gun rack and falcon cage. In order for it to fly underneath the wind tunnel radar, the Urus has been draped in more drag-cutting and downforce-increasing addenda than a NASCAR racer. But instead of opting for active aerodynamics, the R & D team under Lamborghini chief engineer Maurizio Reggiani saved weight by fitting a battery of spoilers, splitters, and diffusers in fixed positions—an attack stance that also reduces rear visibility to a narrow observation slit.

The starting procedure is business as usual for a Lamborghini. Lift the red cage door, hit the growler button, lock the transmission in manual, and wait for the vehicle in front to take off. The first lap is provocatively slow. Everyone warms up the tires, the engine, and their self-confidence. Then the flag drops and it’s push-push-push. But not too much, too soon. After all, impatience is instantly penalized by soaring front tire temperatures, which provoke early understeer and frustration. So it’s wait-wait-wait until way past the apex before you can give it stick again, and there’s a lot of that. Namely some 650 hp and 627 lb-ft of torque, enough punch to drift through the fast fourth-gear right-hander and barrel down the long straight, where the digital speedo briefly touches 155 mph just before the braking zone begins. Although it’s eager to rev, the 4.0-liter twin-turbo V-8 powering the Urus cuts out a nanosecond before the analog readout in the head-up display hits the rev limiter.

While its eight-speed automatic is correctly spaced, it shifts up more leisurely and smoothly than most sequential wham-bang boxes. To give the Urus a distinct Italian flair, Reggiani invented the so-called tamburo ergonomics. Tamburo means drum, and this accurately describes the shape of the two semi-circular drive mode selectors positioned on either side of the starter button. On the left, there is Anima (soul), which lets you choose from six settings labeled strada, sport, corsa, sabbia (sand), terra (gravel) and neve (snow). To the right, the drum named Ego invites you to personalize the driveline, steering response, and suspension setting. It’s a neat arrangement, offbeat yet logical, a welcome complement to the notoriously smudged touchscreen.

The dashboard is a busy blend of trademark hexagonal air vents, the usual overkill carbon-fiber and leather treatment, and loud instrument graphics that glow pachinko red in Corsa mode. The remaining switchgear is arranged in a pattern similar to the Audi Q7 and Porsche Cayenne, with which the Urus shares some componentry—and most importantly, its MLB evo architecture, developed by its Volkswagen Group overlords.

The most obvious difference between the Lamborghini and its German siblings is the extended wheelbase it shares with the Bentayga. But while Bentley’s goal was to create more cabin space, the Italians used the extra inches to further enhance directional stability at speed, be it on a long straight or through fast sweepers. Despite the sloping coupe-like roof made of carbon-fiber at extra cost, there are oodles of head- and legroom in the Urus, though its standard front seats lack support in just about every direction.

Time for the first rotation: Three hot laps, one cooldown lap, back to the pits, change of cars, go for it. The tires need deflating three times. Regular adjustments are also advised to hone the driving style, define braking points, find the quickest line through corners, and trigger spot-on up- and downshifts. Since the Urus weighs more than 4,400 pounds, you’re better off in a taller gear more often than not. Why? Because every gear change costs time, and because riding the crest of the Urus’ mighty torque wave maintains the flow. Late braking is okay, but brake much too late and the car in front will rip open a depressing gap. One ill-timed mid-corner upshift invariably dents the flight path; one missed apex is all it takes to make it run ludicrously wide. But despite its intentions and dimensions, there is no doubt about it: this Lamborghini is a high-roof sports car with four doors and four seats. A look at the official Nardo lap times proves the point: on the handling circuit the Urus is every bit as fast as the Huracán.

This remarkable achievement required plenty of extra work by Reggiani’s team, especially in the chassis department. The Urus’ all-wheel drive system utilizes a Torsen center differential, enabling a wide front-to-rear torque split range, and a mechanical rear diff lock for a subtle left-right distribution. In other words, there is no brake-induced torque vectoring and no conventional self-locking center diff. Part of the package is a 48-volt system which powers the fully adjustable sway bars along with the air conditioning. Another item included in the list price that reportedly starts somewhere south of $200,000 are huge, 17-inch carbon-ceramic brake discs. Completing the high-tech DNA is an adaptive air suspension and rear-wheel steering. At this point, Urus customers have no choice in terms of engine or equipment pack, but there is a plug-in hybrid V-6 in the works for China and possibly the rest of the world later. We also expect a lighter Performante version rated at 700-plus horsepower.

Discover the #Urus Corsa driving mode: true #Lamborghini racetrack performance, for the world’s first Super SUV. https://t.co/jDqkOCxPvf #SinceWeMadeItPossible http://pic.twitter.com/ZuGWzRg6jW

— Lamborghini (@Lamborghini) November 21, 2017

Complaints? I already mentioned the seats and leisurely eight-speed autobox, and I’m going to add to the list the mildly irritating front end pitch through very fast corners, the not exactly superfast tip-in, the generous measure of brake dive and acceleration squat, the somewhat messy ergonomics, and the puerile exhaust note in Corsa mode. And its brawny twin-turbo V-8 is in no way as special as Lamborghini’s charismatic, naturally-aspirated V-10. That said the Urus has many talents, with its key assets being totally involving handling and raw, sports car-like performance all the way to the limit. Despite its genetic detriments—considerable dimensions, high center of gravity, substantial weight—the Urus hugs the road like a salamander climbing up a sheet of glass, it juggles power and torque like an orangutan brachiating between trees, its responses are as sharp as a chameleon’s tongue, and it decelerates like a serpent recoiling from an attack. In the exercise of these talents, it downs fuel at the rate of a Hummer H2 or a stretched black Escalade.

Said Hummer should do well on Nardo’s off-road setup, but it wouldn’t do as well as the Urus, and that’s a promise. After all, there are no serious climbs and descents, deep ruts, grooves or potholes. The surface is a mix of sand and sealed gravel, more high-speed turf than rugged surf. Riding shotgun with me is a former racing driver named Silvio who now oversees suspension development. Since the left-right-left labyrinth is lined on both sides with tall shrubs that block the view through corners, novices need directions. We’re still on road tires, ESC is fully active, and I’m advised to use only the bottom three gears. It’s a narrow track and the grip level is deteriorating lap by lap as sand starts piling up alongside the polished loam-and-pebble racing line. Once more through the mulberry bushes in an effort to memorize the hairpin and a couple of double-apex left-handers, then the fearless Silvio gives me the final thumbs up. “Fasta! Fasta!”

Silvio’s a quick-thinking, rapid-talking co-pilot. “Sharp left, first gear, grip improves two-thirds through the corner.” (Too timid, too slow, too rough.) “Third-gear right, slow in, fast out. Lots of grip.” (Better, but still way off the pace.) “You should deactivate ESC. It helps, trust me. This car has got talent. It will be putty in your palms,” Silvio urges. I wish—but for a change, the wish comes true. There’s more wheelspin now, a more pronounced rear bias, a more blunt invitation to kick out the tail and keep it there. Bingo! I tasted blood. I want more. I want fasta.

“First, you must develop a rhythm. The rest falls into place almost by itself,” Silvio says, which means tap-dancing on the pedals, twirling the wheel, and clicking through the ratios—up and down, down and up. I’m a hero, but also a fool who forgot that pride comes before the fall. In my case, the fall is a dramatic 180-degree slide that hits the greenery side on and rips off a strip camo in the process. “No big deal. No big deal at all,” Silvio says. If it wasn’t for the ears, my grin would go full circle.

As for how fast the Urus goes in a straight line on the skidpad’s clean tarmac, less than 3.7 seconds to 62 mph is the official word, but 3.35 seconds is what the digital in-dash readout says on location. Yes, that’s with launch control on duty, live from the grippiest piece of tarmac in the Roman Empire, and in perfect weather. If the readout is to be believed, that’s a hair quicker than the Huracán and only half a second slower than the Aventador. Maximum speed? In excess of 188 mph is the answer, which would make it the fastest SUV on earth, a mark that speaks volumes for the aerodynamic efficiency of this thunderbolt designed by Filippo Perini, who has since moved on to Italdesign. Needless to say the ground-effect body is virtually immune to axle lift at any speed except through the cones, when it’s wheel up and nose down, when the steering could be a touch more direct, when ESC should be off for improved waltz-ability.

The Urus is the answer to the question that about 3,500 customers are expected to ask annually once production ramps up following its launch next year, which would roughly double the marque’s production output — a vehicle that opens the door for Lamborghini to the most profitable segment of a booming market. It’s clear after our day at Nardo that those who can afford to buy this 650-hp SUV will be getting a splendid vehicle with rare pace and agility, one that can do things no other SUV can.

IFTTT

[eddiejpoplar]

Unabashedly Silly, Sensationally Fast: 2019 Lamborghini Urus Prototype Drive

NARDO, Italy — The visit to the famed Nardo test track is marked red in the diary inside our heads. We’re here for our first taste of Lamborghini’s new high-flyer, to find out if it has what it takes to rocket straight to the top of the high-performance SUV charts. So come join us for some hot laps in a prototype of the all-new 2019 Lamborghini Urus, which turns the laws of physics upside down while keeping all four wheels firmly on the ground.

Wrapped in annoying swirl-foil botox camouflage, the general proportions of the Urus nonetheless eventually form a whole at third sight, though its details blur beneath the false cheeks and fake eyebrows. By 8 a.m. sharp, the three Urus prototypes and drivers have gathered here at Nardo, which was bought by Porsche in 2012. Early morning will be spent on the handling course, followed by a wild off-road loop surfaced with gravel and sand. After lunch, the team departs for the skidpad, nudging cones and putting the launch control to the test.

A Lambo must look, feel, and sound like a Lambo, even if it is the belated successor to the brick-shaped LM002 pseudo-pickup that could be had with a gun rack and falcon cage. In order for it to fly underneath the wind tunnel radar, the Urus has been draped in more drag-cutting and downforce-increasing addenda than a NASCAR racer. But instead of opting for active aerodynamics, the R & D team under Lamborghini chief engineer Maurizio Reggiani saved weight by fitting a battery of spoilers, splitters, and diffusers in fixed positions—an attack stance that also reduces rear visibility to a narrow observation slit.

The starting procedure is business as usual for a Lamborghini. Lift the red cage door, hit the growler button, lock the transmission in manual, and wait for the vehicle in front to take off. The first lap is provocatively slow. Everyone warms up the tires, the engine, and their self-confidence. Then the flag drops and it’s push-push-push. But not too much, too soon. After all, impatience is instantly penalized by soaring front tire temperatures, which provoke early understeer and frustration. So it’s wait-wait-wait until way past the apex before you can give it stick again, and there’s a lot of that. Namely some 650 hp and 627 lb-ft of torque, enough punch to drift through the fast fourth-gear right-hander and barrel down the long straight, where the digital speedo briefly touches 155 mph just before the braking zone begins. Although it’s eager to rev, the 4.0-liter twin-turbo V-8 powering the Urus cuts out a nanosecond before the analog readout in the head-up display hits the rev limiter.

While its eight-speed automatic is correctly spaced, it shifts up more leisurely and smoothly than most sequential wham-bang boxes. To give the Urus a distinct Italian flair, Reggiani invented the so-called tamburo ergonomics. Tamburo means drum, and this accurately describes the shape of the two semi-circular drive mode selectors positioned on either side of the starter button. On the left, there is Anima (soul), which lets you choose from six settings labeled strada, sport, corsa, sabbia (sand), terra (gravel) and neve (snow). To the right, the drum named Ego invites you to personalize the driveline, steering response, and suspension setting. It’s a neat arrangement, offbeat yet logical, a welcome complement to the notoriously smudged touchscreen.

The dashboard is a busy blend of trademark hexagonal air vents, the usual overkill carbon-fiber and leather treatment, and loud instrument graphics that glow pachinko red in Corsa mode. The remaining switchgear is arranged in a pattern similar to the Audi Q7 and Porsche Cayenne, with which the Urus shares some componentry—and most importantly, its MLB evo architecture, developed by its Volkswagen Group overlords.

The most obvious difference between the Lamborghini and its German siblings is the extended wheelbase it shares with the Bentayga. But while Bentley’s goal was to create more cabin space, the Italians used the extra inches to further enhance directional stability at speed, be it on a long straight or through fast sweepers. Despite the sloping coupe-like roof made of carbon-fiber at extra cost, there are oodles of head- and legroom in the Urus, though its standard front seats lack support in just about every direction.

Time for the first rotation: Three hot laps, one cooldown lap, back to the pits, change of cars, go for it. The tires need deflating three times. Regular adjustments are also advised to hone the driving style, define braking points, find the quickest line through corners, and trigger spot-on up- and downshifts. Since the Urus weighs more than 4,400 pounds, you’re better off in a taller gear more often than not. Why? Because every gear change costs time, and because riding the crest of the Urus’ mighty torque wave maintains the flow. Late braking is okay, but brake much too late and the car in front will rip open a depressing gap. One ill-timed mid-corner upshift invariably dents the flight path; one missed apex is all it takes to make it run ludicrously wide. But despite its intentions and dimensions, there is no doubt about it: this Lamborghini is a high-roof sports car with four doors and four seats. A look at the official Nardo lap times proves the point: on the handling circuit the Urus is every bit as fast as the Huracán.

This remarkable achievement required plenty of extra work by Reggiani’s team, especially in the chassis department. The Urus’ all-wheel drive system utilizes a Torsen center differential, enabling a wide front-to-rear torque split range, and a mechanical rear diff lock for a subtle left-right distribution. In other words, there is no brake-induced torque vectoring and no conventional self-locking center diff. Part of the package is a 48-volt system which powers the fully adjustable sway bars along with the air conditioning. Another item included in the list price that reportedly starts somewhere south of $200,000 are huge, 17-inch carbon-ceramic brake discs. Completing the high-tech DNA is an adaptive air suspension and rear-wheel steering. At this point, Urus customers have no choice in terms of engine or equipment pack, but there is a plug-in hybrid V-6 in the works for China and possibly the rest of the world later. We also expect a lighter Performante version rated at 700-plus horsepower.

Discover the #Urus Corsa driving mode: true #Lamborghini racetrack performance, for the world’s first Super SUV. https://t.co/jDqkOCxPvf #SinceWeMadeItPossible http://pic.twitter.com/ZuGWzRg6jW

— Lamborghini (@Lamborghini) November 21, 2017

Complaints? I already mentioned the seats and leisurely eight-speed autobox, and I’m going to add to the list the mildly irritating front end pitch through very fast corners, the not exactly superfast tip-in, the generous measure of brake dive and acceleration squat, the somewhat messy ergonomics, and the puerile exhaust note in Corsa mode. And its brawny twin-turbo V-8 is in no way as special as Lamborghini’s charismatic, naturally-aspirated V-10. That said the Urus has many talents, with its key assets being totally involving handling and raw, sports car-like performance all the way to the limit. Despite its genetic detriments—considerable dimensions, high center of gravity, substantial weight—the Urus hugs the road like a salamander climbing up a sheet of glass, it juggles power and torque like an orangutan brachiating between trees, its responses are as sharp as a chameleon’s tongue, and it decelerates like a serpent recoiling from an attack. In the exercise of these talents, it downs fuel at the rate of a Hummer H2 or a stretched black Escalade.

Said Hummer should do well on Nardo’s off-road setup, but it wouldn’t do as well as the Urus, and that’s a promise. After all, there are no serious climbs and descents, deep ruts, grooves or potholes. The surface is a mix of sand and sealed gravel, more high-speed turf than rugged surf. Riding shotgun with me is a former racing driver named Silvio who now oversees suspension development. Since the left-right-left labyrinth is lined on both sides with tall shrubs that block the view through corners, novices need directions. We’re still on road tires, ESC is fully active, and I’m advised to use only the bottom three gears. It’s a narrow track and the grip level is deteriorating lap by lap as sand starts piling up alongside the polished loam-and-pebble racing line. Once more through the mulberry bushes in an effort to memorize the hairpin and a couple of double-apex left-handers, then the fearless Silvio gives me the final thumbs up. “Fasta! Fasta!”

Silvio’s a quick-thinking, rapid-talking co-pilot. “Sharp left, first gear, grip improves two-thirds through the corner.” (Too timid, too slow, too rough.) “Third-gear right, slow in, fast out. Lots of grip.” (Better, but still way off the pace.) “You should deactivate ESC. It helps, trust me. This car has got talent. It will be putty in your palms,” Silvio urges. I wish—but for a change, the wish comes true. There’s more wheelspin now, a more pronounced rear bias, a more blunt invitation to kick out the tail and keep it there. Bingo! I tasted blood. I want more. I want fasta.

“First, you must develop a rhythm. The rest falls into place almost by itself,” Silvio says, which means tap-dancing on the pedals, twirling the wheel, and clicking through the ratios—up and down, down and up. I’m a hero, but also a fool who forgot that pride comes before the fall. In my case, the fall is a dramatic 180-degree slide that hits the greenery side on and rips off a strip camo in the process. “No big deal. No big deal at all,” Silvio says. If it wasn’t for the ears, my grin would go full circle.

As for how fast the Urus goes in a straight line on the skidpad’s clean tarmac, less than 3.7 seconds to 62 mph is the official word, but 3.35 seconds is what the digital in-dash readout says on location. Yes, that’s with launch control on duty, live from the grippiest piece of tarmac in the Roman Empire, and in perfect weather. If the readout is to be believed, that’s a hair quicker than the Huracán and only half a second slower than the Aventador. Maximum speed? In excess of 188 mph is the answer, which would make it the fastest SUV on earth, a mark that speaks volumes for the aerodynamic efficiency of this thunderbolt designed by Filippo Perini, who has since moved on to Italdesign. Needless to say the ground-effect body is virtually immune to axle lift at any speed except through the cones, when it’s wheel up and nose down, when the steering could be a touch more direct, when ESC should be off for improved waltz-ability.

The Urus is the answer to the question that about 3,500 customers are expected to ask annually once production ramps up following its launch next year, which would roughly double the marque’s production output — a vehicle that opens the door for Lamborghini to the most profitable segment of a booming market. It’s clear after our day at Nardo that those who can afford to buy this 650-hp SUV will be getting a splendid vehicle with rare pace and agility, one that can do things no other SUV can.

IFTTT