In the collection, the Volvo 700 series do not have an easy life. Now in their forties, they are still struggling to exist in comparison to their elder, the legendary 240, while fans of high-performance youngtimers are more likely to turn to the 850 and S70, whose supercharged versions have become particularly coveted. Little known and somewhat stuck between tradition and modernity, the 740/760 are slow to find a place in the sun, especially since the French market is particularly quiet for these models, which seem to interest only a handful of enlightened enthusiasts – generally fanatics of the brand or lovers of rolling atypicality. Liking to shine a light on somewhat forgotten cars, we took great pleasure in getting back behind the wheel of one of the first 760 sedans…
The charm of divergence
At the dawn of the 1980s, the 240 series was certainly only six years old, but in truth its fundamentals came directly from the 140 presented in 1967. Even if the cars of the Gothenburg firm were distinguished by longer than average life cycles, Volvo's managers were nevertheless actively considering replacing this range - a difficult task if ever there was one, given that the model was so appreciated and had forged an excellent reputation for passive safety, robustness and durability. The brand's image was mainly fuelled by these notions which, combined with a design flirting with a certain timelessness, defined a very specific typology, the slightly snobbish exoticism of the 240/260 sedans and estates allowing them to carve out a special place for themselves on the market, above the mass-produced manufacturers but without however equalling the prestige of Mercedes-Benz or BMW. To the latter, Volvo willingly abandons sportiness, performance or even simple driving pleasure; with a few exceptions (see the extremely rare 242 GT or the 240 Turbo), the brand's discourse refers almost exclusively to Lutheran virtues and a form of rationality that seems to immediately exclude any pretension to bawdiness. It is above all a question of rational advantages - habitability, practicality, solidity - likely to reassure parents who are above all concerned with the well-being of their offspring and not very sensitive to technical or stylistic innovations.
Down with the curves!
However, you have to evolve and move with the times – but Volvo, as always, will do it its own way and without worrying for a single second about fashion or current trends. At the end of a decade marked by two oil shocks that had plunged most European countries into crisis, and while aerodynamics – a valuable ally in terms of fuel savings – was preparing a comeback, the Volvo VCC concept car, unveiled in February 1980, laid the foundations for the brand's future by resolutely going against the grain of the prescriptions then in force. Compact and stocky, the car stands out above all for its style, developed under the leadership of the company's chief designer, Jan Wilsgaard, and which strikes observers with its radicalism: abrupt lines and right angles are the only things allowed in this machine which, with the exception of its length, faithfully prefigures the physiognomy of the future 700 series, which appeared in February 1982, first in the form of the 760 sedan that concerns us today. 1982, that is to say the very year of the appearance of the Audi 100 "C3", whose substrates seem as far removed from those of the new Volvo as a sylph would be from a concrete block. "What is your opinion on aerodynamics? " will also challenge the Swedish manufacturer, with a false naivety, in one of its advertising catalogues - before, of course, shooting down the frantic quest for the lowest possible master torque. It must be remembered: this is the time when the Cx (coefficient of penetration in the air) becomes a preponderant commercial argument. The aforementioned Audi, then the Renault 25, then the Mercedes W124 and many others after them thus engage in a merciless confrontation on this theme which was very fashionable at the time.
Once Upon a Time in the West
Against all expectations, there was nevertheless a clientele apparently insensitive to the effects of fashion, since the 700 series, received rather coolly by the specialist press in Europe, would still sell nearly 1.5 million units in ten years of career, taking the exact opposite view of the advocates of triumphant aerodynamics. The 760 sedan (which would be released in 1984 in a simplified and more accessible form, called the 740) had, in addition to the prow of which the VCC prototype had revealed the essential, an even more baroque rear end, with this window falling almost at a right angle, resulting in a profile of almost shocking originality according to the criteria of decorum of the Old Continent - and whose influence could also be found across the Atlantic, on the Chrysler New Yorker or Cadillac Seville. In fact, with the 700 series, Volvo turned its attention squarely to the North American market, where the brand was already firmly established. In Europe, criticism was not only directed at the model's design; the archaic rigid rear axle (which Volvo hypocritically called "constant track rear suspension"), which would remain until 1988, also earned it a good deal of sarcasm, given that Mercedes had just presented a 190 with a revolutionary five-link rear axle and that more common models, such as the Peugeot 505 or the Ford Granada, had had independent rear wheels for a long time. Especially since the 760, initially presented in two six-cylinder versions (petrol and diesel), claimed its move upmarket and did not sell off: in the fall of 1984, the GLE V6 was priced at 183,500 francs (or around 60,000 euros in 2024), compared to 117,300 francs for a Citroën CX 25 GTi, 130,900 francs for a BMW 525i, 160,860 francs for a Mercedes 280 E, 106,400 francs for a Ford Granada 2.8i, 126,000 francs for a Lancia Gamma 2500 i.e. or 159,000 francs for a Rover 3500.
From the top of this bodywork, forty years look down on you
You will have understood, the 760 is therefore a car with character whose seductive capacities are not aimed at the first Panurge sheep who comes along. Right from the start, with this stiffness pushed to the limits of caricature and this façade with definitive verticality, it shamelessly assesses your level of conformism: on the subject, how many times have I heard hollow formulas, like "it's still very square"? If you are there, no need to insist: you are probably ready to drive a Nissan Juke. If not, open the door and I bet you will not be disappointed, especially if, like me, you keep, warm in the depths of your soul of incorrigible nostalgia, a guilty attraction to the eighties style. Without much relation to that of a Lancia Trevi, the on-board furniture does not know the curve any more than the exterior grammar of the car, but it is very seriously constructed and assembled; In addition, it houses a complete instrument cluster and careful ergonomics. You immediately feel at ease and it takes no more than thirty seconds to get your bearings. Everything is simple, intelligently designed and delightfully user-friendly. In addition, there is plenty of space at the front and at the back and it is at this moment that we remember one of the merits of rectangular bodies. Of course, you have to put up with the Volvo fads of the time, like this light and sound signal that tells you to fasten your seat belt. Intrusive, annoying, but effective: unlike that of contemporary Mercedes, it only turns off when you have done what is necessary...
Rigid, not frigid
Let’s say it right away, driving a 760 V6 has never been particularly exhilarating – for thrills, choose a well-powered E28 5 Series or a Lancia Thema turbo instead. But that doesn’t mean the car is boring to drive, quite the contrary: you just have to not ask it for what it is not able to offer. The good old PRV – here in its first configuration, with its original crankshaft determining an irregular ignition cycle – does not quite have the performance of a racing engine: it only exhales 156 hp from 2849 cm3, while the three-speed automatic gearbox (plus an overdrive!) takes care, by its inertia, to discourage any desire for aggressive driving. In fact, the 760 thus rigged – the Turbo petrol version obviously being more demonstrative – must be driven “American style”, which is logical given the philosophy adopted by its designers. All things considered, the instructions are quite close to those of a Rolls-Royce Silver Spirit: go forward, calm and straight, your foot soft on the accelerator and let the gearbox work at its own pace, which is not that of a Stakhanovite. Your elbow resting on the top of the door panel, you languish imperceptibly over the hectometres. Calibrated for straight highways with more or less smooth surfaces, the car is capable of moving serenely at speeds likely to land you in prison (190 km/h are possible) and, at legal speeds, it is exactly in its element, with honorable postural comfort – if not equal to the best. As you might expect, it won't be the same lemonade on a small departmental road with rutted asphalt, but the 760, which is never tricky, has never claimed to compete with a Caterham. Crossing the villages of the French Vexin, I saw more than one passer-by turn around to look at this silhouette whose decades have reinforced the gap. And it was with great regret that I handed over the keys to a machine whose charm is gradually revealed to the attentive driver. Not worrying about pleasing the greatest number, the 760 traces its own path and shapes an identity nestled somewhere between a living room on wheels and a narrow Cadillac. The quiet guarantee of another form of happiness...
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