The 49-year-old behind Singer Vehicle Design is a funny, self-effacing Englishman named Rob Dickinson.He is a genuinely nice guy who lives in Los Angeles.
Along with a rear weight bias, trailing arms help these 911s do wonderful things in corners when you snap your foot off the throttle, and that's all you really need to know about that. With the help of some 150 suppliers, they take customer 964s—"the rougher the better," according to Singer production manager Jason Frahm—and turn them into something else.
Most things are up to the buyer, but everyone gets the same blueprint, to Dickinson's taste. Engineering and manufacturing firm Aria Group fits carbon bodywork, including a roof panel, hood, and fenders.
There is usable torque everywhere, but enough shove near the 7300-rpm redline that you rev it out to feel the cams wake up.
Idle is a pleasing thrum, building to a light boominess around 2000 rpm.
The finish was startlingly flawless, as if the whole car had been carved from a giant Pantone chip.
The Mercedes's paint, by comparison, appeared to have been laid on with a roller..After that, a snarling f***howl to redline."We usually have to remind new owners to shift into second on their first drive," Frahm said, "because they can't stop looking around the cockpit." Either that, or they're basking in the yawp.The buttery, Singer-optimized shift linkage falls into gear with a basso thump. .)In summary, imagine that the whole of German culture was a single craftsman.Our test car's optional track seats—one of three types available—offered wide, 1960s-look headrests paired to a modern, wing-back shell.Turn-signal levers and dash switches are modified or flat out reproduced to look like gems and feel like expensive shotgun parts. The taste and build quality here make most of them seem like homespun pap.(Many Singer employees have big-league backgrounds; for example, the firm's tech director, Chris Walrod, spent 17 years at race-car manufacturer Swift Engineering.)That's the ordinary stuff.