Hackles are the fine hairs at the back of your neck, evolutionary leftovers that can still rise like those of a protohuman ancestor hearing a wolf howl in darkness. Fight or flight, adrenaline pumping, senses heightened—a click of the column-mounted paddle shifter and a foot stabbing at the throttle. Hackles raised, choose combat.
This story originally appeared in Volume 15 of Road & Track.
A prehistoric hominid raises a burning branch; eons later, a spark ignites fuel 75 times every second. The idea is the same: fire as a weapon. Screaming to its 9000-rpm redline in six-tenths of a second, the Lexus LFA’s 4.8-liter V-10 is a blur of magnesium and titanium, its complex engineering beyond common understanding. But the sound it makes—that sound is everything. The wolf pack howls, but it howls at the driver’s instruction.
So let them run. The digital needle in the centrally mounted tachometer is required for this car’s design, as the engine builds revs too fast for an analog sweep to keep up. As it approaches redline, the gauge flashes red in warning. Change gears, and the howl begins anew.
There are faster supercars. There are supercars that feel more analog. Many supercars need a lot less justification than this Lexus. No one needed to explain the appeal of the Ferrari F40 when it arrived; it was as raw as carpaccio and is still unmatched in mechanical fury.
The LFA debuted in 2009, priced near Carrera GT territory. But with peak power at 553 hp, it was 50 hp down on the V-10 Porsche. Dual-clutch offerings from Porsche, Ferrari, and even Nissan in the GT-R outclassed the LFA’s single-clutch transaxle gearbox. And there was nothing particularly feathery about the Lexus’s 3500-pound curb weight.
More than a dozen years after its launch, the LFA is now peerless as a precision-edged salute to the music of internal combustion. Lexus and Yamaha worked in concert to create a purely physical acoustic profile. In the twilight of the internal-combustion engine, the partnership between the two companies blended precision engineering with soulful quality, a symphony of flame and oxygen, a supercar that belts its heart out. The finely milled pieces of metal in the cabin feel like an exceptionally crafted woodwind. There’s still an old-school feel—that magnificent engine requires a key and a steering-wheel-mounted starter button to fire it up.
The engine is the centerpiece, but the rest supports it. The LFA’s tail steps out readily, while its quick steering makes every slide easy to catch. The car’s carbon-fiber body brings authoritative solidity at hundreds of pounds less than a GT-R.
So, send that digital needle spinning clockwise and imagine stacks of spec sheets blurred into whirlwinds in the rearview mirror. Every LFA lost Toyota money. Ferrari and Lamborghini counterpunched with more power and better technology. But Lexus’s engineers and test drivers chased more than mere numbers.
The LFA is not so much a car as an instrument created to stir something primordial within you. The V-10 howls, and your hackles stand at attention. It’s a sound to make you bare your teeth.
