Photo by Aziz Al-malki via Pexels
Before drift kings and turbochargers, there was art. In 1964, beneath the buzz of the Tokyo Motor Show, Nissan unveiled a whispered revolution: the Datsun Coupé 1500. Not a car. A statement. Crafted not on assembly lines, but by calloused hands that knew leather and welding arcs better than their children’s faces. This was the Silvia CSP311 – Japan’s first true grand tourer, born from broken dreams and German genius.
The Designer, the Scrapped Dream, and the Phoenix
Picture Albrecht Goertz – the mad poet behind BMW’s legendary 507 – hunched over drafting tables in Yokohama. His magnum opus? Project A550X: a Japanese supercar.
When Nissan axed it in 1964, Goertz salvaged its soul. The CSP311 emerged. It wore European elegance in Japanese skin, with a low-slung roofline that flowed into a Kamm tail and a hood scoop that hinted at hidden fury. No chrome bling—just purpose. Every panel was hand-shaped, every seam carefully caressed.
This wasn’t mass production. It was craftsmanship.
Under the Hood: Samurai Meets Swabian
Don’t be fooled by the grace. This coupe hid fangs. Beneath the hood sat an R16 1.6-liter engine, with twin SU carburetors delivering 96 horsepower—serious muscle for mid-60s Japan.
It topped out at 103 mph, a number that put it well ahead of the local pack. And it featured front disc brakes, the first of their kind on a Japanese production car—because stopping mattered just as much as going.
The 554: More Myth Than Metal
Between 1965 and 1968, only 554 examples rolled out of Nissan’s workshop. Each one unique. Leather interiors carried the scent of real cowhide, not synthetic vinyl. Slight ripples in the sheet metal revealed the hands that shaped them.
Forty-nine units landed in Australia, turning heads on dusty roads. Ten were dispatched globally as showcase models—just four of those left-hand-drive unicorns made their way to Europe’s salons.
Why This Ghost Still Haunts Tuners
The CSP311 wasn’t just a predecessor. It was prophecy. Every S-chassis drifter that followed owes its rear-wheel-drive purity to this origin point.
It proved Japan didn’t need to copy the West—it could create something entirely its own. Today, finding a CSP311 is a near-mythical quest. Its rarity makes it a grail for collectors and dreamers alike.
Last Echo
When a CSP311 fires up today, the sound isn’t just exhaust. It’s the defiant roar of artisans who refused to build ordinary. A hand-built haiku screaming:
“Before Skylines… before GT-Rs… there was me.”
