Twittering Machines

Amanda Fucking Palmer

Has released an album of Radiohead covers. She accompanies herself on ukelele and prepared piano.

This is interesting to me because Radiohead is my favorite current band, and because Radiohead covers are often done by some pretty interesting people.

AFP is half of The Dresden Dolls a Brechtian Punk Cabaret group wreaking havoc from Boston for a decade or so. The ‘Dolls aren’t exactly my cup of tea, but I heard Amanda Fucking Palmer on NPR sing Creep accompanied by nothing but her ukelele and that was it. She brought to the song what Thom can’t, this direct, vivid, flesh-and-blood quality that was absolutely impossible to push into the background.

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If you were to walk into a boy’s room in the early 80′s and look around the walls you would likely see posters. If the kid was into cars the posters would likely contain images of the Countach, the Testarossa, possibly a Vette or Cobra, maybe a Jag E type or a Porsche 930 Turbo. Another car, unlikely as it may seem, that I remember seeing on a few of those walls was the odd little Saab 900 Turbo.

No raging, mid-mounted Italian 12 cylinder or blistering V8 lurking beneath a mile-long hood. No gorgeous curves or evocative bulges. The 900 was a strange-looking, upright little beast with front-wheel-drive and a little inline 4 cylinder engine. Like a Honda Civic or Toyota Tercel. It was often a hatchback and didn’t even have an independent rear suspension.

As an update to the 99, the slightly sporty little family car was one of the first to offer a turbo engine in production (outside of the monster 930 in the poster above) and four-valve-heads.

The little slant-4 motor-that-could has an interesting story too, it turns out. Saab freaks enthusiasts recently lamented the final discontinuation and sale to China of the little old H-Engine (not really an H boxer engine like a Porsche or Subaru, it’s just a name) a couple of years ago. The cast-iron block, 45 degree tilted motor had been continuously refined for over 40 years. Prior to the mid-60′s, and the model 99, Saab motors were furious little 2-strokes, little hornets in blue-smoke clouds. While a few models had used 4-stroke motors borrowed from Ford, the cars were mostly known for the two and three cylinder 2-strokes of the model 92 based cars. When the company decided to move to a “modern” 4-stroke for the new 99 model it looked to Triumph(!) of all places.

It’s 4 cylinders are tilted at 45 degrees because it was designed as half of a V8, an engine later used in the Triumph Stag. At least for a little while, before it broke. And they all broke.

Which most of the little 4s did as well, which is why Saab eventually brought the engine’s production in-house. The cast-iron-block then became a very reliable and durable platform on which Saab bolted on a turbo as early as 1977 and a 16 valve head in 1984. Both of course boosted power output, but in contrast to bigger engines or more cylinders, these refinements were such that only nerds could love. And as a front-wheel-drive car, the added power introduced another motoring term to the broader public. Torque steer.

Continuing their mission of odd, they were also one of the very few convertables of the time. Don’t try the upside down thing with the rag top though, not recommended…

The Honda CRX came out when I was in college, a time when my my dewey gaze was cast solidly towards cars over the Atlantic. While the occasional Fairlady or 510 might have caught my eye, they lacked the unreliability romance of the cars from the old country.

The snowbound car pictured is a second generation CRX, a bit heavier and swoopier than the crisp original, but it’s been ages since I’ve seen the mark I, and we’re not getting any younger. The first CRX was adorable, and unusual in styling, an adjective Honda has been running from since. With it’s pure Kammback shape it cut a crisp silhouette in a world of chubby, chromed cars.

The funnest Si version aside, it also achieved, in it’s HF version, milage that the pricey, hideous terrapine Prius is only just hitting today.

The original CRX is so beloved by the hard-core autonerds that Honda heard us and has just introduced it’s reimagining of the iconic little sneaker, the CRZ.

One wonders what happened to the logical intermediate model, the CRY. That is until you write it out.

…should be shed at the closing of Mercury. While a slow death by badge engineering is a pretty lame way to go, there is one car that had a Mercury badge grafted on that I love.

By 1967, Lee Iacocca’s Ford mustang had invented a new car niche, the Pony Car. Big engine + little coupe + low price = big fun + great sales. Why not take that recipe and add a bit of lux?

The first generation Mercury Cougar was a first generation Ford Mustang with crisper styling and a few cool touches. With it’s hidden headlights behind the electric shaver grille and groovy sequential taillights, I’ve always loved the first Cougar. Nice and small like the Mustang it’s based on, it just looks right from all angles. This one is a nice, original looking ’68 in beautiful cobalt blue. A real driver too, based on the plates:

I joked about the ubiquity of the Dodge Dart in California in my introduction, but it seems to be just as true over here in The Hood. Today, three nice coupes from a couple of generations, the first a sweet, plum, third generation 1966 GT.

Put a 270 V8 in a cute little googley-eyed A-Body coupe and things can get fun.

And note the severe DART font and the groovy swirl of the GT logo:

Then along comes the 70′s, out goes the euro GT tag and in comes the Swinger.

This 1970 example is the buttoned-down, forest green corporate player with the black-vinyl top that you might bump into at a key party.

While not the finest example of the breed, I like it for the use of the then new Dodge logo, swoopy capital D and all.

Which brings us to a lovely, powder-blue Swinger:

This 73 is the same basic fifth generation Dart as the 70, with a facelift. Last year to sport the trademark rear-bumper with taillights inside, the front gets a heavy bumper and a bit of what as to come with the K-body Volare in the grille treatment.

For the Independence Day edition of The Hood, I present this Telly Savalas brown 1970 Cadillac Eldorado. The final year for the Forth generation Eldorado, it is also the starring baritone in the the swan song choir of huge-displacement detroit steel, just prior to the oil-crisis which was about to snip the nuts off the industry and lead to Malaise Era Detroit.

This mad, front wheel drive(!!) barge hides beneath its Kansas-sized hood, one of the biggest post-war engines in any production car at an even 500 cubic inches. While this leviathan V8 would make an appearance in a few later Caddies, it would never again be allowed to snarl like it does in the ’70 Eldorado, with 400 horses and a stump-pulling 550 ft-lbs of torque.

But my favorite part of this king-sized pimp-sled is actually a tiny badge on the front grill. 8.2 LITRE.

Detroit motors were conceived, designed, built and serviced in good old inches. 304, 427, 455, 500 cubic inches. This tended to work in the imports favor, as the numbers were not easily comparable. As an example, the legendary Ferrari GTO, a gorgeous, front engined race car was powered by a 250cc V-12. This means nearly six of the Ferrari’s 12 cylinders would fit within a single Caddie 500 cylinder. Even the spelling: LITRE, reeks of Euro-bashing. I love it. Happy 4th of July from The Hood.

My idea for an new occasional column here on ‘Machines is this, East Coast cars. Specifically Brooklyn Beauties. Everyone goes on and on about California cars and their lack of iron oxides, but who cares? In a land where you can’t cross the street without Dodging a Dart, exceptional cars blend into the background of relentless sunshine, overpriced coffee and overly perfect teeth. Gimme a down and dirty survivor, hanging in there in The Land Rust Calls Home, dealing with the worst roads this side of Kandahar, more salt than a Big Mac and road grime with a pH around .5

These probably won’t be trailer queens, and won’t earn many points on the concours circuit, but they are stunning to me. I’ll do my best to convey why I’ve posted them, and sometimes it will be obvious, sometimes I’ll come off as an idiot. This is a good thing, right?

I’ve been snapping these pics for some time now, and as I never know when I’m going to come across one of these gems, most of them have been photographed with my iPhone, so apologies for the photo quality. I’ll have an iPhone4 as soon as my wife lets me when I feel like getting one, and the pics should improve significantly then. Cheers from The Hood.

My favorite cigar pic these days is this one, of Car God Bob Lutz in the 60′s, right after he rolled an Opel on a test track.

Monkeyhaus turned one today, I raise a glass. I feel so lucky to have stumbled upon this thing–I suppose I owe a great deal to little Leo, for kicking me out of my own livingroom and forcing me to finish a listening room project started eight years ago. The room was built as a tool, and as a shelter from the bombast that the factory will often hurl.

The first Monkeyhaus event formed fairly organically, friends gathering together to listen to music. A fairly neutral territory, big enough for everyone. Yet professional or just important enough to warrant repeat visits and special occasion whisky, cigars, LPs, even master tapes. Open doors and friendly, but also a sense of truly belonging, membership, family.
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