The twin-turbo 4.0-liter M178 V-8 dispenses with the grunty, naturally aspirated honk-’n’-braaaap hoedown that the late, lamented C63 Black Series offered. Home taping is killing music, turbocharging is killing engines’ auditory esprit d’guerre. Despite Moers’s hatred of BMW’s current MP3 soundtracks—notwithstanding his laudable intent to let an engine be what it is—the 503-hp, 3600-pound GT S never gives you that side-of-beef-to-the-chest whump offered up by, say, the big-bore Corvette Stingray. The AMG just accelerates. We predict 60 mph will arrive in 3.5 seconds. Given enough room, AMG says it will continue to build speed until the car hits 193.
Chuck everything you remember about Mercedes-Benz steering. Imagine the tactility of a nice manual rack, then picture it boosted to the point that there’s just enough feel left. The wheel saws easily from left to right. The automobile is incredibly quick to follow these orders. The tiller reminds us a bit of the McLaren 650S’s, if the Woking-bred supercar’s had spent the past 24 hours pulling helium-tank keg stands.