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"  Elvis drove a BMW 507. That historical tidbit alone might be enough to convince you that the 507 is cool, but as time marches on and these squat little roadsters become increasingly rare, there are a dwindling number of regular Joes who get the privilege of experiencing this midcentury relic from the driver&amp;#039;s seat. Thanks to the cosmic confluence of my curious job responsibilities and BMW&amp;#039;s well-preserved four-wheeled history, I was fortunate enough to spend an afternoon bombing through the Tuscan countryside in this V8-powered bad boy. First things first: To judge this five decade-old car through a modern lens would be a tragic misuse of perspective. Not surprisingly, the 507 isn&amp;#039;t particularly stirring by modern performance standards. In fact, one might dare mention that this ultra rare Bavarian creature milks about 150 hp from eight cylinders, thus making it outpowered by many modern econoboxes. On the other hand, said soulless hatchbacks could only dream (lasciviously, at that) of the melodious auditory layercake that emanates from this 3.2-liter mill. Lay into the throttle from behind the stark instrument panel, and the revs escalate steadily as the luscious exhaust note overcomes wind noise while the 2,930 pound sled squirts lazily ahead. Though the switchgear is surprisingly light, the thin-rimmed steering wheel remains muscle-swellingly heavy even at speed, which makes it feel like a bona fide man&amp;#039;s car, in spite of its na\u00EFve styling. I could go on about the 507&amp;#039;s lockup-happy brakes or the generosity of its body roll, but that would subvert the undeniable, overarching aura that trumps those behavioral flaws, and nearly explains the car&amp;#039;s $1.5 million street value.  On a completely different note, I also piloted a smattering of classic Rolls-Royces, which at the time seemed like a far snoozier prospect than driving the vintage BMW M5s and heritage cars on hand. Rollers, the common perception dictates, are built for fat cats with little interest in actually driving. But when I settled into the right seat and scooted off in a pistachio green, U.K.-spec 1964 Silver Cloud III Drophead Coup\u00E9, I learned something entirely new about the tony brand. Sure, the steering wheel was boat-sized, the thing had a laughably lavish footprint, and it handled like &amp;quot;Silver Cloud&amp;quot; referred to the constitution of its suspension components, but ol&amp;#039; &amp;quot;Chinese Eyes&amp;quot; (as it was so politically incorrectly nicknamed) delivered such sharp throttle response that it squatted and charged ahead with disarming gusto. Leaving the ancient roads that snake away from the Concorso d&amp;#039;Eleganza Villa d&amp;#039;Este never felt so glamorous, and hitting the no-holds-barred Italian Autostrada revealed an eerie willingness to reach triple-digit speeds, despite the considerable wind buffeting inside the lush cabin. You can credit Rolls-Royce for the Silver Cloud III&amp;#039;s silken V8, and coachbuilder Mulliner Park Ward for the lightweight alloy body that lends it a suprising amount of get-up-and-go. But the car&amp;#039;s overarching charm is what makes it the first Roller to inspire serious lust in this auto enthusiast&amp;#039;s heart. What distinguishes these two examples from run-of-the-mill classics? While some marketing types call it &amp;quot;surprise and delight,&amp;quot; the ability to draw unexpected reactions despite seemingly simple source material, I call it charisma. If future BMW and Rolls-Royce products can tap into that difficult-to-define wellspring of magnetism, both brands should be well-equipped at differentiating themselves from the sea of luxury and ultraluxury contenders. "^^<http://www.w3.org/2001/XMLSchema#string>
<http://www.popularmechanics.com/cars/a10622/on-the-brilliant-507-and-how-i-became-a-rolls-royce-guy/>