The dull drone of the Power Units introduced in 2014 has left an emotional void in the hearts and minds of those for whom the soul-stirring sounds made by F1 engines have always been one of the sport’s major attractions. Having vastly underestimated the power of sound to rouse feelings of awe, wonder and passion – even the drivers are critical of the muted motors - the designers of the sophisticated new turbo hybrids have now been tasked with finding ways to provide exhaust notes worthy of the pinnacle of motorsport. Those searching for dramatic new sounds could find plenty of inspiration from the past.
In 1964, when Honda first entered the F1 fray, the team's motive power was an unknown quantity. On opening day of the USGP at Watkins Glen a throng of fans watched intently as the Japanese mechanics pushed the white car with the red rising sun emblem out of the garage to fire up the V12 engine topped with a bundleofsnakes exhaust configuration. Entranced onlookers surrounded the unfamiliar device. As it burst into life they scattered in all directions, unable to believe it was not going to blow itself into smithereens.
The violent noise made by F1 cars used to shake the ground, make teeth rattle, eyes blur, ears ache, hearts race. In the 1980's turbo era the tiny 1.5 liter devices (producing up to 1500bhp) had a shocking ferocity, delivering a fearsome blast of bellowing sound and flame-spitting fury that fired the imagination.
In 1989 the turbulent turbos were banned and the new 3.5 liter engines came in three different configurations that produced wonderfully varied symphonies of sound. When we first heard the glorious unrestrained caterwauling I was standing bestide a veteran Italian journalist who – with eyes glistening – was experiencing ecstasies of sonic-induced euphoria comparable to any operatic performance at La Scala in Milano. “Bravo! Bravo! Bellissimo!”, he exclaimed as the V10s and V12s howled by, their anguished wailing underscored by the mournful basso profundo of the V8s.
It seemed possible to detect national characteristics in the exhaust notes. The Renaults screeching stridently in magnificent discord had overtones of a fierce Gallic argument. A French colleague insisted a hint of Garlic wafted through the air after a Renault-powered machine had bawled by. The Hondas, still higher on the decibel scale, howled with more technical proficiency as if a multitude of enormous tuning forks were vibrating in perfectly controlled harmony, 12,000 times a minute, but the barely tamed tone left no doubt raw mechanical mayhem was being committed here.
The Ferraris made a much more complicated noise, with each of the 12 cylinders apparently operating independently in a tortuous cacophony that seemed to imply a fervent cry for help. There were notes of desperation within the unholy hullaballoo, perhaps perpetrated by an anguished chorus of 3,500 operatic castrati distraught at the loss of the vital organs that gave them voice. Accompanying all this was a constant rasping commotion, sounding like glass being shattered at a tremendous rate, as if the mighty orgy of cylindrical detonations was being celebrated by an infinite number of wine glasses being enthusiastically shattered to bits against Armco barrier.
The even higher pitched Lamborghini V12s sang a spine-tingling aria, a richly melodramatic wail that came within screaming distance of the best ever F1 sound: the celebrated 1970’s era motors built by the French rocket maker Matra. The magnificent Matra V12s produced a spine-tingling combination of Stuka-divebomber-like shrieking that carried its own air raid siren accompaniment and a majestic melodiousness that sent spirits soaring into the stratosphere.
At Mosport in 1971 I made a tape recording of the sound of Chris Amon's Matra, which was the only car on the track at the time. The recording began with a cricket chirping in the grass, a squirrel chattering and a bird squawking in the surrounding forest. The wild creatures were soon shocked into silence as the unholy howling Matra MS111 announced its arrival its glorious exhaust note rising and falling as it tackled the tangled topography of Mosport's twists and turns. I used that tape on my telephone answering machine for years. People would call to listen to it. When I answered they would tell me to shut up and hang up - so they could listen to the Matra.
Even when he was deaf Beethoven created magnificent music (Sergio Artigas drawing)
In 1964, when Honda first entered the F1 fray, the team's motive power was an unknown quantity. On opening day of the USGP at Watkins Glen a throng of fans watched intently as the Japanese mechanics pushed the white car with the red rising sun emblem out of the garage to fire up the V12 engine topped with a bundleofsnakes exhaust configuration. Entranced onlookers surrounded the unfamiliar device. As it burst into life they scattered in all directions, unable to believe it was not going to blow itself into smithereens.
The violent noise made by F1 cars used to shake the ground, make teeth rattle, eyes blur, ears ache, hearts race. In the 1980's turbo era the tiny 1.5 liter devices (producing up to 1500bhp) had a shocking ferocity, delivering a fearsome blast of bellowing sound and flame-spitting fury that fired the imagination.
In 1989 the turbulent turbos were banned and the new 3.5 liter engines came in three different configurations that produced wonderfully varied symphonies of sound. When we first heard the glorious unrestrained caterwauling I was standing bestide a veteran Italian journalist who – with eyes glistening – was experiencing ecstasies of sonic-induced euphoria comparable to any operatic performance at La Scala in Milano. “Bravo! Bravo! Bellissimo!”, he exclaimed as the V10s and V12s howled by, their anguished wailing underscored by the mournful basso profundo of the V8s.
It seemed possible to detect national characteristics in the exhaust notes. The Renaults screeching stridently in magnificent discord had overtones of a fierce Gallic argument. A French colleague insisted a hint of Garlic wafted through the air after a Renault-powered machine had bawled by. The Hondas, still higher on the decibel scale, howled with more technical proficiency as if a multitude of enormous tuning forks were vibrating in perfectly controlled harmony, 12,000 times a minute, but the barely tamed tone left no doubt raw mechanical mayhem was being committed here.
The Ferraris made a much more complicated noise, with each of the 12 cylinders apparently operating independently in a tortuous cacophony that seemed to imply a fervent cry for help. There were notes of desperation within the unholy hullaballoo, perhaps perpetrated by an anguished chorus of 3,500 operatic castrati distraught at the loss of the vital organs that gave them voice. Accompanying all this was a constant rasping commotion, sounding like glass being shattered at a tremendous rate, as if the mighty orgy of cylindrical detonations was being celebrated by an infinite number of wine glasses being enthusiastically shattered to bits against Armco barrier.
The even higher pitched Lamborghini V12s sang a spine-tingling aria, a richly melodramatic wail that came within screaming distance of the best ever F1 sound: the celebrated 1970’s era motors built by the French rocket maker Matra. The magnificent Matra V12s produced a spine-tingling combination of Stuka-divebomber-like shrieking that carried its own air raid siren accompaniment and a majestic melodiousness that sent spirits soaring into the stratosphere.
At Mosport in 1971 I made a tape recording of the sound of Chris Amon's Matra, which was the only car on the track at the time. The recording began with a cricket chirping in the grass, a squirrel chattering and a bird squawking in the surrounding forest. The wild creatures were soon shocked into silence as the unholy howling Matra MS111 announced its arrival its glorious exhaust note rising and falling as it tackled the tangled topography of Mosport's twists and turns. I used that tape on my telephone answering machine for years. People would call to listen to it. When I answered they would tell me to shut up and hang up - so they could listen to the Matra.
Even when he was deaf Beethoven created magnificent music (Sergio Artigas drawing)
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