I'll never forget the billboard looming over London's Hammersmith flyover. At the exact point where drivers suddenly confront the endless congestion ahead, a teleconferencing company asked 'Is this journey really necessary?' I'd like to put the same question to the harried hacks covering The New York International Automobile Show– at the exact moment they hear the stilted cadences of The VP of Marketing for Generic Sedans enter the twenty-third minute of his presentation. And what say you show goers, as those circulation-constricting swag bags help transform your "visit" into a Bataan Death March? Is your Odyssean journey really essential?

Don't get me wrong. Auto shows aren't going to die. As long auto execs need to compare stand sizes with unaffiliated colleagues; they'll be there. As long as cherished dealer principals need to feel proud, special and drunk; they'll be there. As long as pistonheads need a happy place where they're not considered nerds, where they can touch, feel and smell the obscure objects of their desire; they'll be there. Wherever there's a cop beating' up a guy– no seriously, the human desire for real, honest-to-bad-breath social interaction guarantees that the auto show is with us to stay.

But social interaction ain't what it used to be, and neither is The Big Show. The days when they provided a back room bacchanalia for white men in dark suits, or a cherished father son bonding experience, are gone; replaced by political correctness and Gran Turismo 4. The Internet has changed everything. If gaining attention for a new vehicle is the question, cyberspace is the answer. If you're a media maven or rivet counter seeking a new whip fix, the web is to car spotting what a CAT scanner is to a neurologist. Even without considering the cost of an auto show stand or the expense of going to one, the Internet is 175% more efficient than the current bricks and mortar motoring ho'-down.

In ten years' time, defenders of today's auto show format will sound like those nostalgic nutcases who assert that radio drama is an unappreciated art form. Meanwhile, sensible people have to suffer mystical statements about the irreproducible benefits of seeing a new car 'in the flesh'– as opposed to clocking it via crystal clear digital photography or reasonable quality video. We'll also have to endure endless paeans to the value of face time and the 'gathering of the tribes'– as if high school reunions weren't ugly enough. The truth is, putting pistonheads and purveyors together in the same place at the same time for an endless series of new product launches and miles of static displays only makes both groups feel… unappreciated.

Fortunately for those of you reading this rant on your laptop in Jacob Javits' bowels– I mean in the bowels of The Jacob K Javits Convention Center– the modern car show is not an either/or reality/Internet situation. For every live human being sucking-up recirculated air in JKJ's cavernous confines, there are 10,000 surfers harvesting the heavy metal fruit of the auto blogging brigade. If the organizers of The New York auto show could suck a buck from every one of the web heads who check in on their vapid display of automobiles-in-aspic, they'd make enough money to pay for post-traumatic show disorder therapy– for everyone!

You don't have to be a dotrepreneur to realize that people around the globe would pay a reasonable fee to 'attend' an auto show from the comfort of their computer. A monopoly on the event's web rights– live web cam coverage, instant access to new photo galleries, on-road video and specs; forums, chat-rooms, IM interviews, etc.– could be worth a fortune. Hundreds of thousands of E-visitors would pay– either directly or through advertising– for the privilege of not going to the 'actual' show. The inappropriately-named independent media would scream bloody murder, but car manufacturers would conclude, rightly, that the spin starts here, with maximum content control.

At some point, the big e-auto shows will start to resemble professional sports, with only the die-hards bearing the cost and inconvenience of physical attendance. That said, fantasy cars aren't football; whether there'd be enough hard core shmoozers and show goers to justify the mondo auto show's astronomical rents and high-priced tickets is an open question. In fact, dwindling attendance has already liberated the London/Birmingham auto shows from their inner-city amphitheaters, fragmenting the event into smaller eventlettes. With less expensive and more accommodating venues, UK exhibitors are now doing really wild and crazy stuff to entertain the faithful– like demonstrating vehicles in motion.

Thanks to the Internet, it's a brave new world. Well, new. Making the switch from today's big ass car shows– a dead genre expense accounting– to tomorrow's smaller and/or virtual get-togethers will require both vision and courage. Either that or an auto exec who's had one steamed hot dog too many.

[For a look at the mutations to come, visit www.autoshowinmotion.com]

Thanks in part to Charles Darwin's theory of evolution, mankind believes everything's gradually getting better. It's a pretty strange kind of optimism, what with killer uptopians like Adolph Hitler and Joseph Stalin hanging-out in our collective past. But this faith in the eternal sunshine of the spotless future fits in nicely with the whole New Year's thing. As does The Detroit News (DTN) January 1 feature "The Road Ahead." Given the black cloud of bankruptcy hanging over Detroit, writer Bill Vlassic's desire to spread a little holiday cheer with a bit of automotive boosterism is entirely understandable. But there's a big difference between lightening-up and enlightenment.

Vlassic begins by revealing that some 40 new cars will debut in Detroit. It's a perfect illustration of the current industry belief that the more models, the merrier. Not so. The explosion of new product actually betrays monumental desperation and a terrific lack of focus. From Porsche's expanding portfolio of unsports cars to Pontiac's odd collection of rebadged vehicles, the abundance of new and often unrelated products represents an unnecessary and self-defeating dissolution of a marque's core strengths. Is General Motors any better off because its Detroit auto show display will feature 10 more products than last year (128 vs. 118)? I don't think so.

Vlassic cites the launch of the Toyota Camry hybrid as a corner turned in a "relentlessly competitive industry" (as opposed to what, real estate?). Yes, 'whether it's hybrid power, computerized safety devices or satellite radio, the average American car is tacking on new technologies and features at dizzying speed" (as opposed to what, personal computers?). We're told that the 'headlong race to satisfy ever-more diverse and sophisticated customers will determine the winners and losers in the auto industry in the coming years." Aside from the nouns involved, this love letter to the joys of automotive progress could've been written in the Eisenhower era.

Back in the day, the American automobilist was equally enthralled by the thrill of the new– only gizmology wasn't their first priority. It was more about style, power and, well, snobbery. But that's not the kind of message today's PC automakers want to send to potential customers. They want consumers to see their feature-laden chariots as miracles of modern science teetering on the brink of perfection. The idea that technological progress is fiendishly difficult, infinitely desirable and strategically paramount provides manufacturers with a convenient excuse for lackluster sales AND endless hope that they can reclaim their share of a brighter tomorrow.

In reality, carmakers are not "perfecting the vehicle." For one thing, perfection is impossible. For another, legislation is now the driving force behind automotive design and engineering. As you'd expect from this odd intersection of fiat and free market, the car industry is being pulled in all directions. It's forced to reconcile mileage with safety, cost with complexity, innovation with liability. While technology plays a crucial role in meeting these conflicting goals, Vlassic's "headlong race" towards more technically sophisticated products isn't the be-all and end-all the writer would have us believe.

More specifically, the hybrid Camry may mark a tipping point for wider acceptance of gas – electric powerplants, but it's only a small indication of how far domestic carmakers have fallen behind their competition; the Japanese lead in smooth and reliable gas engines is far more commercially significant. Growing consumer discomfort with mouse-driven controllers and kludgy electronics indicates that many manufacturers are boldly going where consumers wish they didn't. The US car market is not as highly fragmented as Sciontologists suggest; the American sales chart is still plenty top-heavy. And the only real indication of the average consumer's "increasing sophistication" is their newfound ability to establish dealer invoice.

Those of you who follow such things will realize that Vlassic's logic is Ford friendly. Considering The Blue Oval's recent 'Innovation' rebranding, the DTN feature reads like a transcript from a Ford-sponsored press lunch. No surprise, then, that Vlassic takes us for a PR spin 'round Ford's Innovation Acceleration Center. Vlassic describes it as the Motown equivalent of a Silicon Valley software developers' lair, complete with Lego, a video wall and flop couches. The writer lauds Ford's two-year-old blue sky department with predictable, wide-eyed enthusiasm– even though the fruits of their labors are vaguely described as "many advances in Ford's hybrid engine technology" and "new vehicle incentive programs and marketing strategies."

Like Vlassic's article, Ford's innovatorium appears to suffer from an overdose of self-importance and a hobbling of misdirected focus. Obviously, automakers must develop products that incorporate new technology. But in car making as in nature, 'true' innovation almost always spawns mutant babies. Survival depends on a constant stream of incremental improvements to a proven product. Any automaker who bets the company on a constantly changing menu of technologically advanced vehicles faces corporate extinction, as we shall soon see…

I read somewhere that less than two percent of Americans own a passport. As someone who spent 18 years abroad, I can fully understand the average citizen's reluctance to experience the joys of surly service, high prices, questionable hygiene and murderous Muslims. Still, as a journalist covering a multi-national industry, I do my best to keep an open mind about other lands, other cultures– or at least ignore them as best I can.

And then Steve Sutcliffe goes and writes a review of the Ford F150. The feature was called "Meet the world's best-selling vehicle: it's got a 292bhp V8, rear-wheel drive, rides like a 7-series and you can fit half your house into it…" The Autocar rant is a perfect example of Europe's view of America, illustrating the combination of hatred and envy that drives our so-called allies to subvert American foreign policy at every turn.

In his piece, Mr. Sutcliffe wastes no time exposing his anti-American prejudice. In the first paragraph, he states that the F150 appeals to two audiences, "those who don't take life too seriously (which is fine), or those who have so much fresh air between their ears they wouldn't even know how to spell global warming, let alone understand the threat it may pose to our species."

For those of you too stupid to know when you're being called stupid, Mr. Sutcliffe shares a commonly held European belief that the average American– including President Bush– is as dumb as toast. This basic precept gives Mr. Sutcliffe the freedom to criticize American automobiles even as he enjoys them. They're stupid but fun. The reason why the author gives "people who don't take life seriously" a free pass is equally clear– at least to those familiar with Mr. Sutcliffe's predilection for high-speed automobiles whose mileage figures rarely crest single digits.

The hypocritical, condescending scribe's opening salvo also betrays the perspective that global warming is a fact, vehicles are responsible, America has lots of low mpg vehicles, so America (more than anyone else) is killing the planet. Mr. Sutcliffe spells it out even more directly, saying he couldn't possibly endorse the F150 "in an era of giant tsunamis washing away thousands of people on the other side of the world and extreme weather events rapidly turning into ordinary weather events far closer to home".

Of course, it's a bit of a stretch– linking an earthquake-created tsunami and the UK's notoriously miserable weather to America's love affair with a pickup truck– but don't expect any of Mr. Sutcliffe's compatriots to disagree. The UK's political mainstream is rabidly anti-car, taxing personal transportation with unrestrained zeal in the guise of protecting the planet from harmful emissions. Going against the grain would risk alienation from the college-educated chattering classes, of which journalists are a founding member. Better to embrace miserly, unsafe econoboxes, blame the Americans and be done with it.

It's paragraph three, we're still not anywhere near a review of the Ford F150's character, and Mr. Sutcliffe is turning nasty, rejecting his own argument that the US' environmental irresponsibility is down to our mental limitations. He wonders if the Ford truck is "the biggest irrelevance on four wheels and conclusive proof that, by and large, Americans aren't just mugs but thugs in ecological terms." This before even driving the thing.

When Mr. Sutcliffe does begin his actual road test, he can't help but like the F150. This is the envy side of the equation. Quite rightly, he praises the pickup for its ride, steering, acceleration and agility. His adoration is such that he begins to make excuses for the F150's popularity, citing the usual sop that American drivers have "vast amounts of space" and cheap gas. The fact that the F150 sells well in US states smaller than the UK, and that the UK is an oil-producing nation, doesn't appear on Mr. Sutcliffe's editorial radar.

Of course, such flattery must be tempered, which creates the kind of comical love – hate tension you can see throughout European culture. "Despite its impressive ability to do pretty much whatever you ask it to do on the road, we do not, never have, and never will NEED a vehicle like the Ford F150 cluttering up our world." As one of Mr. Sutcliffe's countrymen said so succinctly, methinks he doth protest too much.

The article concludes by stating– again, twice– that the F150 is not for the UK because the roads are more congested, petrol is more expensive, and "our lawmakers (thankfully) have a fair bit more between their ears." And then he doffs his cap and says "no hard feelings, y'understand?" Speaking as a patriotic American who was black-listed by Mr. Sutcliffe, I'm afraid it's not that easy. These days, if you can't play nice, America isn't going to play nice either. You have been warned.

Before you read this editorial, you must first agree not to show it to anyone until next Tuesday. Yeah, right. And yet carmakers routinely provide new product news and photographs to the press subject to a mutually agreed release date. The industry calls the practice a "news embargo". It's the dirty little secret that lies at the heart of the relationship between automakers and the press.

It's easy to understand why automakers love a good embargo: a carefully-timed news blackout is the key to coordinating a vehicle's public debut– from tease to reveal to nationwide campaign. If the general public hears about a new car too early, the thrill of the new strangles the sales of the old. If an upcoming product's particulars arrive too late, valuable marketing momentum is lost. The news embargo significantly decreases the automakers' risk of blowing their big bucks product launches.

By their very nature, the news embargo also limits negative buzz. Think of it this way: if loose lips sink ships, an embargo can help keep a leaky ship afloat. Equally important, the blackout extends to "third parties", so the press can't reveal new model information to outside experts. When the embargo ends and the story breaks, the public receives only the manufacturer's details/photographs (along with a bit of editorially neutral background). Later, well, who cares? The damage has not been done.

Compare the early coverage given the new Dodge Charger with later, less widespread reports chronicling muscle car aficionados' outrage at the new Charger's four-door design. By sitting on Dodge's concept sketches as instructed, the automotive press helped guarantee a positive result for DCX, and a negative one for Charger purists.

Members of the motoring media perpetuate the embargo system because they figure if they don't play ball, they'll be locked out of the ballpark. This justification was brought into sharp focus last December. When embargoed pictures of the new Corvette Z06 suddenly appeared on-line, GM dispatched two Securitas goons to threaten an offending webmaster. Autoweek reported on the intimidation, ran the 'Vette pic, and clarified their position on news embargos: "We won't be the first to break an embargo, but neither will we be the last".

Of course, Autoweek and their ilk realize that the web threatens the status quo– even if dozens of websites responded to GM's threats by pulling the Z06 pictures off-line. While the mainstream automotive press is not about to tell carmakers to stick their news embargos up their figurative tail pipes, they're more than happy to let the newbies chip away at the system. Rest assured: if the new electronic media can get away with embargo running, the old guard will be right behind them; ready, willing and able to capitalize on their competitors' bravery.

Fortunately, the news embargo is under attack from other quarters. These days, scoop hunters like Brenda Priddy and John Johnson prowl the Las Vegas desert and German Nürburgring, capturing photos of future models. The publication of these spy shots, and the increasing use of Photoshop to generate computer models based the images, are positive signs that the automotive PR guys no longer call all the shots. But the corporate communicators are nothing if not resilient. They've responded to the sneak attacks with an advanced embargo technique called the "private press preview".

For example, a few months ago Saturn presented its upcoming models to selected automotive writers. Journalists emerged from the hush-hush happening suitably enthused about the company's new design and engineering direction. But an embargo left the hacks unable to talk about Saturn's future products in any detail– aside from the "happy days are here again" party line.

Although Saturn PR sold the embargoed event as background, it was clearly designed to stem the flood of criticism directed at GM's faltering division. And it worked; the debate about Saturn's tired product range has gone quiet. This despite the fact that there's no guarantee that the previewed cars will make it into production, or that they'll be any good if they do.

Of course, the news embargo only persists because it's a win – win situation for the players involved. The manufacturers get to manipulate the news, while the press knows they'll never be out of the loop. Equally important, by keeping more aggressive journalists away from the master's table, embargos perpetuate and maintain the power of the buff book boys' club.

The only real loser is the general public. News embargos restrict the free flow of timely, unbiased information. They also muddy the journalistic waters, denying interested enthusiasts a vigorously independent automotive press. To rectify the situation, all automotive publications should refuse to agree to any news embargo, no matter how tempting such 'scoop insurance' may be. It's our policy, and it should be theirs.

OK, so GM's Vice Chairman, Bob Lutz, takes a tour of his fiefdom. His entourage sweeps into the top-secret room where the design department has hidden GM's future models from prying eyes. The Car Czar takes a look at a sleek machine. "What's that?" he demands. "It's the new Corvette," a minion reveals. "No it's not," Lutz snaps. At a stroke, the former Marine fighter pilot has served notice to his new troops: must do better. A legend is born. Nice story. Not true.

In actual fact, it was a simple case of mistaken identity. Lutz was expecting to see an all-new Corvette. He didn't know that the new shape 'Vette is still in development, a year behind schedule. The car he encountered at GM's skunk works was the refreshed version of the current car, the 'Vette that Chevrolet will be selling to commemorate the model's 50th Anniversary. And that's it. In other words, the car guy behind the wheel of General Motors did nothing whatsoever to alter the course of the Corvette's evolution.

This apocryphal "no it's not" story has been repeated ad nauseum by the press—until Lutz decided the tale didn't suit GM's "team" aspirations. The anecdote's popularity may simply reflect an understandable journalistic need for a bit of colour in an otherwise grey industry. But the fact that the story was allowed to circulate unchallenged for so long hints at something less savoury: the extent to which Detroit's spin doctors hold their supposed media watchdogs in their thrall.

You don't have to dig too deep to find other, more sinister examples of media corruption. To wit: a recent "get together" for the automotive media hosted by GM at the Bacara Spa Resort in Santa Barbara, California…

Over four days, a fleet of car journalists heard GM's top execs outline their plans to resuscitate the company's fortunes. Gary Cowger (President of North American operations), Mark Hogan (Director of Advanced Vehicle Development), Larry Burns (Technology Director), Rick Wagoner (CEO) and Mr. Lutz himself were all in attendance. It was, in short, an A-List affair, worlds away from industry-standard corporate charm offensive.

This particular junket had something else to separate it from the usual PowerPointery. The company brought along thirteen new models. It was the ultimate party favour for car hungry hacks: a quarter of all the new machines GM plans to introduce between now and mid-decade.

So what's the future hold for the Big Daddy of the Big Three? Are their new machines cars or trucks? Are they sexy or sensible? Do they have a Boxster beater? A Merc mauler? Wither MPV's? Are there any radical ideas for power plants or drive trains or interiors? Wassup wit da General?

Don't know. Journalists who attended the Baraca bacchanalia were sworn to silence, and then scanned by a metal detector. How many snuck in a digital camera? How many dared break the news embargo? None. How critical was the resulting coverage? Imagine a group of parents after a high school play— with children who all had starring roles. While the coverage of GM's West Coast PR-fest all outlined the company's current weaknesses, the reports simply repeated GM's plans for change. A typical piece summed up the event with the startling revelation that GM was now "on the right track". Really? If so, someone should tell GM's stockholders. The news would certainly help bolster GM's ailing stock price. No wait, job done.

This kind of duplicity should come as no surprise to anyone who attempts to monitor the car business. You don't have to accept millions of dollars of automotive advertising to know that the industry considers itself far too important to tolerate proper scrutiny. As the old saying goes, when Detroit sneezes, America catches a cold. That's where "proper" automotive journalists—critical analysts and hard-nosed reporters—tend to end up: in the cold. Out of the Detroit loop.

While there are notable exceptions to this lap doggery (including The Detroit News), the American automotive press is generally slow to submit the object of its attentions (affections?) to anything resembling investigative journalism. It takes a lot of outside agitation before safety, legislative or environmental stories see the light of day. And when it comes to the business of the business, reviewing actual product, well, I guess I've said it all before. And I'll say it again: there is an unholy alliance between the media and carmakers that stifles genuine criticism of the product.

There is only one way to clear this fug of obfuscation and remove the stench of tainted reportage: the automotive press must clean up its act. Journalists should either refuse to accept free junkets or declare their sponsor's contribution, in plain English, from the outset. They should not allow corporate representatives to speak (or show vehicles) off the record; the practice ties journalist to subject in a bond of collusion. And Editors should wake-up to the fact that hard-hitting automotive journalism is vital to fulfil their obligation to serve the readers'— if not their advertisers'—best interests.

The new Range Rover is Top Gear's magazine's Car of the Year. Car? I'm sorry, but my definition of a 'car' doesn't include vehicles taller than six feet that weigh nearly two and a half tons. The Range Rover is, according to US environmental and safety regulations, a truck. Truck by name, truck by nature. No amount of ABS, traction control and terrain sensing suspension can alter The Laws of Physics: mountainous mass X V8 acceleration + slippery surface = endless understeer oblivion. As Top Gear's own writer put it, the Range Rover's quest for soft-road world domination will ultimately end 'in a ditch'.

Don't get me wrong; I'm sure the new Range Rover is a damn fine truck. Isn't it? I've yet to pilot the beast, but the few British journos who weren't busy singing 'Land Rover of Hope and Glory' at the truck's launch noticed a few 'glitches'. One version's adjustable air suspension got stuck in mid-air- a problem not unknown to owners of the previous model. One or two reviewers also didn't fail to notice the Ranger's prodigious thirst (12mpg), sloth (0 – 62 in 9.2 seconds) and square-rigged susceptibility to side winds. But hey, what do you expect? It's a truck. A truck that still hasn't released its Euro NCAP crash worthiness rating.

Aside from semantics, build quality, global warming, performance, handling and safety, my biggest problem with Top Gear's selection is that I can't understand their criteria. The magazine avoided the thorny issue of how a Range Rover is superior to a Lamborghini Murcielago (aside from the obvious fact that you can say 'Range Rover' without sounding effeminate) by simply leaving out the bit that explains how they made their choice. Well, TG does say the Range Rover has more 'all round excellence' than the luggage aversive Lambo. OK guys, but what makes the Range Rover more of an all-rounder than a BMW Five Series? The fact that it can drive to places where the rescue service arrives in a Toyota Landcruiser? I don't think so.

It's probably more a case of wishful thinking. TG's post-Empire unconscious must instinctively yearn for an English car that's a world-beater, even if it is a truck. Someone should tell TG that even nostalgia ain't what it used to be. I once took out a small village in a barely controllable, formerly all-conquering Jaguar XK120 (which may have been the car's intention, but not mine). Anyway, like the Royal family oneself, the Range Rover is a murky collection of British and German genetics. Even overlooking its BMW engine, I wonder if TG would have given Ford's latest truck the gong if it had been built in Detroit. Like, say, the similarly inoffensive Cadillac Escalade. Again, methinks not.

TG's editors should take the time to define excellence before they publicly announce it. Otherwise, they open themselves up to charges of misguided patriotism-or worse. (I once saw a vicious pub fight that started over the relative handling merits of a Nova vs. a Saxo. A Black Maria won.) If excellence equals technological innovation, anoraks will remind you that the new Range Rover's monocoque construction and air suspension predate the Defender. If excellence means drop-dead style, only a Multipla owner could deny that Mercedes' new SL is a more elegant evolution of a familiar form. And if excellence means bang for the buck, Scooby Doo, Landie don't.

To be fair, TG did a lot better in the semis. They recognized the Civic Type-R as an engineering masterpiece that costs only slightly more than the VAT on a Ferrari 456. They admitted that the Subaru Impreza Turbo is still the best- if most insect-like- driver's car ever unleashed on English roads. The plastic fantastic Renault Avantine earned a justifiable nod as the boldest new mainstream, um, thing. And who can [be bothered to] argue with their choice of the Nissan Primera as the best 'medium car'? They're all sane, safe choices for Best in Class. Porsche owners may howl with high-octane indignation at TG's conclusion that an Audi TT is better than a 911, but it's hard to share their outrage. After all, they have a 911 with which to console themselves.

I wish TG's final choice had been a little less NHS, and a lot more Pop Idol. A 'chalk or cheese?' people's poll would have been a far more equitable way to select an overall winner from such disparate machines. Perhaps it's a bit much to ask for democracy from a magazine spawned by a TV program on a channel funded by a mandatory tax on people's TV sets. So let's do it ourselves, through that newfangled thing called the Internet! Simply press the comment button below and nominate your own Pistonheads Car of The Year. Don't forget to include your justification. I'll start by nominating the BMW M5. It's the best car in Britain because I bought one. So there.