Drive Style von Horst A. Friedrichs. Nach hippen Mods, coolen Rockern und stylishen Fahrradfans ist Horst A. Friedrichs einem neuen Phänomen auf der Spur: Vintage-Cars und ihren Besitzern
Horst A. Friedrichs
Mit Fotos von Horst A. Friedrichs
Gebundenes Buch, Pappband, 176 Seiten, 19,3×27, 160 farbige Abbildungen
Erscheinungstermin: 26. August 2013
€ 29,95 [D] | € 30,80 [A] | CHF 40,90* (* empf. VK-Preis)
Nach hippen Mods, coolen Rockern und stylishen Fahrradfans ist Horst A. Friedrichs einem neuen Phänomen auf der Spur: Vintage-Cars und ihren Besitzern. Sie schicken stilvoll gekleidet ihren Bugatti ins Rennen. Sie wechseln elegant den Reifen ihres Aston Martin DB5. Sie posieren gut angezogen vor ihrem MINI oder Fiat 500.
Aus der Begeisterung für Motorsport, Mode und Lebensgefühl vergangener Zeiten ist »Drive Style« entstanden.
Horst A. Friedrichs begleitet die Protagonisten der britischen Auto-Szene zu Treffen und Events im ganzen Land und fängt die einmalige Atmosphäre in lebendigen und präzisen Bildern ein. Seite um Seite eröffnet sich dem Betrachter die ganze Welt der Vintage-Cars und ihren leidenschaftlichen Anhängern. Ein Muss, nicht nur für Auto-Liebhaber.
by Cally Callomon
Once upon a time, a great man said to me: ‘Culture is deﬁ ned as everything you don’t need.’ He went on to explain: Mankind needs food to quell hunger, but ﬁ ne cuisine is where scofﬁ ng becomes culture. Mankind needs water to stem thirst, but wine is where drinking becomes culture.
And so I assumed: Mankind needs transport to get about, but car style is where mere travel becomes culture.
The British are famous for not being able to leave well alone. A car is manufactured and the British take this as a mere ‘starting point’ to which they add their signature, their own personality stamped all over the car.
The enamelled ignition key ring tossed blithely onto the pub table is not a requisite of travel, it’s a statement of personality, an intent, the logo on the key ring a clarion call to dreams and aspirations, a hymn to the pretentious, a thrown gauntlet to all the other key rings on the table.
Car brochures never show the vehicle nude. From the dawn of the motor age, no car was ever sold by a blank page ﬁ lled with a photo of the naked launch. Words evoked, scanty models adorned, photographs distorted, and customers fell in line, entranced by the piper’s call. The mono Helvetica plain speak of a Volkswagen Beetle advert was as potent, entrancing and provocative as the preposterous glamour of the Austin Atlantic advert. The courtship was more extreme than speed dating; it was speed itself.
The remnants of these long-lost affairs are re-enacted weekly in the lanes and superhighways up and down this fair isle. Older drivers are driven back to a faintly remembered past, whilst younger drivers act out their grandfathers’ memories in a re-constructed pageant, today with the misery of roadside breakdowns softened by greater budgets and lavished care on a vehicle dragged screaming from its last resting place to be refreshed, and (god forbid) restored to a condition far shinier than its former glory.
In the 1950s a few aspiring companies (based always within dank railway arches) created lightweight sports bodies from the new ﬁ breglass technology and these were sold as replacements for worn-out, rusty, pre-war Ford Populars and Austin Sevens so a weekend father could turn his leaky sidevalve into a Maserati, devoid of sales tax (and also uncannily devoid of speed).
Almost always painted bright red, these ‘projects’ usually ran out of cash after the body landed unsquarely on the chassis. Many scraped onto the road, unﬁ t for most journeys, some millions of miles away from the Works Example photographed in the roneostated brochure. The dashboard was covered in dyno-labelled switches bought from electrical wholesalers in London’s Lisle Street, the engine clad in mail-order speed parts guaranteed to make the car louder, if not faster. Many never made it out of the birthing shed and, come the 1990s, they were rediscovered barn-fresh, ready for a new-found afﬂ uence.
Like so many pre-war vintage lash-ups these vehicles grace our hill climbs and rallys in a condition far above ‘original’. Few parts now fall off, fewer lives – both passengers and nearby pedestrians – are put in mortal danger.
One thing is for sure, the most essential spare part for these cars was deemed to be the key fob, long before the warning triangle or the ‘I’m sure I put it in the boot’ tyre pump. The key fob said ‘I’ve arrived’, even if on the back of a breakdown lorry. The key was the opening to dreams depicted in this handsome volume. Another great friend once told me ‘I’m in the process of buying a 1920s Bentley.’ Knowing of his penniless state, I asked how this could be. He answered that he had decided he wanted one, and that thought alone was the start of the process. I bought him the key ring.
Those pitiful dreamers who are inexplicably still without car may wish to close the book here, as displayed beyond these words are items likely to cause poverty and marital strife. It’s the stuff dreams are made of…
Horst A. Friedrichs, geb. in Frankfurt a.M., arbeitet für Zeitschriften und Magazine, wie Stern und GEO. Bei Prestel erschienen von ihm I’m One – 21st Century Mods, Or Glory – 21st Century Rockers und Cycle Style.