Vader’s Baby
The Maserati’s weight penalty is pulverised by the 3.8-litre Ferrari-derived V8, an engine able to have you on your knees in awe
WHOEVER MANAGED TO usher these two gangsta-liveried choirboys through type approval must be very well connected in the shadowy underworld, the Vatican or the highest government circles in Rome. While the part-throttle drive-by noise in the higher gears may be almost legal, the decibel explosion in second or third, with Corsa drive mode activated and the accelerator nailed to the floor, could be classified as malicious damage of property, physical injury resulting from negligence or latent public disturbance.
And, no, this is not hyperbole. If high-pitched tones can shatter a wine glass, then thundering great waves of bass amplified by four tennis ball-size tailpipes can easily, in one deafening moment, make window panes rattle, plot long cracks in the plaster of roadside buildings and turn friendly neighbours into lifelong enemies. Trouble is, this all-encompassing noise has narcotic side-effects, inextricably linked as it is to the sensations of brutal forward thrust and dizzying speeds. Come along, enjoy the music and the ride, but beware — these two dandified trucklets are hardcore sports cars in disguise.
The subject of this 300-mile (483-km) test, Maserati’s Levante Trofeo and Lamborghini’s Urus (here to keep the Maserati, a test winner a couple of years ago in less bombastic trim, honest) are textbook examples of both embarrassing
