E39 BMW M5 Review – The Boss of Bosses

A super saloon should look like Clark Kent, yet be powered like Superman. For many, the definition of the breed is the E39 generation BMW M5. Time for Craig to meet his superhero.

Indulge me, if you will, in a little daydream. It’s the close of the 20th century and you’re standing in the doorway to the bedroom of a car-obsessed teenager. Step inside – careful to avoid the trip hazard of the Scalextric set – and look past the dirty dishes and strewn clothing and you will find well-hidden, yet painstakingly choreographed, order. Everything has its place – one which is awarded within a grander hierarchy.

The first rung on the ladder might be the window ledge. Naturally, it’s caked in dust, but the model of the Lamborghini Diablo upon it is immaculately clean. Poking out of the VHS player you’ll find a copy of Clarkson Unleashed on Cars, while jutting out of the games console will be SEGA’s Colin McRae Rally. Next, scan the desk in the corner. It isn’t dominated by school textbooks or homework, but is home to a collection of dog-eared car magazines, plus a set of Top Trumps.

Finally, you reach the pinnacle: the framed poster above the bed. The car pictured is the absolute centre of this kid’s universe. What are you seeing from your childhood? The McLaren F1? The Aston Martin Vantage? Or maybe it’s a Speed Yellow 993 Turbo or Scarlet Ferrari F355.

For me, the car in that poster was the E39 BMW M5 in Avus Blue. So – what was it about the E39 that deserved the ultimate accolade in my teenage bedroom? Two things stood out: first, it was the ridiculous output of 400bhp from the new 5.0 litre V8 – a figure that seemed absurd back in 1998. Second – the thing that really made me lose my collective shit – was the four exhausts nestled within the back bumper. Four exhausts…on a sober executive saloon? This was unheard of. At the time, four exhausts was the exclusive reserve of the Italian supercar aristocracy; yet here was this Bavarian family box elbowing its way into their Polo club. From that moment on, the M5 owned me.

It helped that the E39 simmered with discreet menace. All the clues were present and correct: a discreet chin spoiler, sculpted M mirrors, massaged arches and a lip spoiler on the boot so discreet it was almost apologetic. But it was the stance of the car that truly set it apart. A perfect judgement of ride height, arch clearance and rake – all set off by those achingly desirable, deep-dish alloy wheels finished in ‘chrome shadow’. Those in the know could spot the M5 from 100 yards away. To everyone else, it remained anonymous – just another five-series company car.

Explore more M legends:

Then, the first road tests started rolling off the printing presses. The praise was universal. The prose giddy about how the M Division had discovered its mojo again after the E36 M3 and the characterful-but-flawed M roadster and clown shoe. It mattered that magazines like Autocar and EVO raved about the M5’s driver focus – singling out the persistence with a manual gearbox and a locking differential when all others chose a torque converter and a one tyre fire. A fuss was also made about the great lengths the M Division took to reduce unsprung mass with the widespread use of aluminium in the front suspension arms and the multi-link rear setup. Then came Tiff Needell on the lockstops in the pouring rain on BBC 2 at 8pm.

Honestly, if I had been Barbara Broccoli, I would’ve delayed the production of Tomorrow Never Dies by twelve months. Why did Bond drive a 750iL in TND when this thing was in the pipeline? Still, at least we got treated to Clive Owen chauffeuring Madonna around at speed in those fantastic – and fantastically expensive – short film commercials. Best Bond there never was, driving the best Bond-car there never was?

Am I getting ahead of myself? Yes I love this car, but we’re 800 words in and the bloody thing hasn’t even turned a wheel. I’m in the driver’s seat and the excitement is reaching fever pitch. The key residing in my clenched hand is starting to leave an indentation and the driver’s window is reflecting the sort of wide-eyed, gurning smile you only get in the front row at Creamfields.

Explore more M legends:

So why am I stalling? I’m insured. My favourite roads are clear and twisty. I know them well enough to anticipate where the car will shine, and where it’ll be tested. And, speaking of shining, God has set the sun just-so. There’s even a cooling breeze. Everything is textbook.

It’s simple: the F-E-A-R has me. The never-meet-your-heroes sort. What if I fail to discover the magic? What if those on-paper numbers that blew my mind 25 years ago are found wanting in an era of instant turbo torque and whip-crack paddleshift transmissions? What if the suspension is tired and the roadholding is underwhelming? What if the box steering offers the same concise feedback as a Boris Johnson Prime Minister’s Question Time? Maybe it’s a case of imposter syndrome – can I trust myself to be objective?

Bollocks to the nerves – let’s get on with it. The S62 fires up instantly. No flare of revs – just a welcoming, bass-rich idle. I stall again – not of the engine and clutch variety – but to drink in those little interior M details. The illuminated gear knob; the tricolour stitching on the thick-rimmed wheel; the flash of the M tricolour again on the leather seats; the embossed headrests. Front and centre stage are the grey-faced dials, with an oil temperature gauge in place of an mpg counter. Playing ‘Spot the M Badge’ is a good way to kill time while you wait for those famous orange lights on the rev counter to extinguish as the V8 limbers up for duty.

Any fears about the 5.0L V8 being lazy immediately dissipate. This is a proper M unit – free-revving and turbine smooth. Peak power is developed at 6,600rpm – only 400rpm shy of the redline. That is a mere 300rpm south of where the legendary, M1-derived straight six of the preceding M5 made its 340bhp. The compensation for those lost 300 revolutions? 369 lb-ft of torque developed at 3,800rpm – an increase of 74lb/ft, delivered almost 1,000rpm sooner. So the V8 thrives on to revs, but it also has the muscle to hustle its 1,795kg mass. Something the E34 was criticised for – especially in comparison to the deranged, twin-turbocharged Lotus Carlton.

The new engine – codenamed S62 – was based upon the 4.4 litre V8 in the 540i, which made 286bhp and was good enough for a 6 second 0-60 mph run. The M Division added 2 mm to the bore (now 94mm) and increased the stroke to 89mm. Then they upped the compression ratio to 11.0:1, added individual throttle bodies to each cylinder, ‘double VANOS’ variable valve timing and hollowed out the camshafts for improved throttle response. Like the 540i, the block and head remained cast aluminium, but underneath the sump was switched for a semi-dry unit, with two additional scavenging pumps which activate during hard cornering. The S62 also features an air intake system for each bank of cylinders, monitored by dual mass air flow sensors and – at the time – the world’s most powerful ECU, specially developed by Siemens.

The results were hugely impressive. The E39 M5 can rip to 60 mph from standstill in just 4.7s – passing 100 mph just over six seconds later. During development, rumours were rife of derestricted cars hitting 186mph in testing. The new M5 was king of the performance hill.

And it still translates today. That first full bore dosage of the S62 is instantly addictive. There isn’t a massive jerk factor – that sudden change in the rate of acceleration that takes your breath away – it’s more the satisfying way in which the M5 keeps massaging you into the seat deep into three figures. There doesn’t seem to be any let up in the accumulation of speed: third feels just as fast as second, fourth just as fast as third, fifth…oops, I’ve found the limiter.

In period, the S62 did get some minor criticism for a muted soundtrack, but I’ve no doubt that the eagle-eyed among you will have noticed the additional acoustics of this car – namely, twin Eventuri carbon intakes and an aftermarket Kelleners exhaust. It sounds wonderful: burbling at low speed; howling with the taps open – especially over 5,000rpm.

But it’s when you start to push the M5 into a series of turns that it truly shines. Initially, you’ll notice mild understeer is the default stance as you build the pace, but that is more of a gentle warning, a safety net. As soon as you get comfortable with this, you’ll prod the DSC and find the hooligan within, indulging in little slides while exiting well-sighted, 2nd gear corners – grateful for the long travel of the throttle pedal.

Now the M5 begins to display an athleticism that defies its size. The front of the car reacts in the exact same manner of your inputs. Saw at the wheel, demanding rapid direction changes, and you’ll get full commitment; caress the wheel and the M5 will glide around a corner like it’s auditioning for Swan Lake. It’ll roll in the same manner too. Everything about the M5 happens with a progression that matches your aggression. You can really feel that late ‘90s BMW M philosophy at work – start by engineering a benign handling balance whilst sliding beyond the limit of grip, then work backwards. Because, if a car behaves at that point, you’ll end up with a lovely driving experience within the limit of adhesion.

Interestingly, despite its near two tonne mass, the E39 feels a more natural and forgiving car to provoke via the back axle than the other, hugely-lauded period M car: the E46 M3. That’s because the V8 offers 100lb/ft more torque – deployed through only fractionally wider tyres – meaning you can get the tail sliding at much lower, more manageable speeds. And, once you do, when it comes to gathering it back up, the longer wheelbase soothes out the transition or, in my case, masks any ham-fistedness.

Running in tandem all along, the damping and body control has been nothing short of witchcraft – making a mockery of the current obsession with adaptive damping. Interestingly, the E34 M5 offered optional two-stage adaptive dampers in its later 3.8 litre format, but they never made it onto the E39 – the car simply didn’t need them. It would be very hard to find a better-judged damping compromise on any car.

That’s because this M5 was born in an era of high technology but little marketing peer pressure. Nurburgring or Top Gear power laps didn’t figure in the sales brochure. Yes – there’s the Sport button which sharpens the throttle and adds weight to the steering, and there are buttons on the steering wheel – but they relate to the stereo volume and cruise control.

That aside, the E39 retained what went before: slim A-pillars; a naturally aspirated engine; drive to the rear; three pedals in the footwell. All your interaction points with the car are simple, intuitive and analogue. There is no giant iPad sticking out of the fascia, with 500 different screens to swipe through just to tweak the climate control; no infinite number of configurations for the damping, throttle, brake-by-wire or steering. Turn the key, do some big skids and smile. Or drive to the Italian lakes in supreme comfort in one hit.

Let’s not get carried away though. The M5 isn’t perfect. Despite the fanfare of the six-speed manual, it doesn’t offer one of the great gearshifts. The throw is slick, but a little too vague across the gate in that typical BMW fashion. Still, it’s not enough to rue BMW’s lack of an automatic option – there was always Alpina for that.

The steering comes in for criticism too: reassuring heft? Yes. Direct? Yes. Feel some? No. Okay, it isn’t quite as elusive as our former Prime Minister, and it doesn’t dent your confidence in the car, but the fact remains that you feel understeer building more through the seat of your pants than your fingertips. The gripe centres around the initial turn of the wheel to just off centre – if the steering wheel was a clock and 12:00 was straight ahead, there is a dead zone between 10:30 and 1:30. After that, the complaint pretty much dissipates.

The E39 M5 also has something else to answer for. That 400bhp output can be traced as the root cause of the German horsepower wars of the early 2000s – a one-upmanship battle that still rages today. Audi responded to the pummelling the E39 handed out to the 340bhp S6 by slapping two turbochargers onto its 4.2L V8 – creating the 444bhp RS6. AMG went even further by supercharging the E55’s 5.5L V8 to make 475bhp – a leap of 120 horsepower. BMW answered with the V10-equipped, 507 bhp E60 M5 – capable of 207mph sans limiter. Today, the output of the M5 starts with a six and the 0-60 time begins with a two.

Somewhere along the way, the tactility got lost as the throttle response became diluted, the footwell lost a pedal, the steering switched to EPAS, and the front axle also had to deploy power – rather than be a mere pathfinder. The huge output of the modern super saloon also means the elegance has gone from the styling, thanks to the need for excessive cooling. The front of the current Audi RS6 contains more aggression than Eminem’s entire back catalogue. And, for all their seamless gear changes, multimode dampers and programmable driving modes, I don’t think any of the current crop of super saloons are more comfortable than the E39. For sure, some of them are certainly more thrilling, but I doubt they are as satisfying.

Interestingly, the E39 almost never happened. At the time, the BMW board felt the 540i was a quick enough flagship. But the purists were steadfast in their demand for a proper M5. Those same purists went berserk when the grapevine started divulging harrowing details, such as the discontinuation of the straight six, the loss of rack and pinion steering and – heaven forbid – the fact the E39 would be built on the regular production line, not hand-assembled in Garching. Thankfully, their fears – and mine today – were wholly misplaced.

ity Slicker – Suzuki Swift Sport Review

Ever more stringent emissions laws mean even the most efficient cars must adapt to survive. But the Swift Sport has always been about simple, honest thrills. Does the fun factor remain with the adoption of hybrid technology?

The warm hatch is a critical niche. For young enthusiasts, it’s a stepping stone to engaging motoring without the crippling insurance premium. For the experienced hand, it’s a refreshing antidote to the ongoing horsepower war. If a warm hatch fails to inspire, it could mark the end of the road for that particular four-wheeled obsession.

Champions of the breed have come and gone, but since the mid-2000s, the one constant has been the sublime Suzuki Swift Sport. Yet 2022’s Sport is a rather different animal from the one that first stole our hearts: stringent emissions laws have meant the sweet and eager 1.6-litre four has been downsized to 1.4 litres and turbocharged, supplemented by a 48V hybrid system. On top of that, EU regulations mean the car now comes equipped with all manner of safety systems – blind spot assist, lane change assist and automatic collision avoidance – while the media system occasionally barks hazard warnings at you.

It all sounds like a recipe for weight gain and the complete antithesis of honest, carefree driving pleasure. Can the Sport’s cheeky character survive the increasing influence of the bureaucrats? Spending a week with one should either confirm or allay these fears.

Styling and Interior

The ZC33S generation car certainly strikes the right tone. The five-spoke 17-inch alloys look sharp, and the subtle body kit, wrapped in matte carbon, adds a touch of aggression alongside the rear spoiler and twin exhausts. It’s a well-proportioned car that just sits a fraction too high, despite a suspension overhaul that drops the ride height 15mm compared to the cooking Swift.

I also rather like the interior. For sure, it’s not going to light a fire under those fixated on soft-touch plastics, but the standard bucket seats hug you in all the right places, the steering wheel looks and feels great, while dark red highlights and a ‘piano wood’ effect centre console add a stylish element. The touchscreen (including Apple CarPlay) is also neatly integrated into the dashboard rather than perched awkwardly on top.

I’m also getting too excited about seeing proper analogue dials. Two main pods – one rev counter, one speedometer – are well executed on a satin grey background with maroon highlights, and inserted within each is a smaller secondary dial covering fuel and water temperature. Between them sits a small digital display, giving the impression of a sporting chronograph watch.

The only oddity is the rather optimistic peak readings: the rev counter stretches to 8,000rpm, and the speedometer reaches 160mph. Yet it all feels part of the charm. This is an interior that makes a rival Mini feel rather try-hard. It also has to be said that overall build quality is superb, with all the big-car toys present – radar cruise control, climate control, automatic headlights, a rear parking camera and parking sensors.

There are drawbacks, however, and the first major flaw rears its head in the driving position. I’m sitting far too high – my eyeline is only a couple of inches below the sloping roofline – despite having ample headroom, and my ankles are pitched at an acute angle to operate the pedals. It brings to mind sitting in a golf buggy. Another issue is the decision to insert some of the ‘piano wood’ into the bottom half of the steering wheel. It certainly looks flash, but it also seems prone to scratches from those of us donning a wedding ring or any form of jewellery.

​

Powertrain and Performance

The powertrain, however, immediately works to restore your faith. The mild hybrid system acts like the blank tile in a game of Scrabble, filling in the gap below 2,000rpm before the turbocharger comes on song. Think of it as electronic anti-lag – our sort of green technology. Otherwise, the 48V system acts as a starter motor, takes care of electricity generation, and offers a coasting mode during motorway driving, all powered by scavenging energy via regenerative braking. Once you become accustomed to the feeling of strong engine braking when coasting, the integration of the technology is seamless. In total, it saves a potential 129kg of CO₂ per year compared to the previous Sport.

Being a warm hatch, you’d think this is the sort of vehicle where you pay little attention to performance figures. But such is the sheer roll-on pull of the thing that I simply refuse to believe the quoted 0–60mph time of 9.1 seconds is anything but sandbagging by Suzuki. The Sport has an indecent turn of pace in give-and-take driving, acquiring another 20–30mph at a pace that’s more heatwave hatch than warm. I say heatwave because it doesn’t last – performance does fall off sharply above 80mph, but I am not in the least bit surprised to note What Car? has recorded a Sport taking seven seconds dead to reach 60mph. Keep chasing the horizon, and the Swift will eventually touch 130mph.

The key to this surprising turn of pace is a featherweight kerb weight of 1,025kg, motivated by an abundance of torque – a strong 173lb ft maximum generated at just 2,000rpm. In fact, the little Swift puts a lot of heroic hot hatches in the shade in terms of torque-to-weight ratio, actually matching today’s default choice, the Fiesta ST, with 169lb ft/tonne. No wonder the mid-range is so punchy.

Of course, this means the delivery of the BoosterJet engine is front-loaded, giving its best before 5,000rpm. That doesn’t mean it drives like a turgid turbodiesel – it’ll still respond and spin keenly to 6,000, but there’s little reward in terms of thrust. The most enjoyable technique is to short-shift at 5,500rpm and surf the torque once again. The slick and tightly spaced six-speed gearbox also helps keep things on the boil. One curiosity is the rev counter, which is redlined at 6,250rpm, but the engine only gives 6,000.

​

Handling and Ride

Attack some corners, and it soon becomes clear Suzuki has set this car up to be ultra-friendly and accessible: neutrality is the name of the game. The 17-inch alloys are wrapped in modest 195-section rubber, meaning grip levels aren’t excessive. Combined with the low mass, this results in very progressive behaviour, though some of the dynamic sparkle and adjustability of the previous generation has been lost.

Push harder and it’s the tyres, not the chassis, that succumb to pressure first. At the limit, the car leans heavily on the sidewalls, which turn to jelly, and it ‘folds’ into rather unpleasant understeer. The trait is reined in quickly and cleanly, but you’ve learned not to venture to that zone again. This is an eight-tenths car that you steer around a corner in one smooth swoop of the wheel, almost guiding it with your fingertips.

I’d love to try a Sport on more focused tyres. While the OEM Continental SportContact 5s are performance-oriented, they’ve been around for over five years now, and the game has moved on. A firmer sidewall might add an edge to the ride, but it would eliminate this behaviour and enhance response.

​

The steering also toes the composure line, having a reassuring amount of weight to it but little in the way of feedback – such is the Achilles’ heel of an electric rack – while the gearbox and clutch have a light and slick action. Driven thus, the Swift is immense fun threading through narrow country lanes or making the most of that clear roundabout, complete with a little protest from the tyres on exit as you ride that mid-range thrust.

One minor frustration is the initial bite of the brake pedal, which has at least an inch and a half of soft travel before the pads apply any meaningful friction. This is likely a deliberate move to smooth out the effect of the regenerative braking during regular driving, but the consequence is that left-foot braking becomes nigh on impossible to judge, and heel-and-toe takes some practice. In more expressive cars, this might become a problem, but it’s of little concern in the neutral Swift.

For some keen drivers, a bigger potential pitfall is that Suzuki appears to have put all its eggs in the sub-NSL speed limit basket, and the team is divided over this one. The rift is caused by a complete dominance of tyre roar from the rear of the car above 70mph – loud enough to suffocate any encouragement given by the engine. The zesty spirit that got you up to this speed in the first place suddenly evaporates.

The good news is this means the Swift isn’t a rowdy sod when zipping down the high street, which is refreshing in an era of artificial pops and bangs, but it’s a potential dealbreaker for those who enjoy sustained performance on the open road.

That tyre noise also becomes a nuisance on a motorway cruise, meaning you have to dial the volume up more than expected on the media system, whose speakers could do with a bit more clout. Tuning into my favourite podcast streamed via my phone, I had to set the volume to 20 out of 30 for it to become audible. Again, it’s a simple but intrusive fault that could be cured with a change of rubber, because otherwise, the refinement is superb for a supermini. While the ride quality is taut, it’s never jarring.

​

Running Costs and Conclusion

Across a week of mixed driving – including stop-start commuting, motorway runs and two specific journeys to our favourite North West roads for general road-testing tomfoolery – the Swift simply refused to give anything worse than 45mpg. Remarkable.

Previously, the Sport has attracted criticism for its list price of £22,580, but Suzuki is currently offering a £2,000 contribution as part of the above PCP example, making it great value once more.

Overall, the Swift Sport isn’t a car for the get-up-at-5am-and-drive-to-the-Yorkshire-Dales brigade, and while that remains the primary focus of this magazine, we have to recognise fitness for purpose. This is a warm hatch – one that thrives in the real world, with traffic, speed l