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ASOMVEL
Knuckle Duster

Bad Omen (2013)
Rating: 8/10

Considering these Brit-based metallers formed in 1993, I’m stunned that Knuckle Duster is only the second album by this bunch, emerging some four years after their 2009 Kamikaze debut. Even so, these guys have an ungodly given right to be heard, because they’ve quite literally hit the rusty nail on the head with the club hammer when it comes to creating a steaming amalgamation of dirty rock ’n’ roll, oxidized angst and pissed off, beer drinking attitude.

Sure, Asomvel have wrenched their old Venom, Motörhead, Tankard et al, albums from the dusty attic, but when the influences come together and it works this good, who is to argue about what’s original or not? Asomvel’s second opus lives up to its name and provides a veritable kick up the arse of UK metal, making us realise what this country has long been about and yet for so long neglected.

There’s an urban toughness about this 11-track sweat fest, which opens with the rollicking, well-oiled clatter of ‘Dead Set On Livin’’. The track features a grimy guitar sound that has all the subtlety of a roaring Triumph bike, bolstered by the gruff vocal sneer of the aptly named Conan. Conan literally coughs and chomps his way through these punked up, alcoholic head-thumpers, which bring to mind comedy 80s Brit band Bad News, but if only for the straightforward “in-your-face for the hell of it” mess of it all.

It’s often been argued that the Asomvel never fully recovered from the death of original vocalist / bassist Jay-Jay Winter, and it’s certainly taken guitarist Lenny Robinson (who formed the band with Jay-Jay) a long time to get the band settled again. But with Conan filling those hob-nailed boots, it’s back to the dirt and grime of nature once again, because Knuckle Duster really is a clean machine choking on gasoline.

‘Cash Whore’, ‘Sheep In Wolf’s Clothing’ (with its infectious boogie riff) and the sinister chug of ‘Trash Talker’ are despicably 80s in their wretched, oil-soaked attitude, but they’ve brought that garage sound into the modern day with ease, and offer us such simple melody but almost as if it’s something we’ve never heard before.

It may take a while to scrape off the crust from the needle after this, but it’s a record that’s worth the damage, as the trio skip through the molten metal oomph of ‘Waster’, the driving, speedy ‘Final Hour’, and the rancid groove of ‘Hangman’s Rope’ with its blues infested swagger.

There’s nothing fancy here, but when rock ’n’ roll is this pumped up and sincere, who needs progressive pomp? Disciples of Motörhead, Venom, Tank and Britain’s unpolished metal upbringing will revel in this cesspit until the pigs come home. Jay-Jay would’ve been proud of this foray into filth.

Neil Arnold

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