Is the Aston Martin Valour analogue heaven... or an expensive anachronism?

In my defence, it’s been a long old while since any of us sat behind the ovoid wheel of an Aston and found three pedals and a stick to juggle. A perusal of the company archives says the last series production manual was 2016’s V12 Vantage S, a late in the day optional extra demanded by the collectors (and the likes of us) that manifested as what it would feel like to play Russian roulette with a 6.0-litre V12.

Photography: Mark Fagelson

The seven-speed dog leg shift was infamously tight and the gates were closer together than two coats of paint, so the threat of a 565bhp money shift instantly converting the engine to steampunk confetti was constant. Since then, every ‘volume’ Aston has entrusted shuffling cogs to ZF’s ubiquitous eight-speed torque converter auto. Which is fine, if you like that kind of thing.

Something strikes me as the Valour lopes towards Snowdonia. Not a sheep. A thought. I’m enjoying this car and I’ve barely crested 60mph. It’s rare a month passes these days where we don’t bring you along a car brandishing a four figure horsepower tally, and if we haven’t experienced it at full chat, then we’ve failed you. But the Valour is gratifying without insisting there’s more to reach for. There’s no flat out FOMO. Shift to retune the pitch of the V12. Shift to enjoy the shift. Then shift again to better the previous best smoothest shift.

So how did we get here? The Valour’s existence owes plenty to a previous one off Aston for reigniting the manual fuse – the magnificent Victor. A bespoke commission from a mysterious Belgian buyer back in 2021, the Victor draped a 1970s Vantage inspired body over the all carbon skeleton and Cosworth-fettled vital organs of the One-77 supercar. That stunner was always hamstrung by its criminally laggy automated manual gearbox, so for Victor, Aston mercifully binned the actuators and paddles and supplied a six-speed manual centrepiece. We drove it. We adored it and thirsted for more.

And we weren’t alone, which gave Aston Martin a first world problem. What to do when there’s an unruly queue of black card waving clients rattling the factory gates, but you’ve solemnly promised the Victor’s owner their car will remain unique? And besides, One-77 chassis hardly grow on trees. Neither do Cos-ified 836bhp V12s.

The answer is the Valour – conceived and created in just 18 months to celebrate Aston Martin’s 110th birthday. If you were being very unkind you’d call it a rebodied V12 Vantage – you can see remnants in the shape of the windows, and spot the join inside the door panels where a Vantage stops and the thickset Valour begins. But today, I don’t feel like being a cynic. Don’t know about you, but I’m sick of reading about ominous storm clouds gathering over Castle Aston in the financial press. The latest regime has dramatically improved the core model range. If Aston can side hustle 110 examples of a car it’s already homologated for over a million quid each – in less than two weeks from its first reveal – that’s spectacular business.

You can see the Valour’s family resemblance to Victor from every, um, vantage point. The hooded, leering headlamps bookending a gargantuan whalefish grille. The upswept ducktail adorned with intricate multifin tail-lights. The spider web wheels.

It’s not a classically elegant Aston Martin. It’s a brutish and strange shape to trace your eyes across, with heavy handed side skirts and a bizarrely lofty ground clearance. I love the clash of its slicked back roof with the unapologetically butch details like the blistered extractor vent behind the front wheel. Even the cynic we’re not being today would have to concede it looks a long, long way from a Vantage. It’s more like something David Attenborough would warn you about treading on in the outback... “Beware the wrath of the red-lipped ridgeback white-spotted poison frog of death.”

Inside you’re presented with ye olde Vantage dashboard, but you won’t be cross about this because you’ll be busy smarting from pinching your nether regions on the exposed carbon seat bolster which lies cruelly in wait. Tug the carbon clad door shut and it’s darker and more intimidating inside than the donor car, because of the shallow side windows and complete lack of rear glass. A regular rearview mirror doubles as a camera screen.

Aston’s leaned into the throwback factor in this particular Valour and lavished the seat padding and ceiling with a delightful tweed thatch. Nestled comfortably in Sherlock Holmes’ wardrobe, I’m less bothered by the last-gen switchgear and more impressed by the sympathetic box swap. There’s a footrest to the left of the clutch pedal big enough to accommodate a size 12. The pedals are sensibly spaced and weighted. Nicely set up for heel and toe. Nothing feels like an afterthought. Cobbled together? Nope – the transmission is a shrine, to be worshipped.

Amid a carbon plinth on the console stands the milled billet gearlever, topped with an unpolished walnut summit the size of a tennis ball. It’s exaggerated, but why not? Same goes for the exposed linkages beneath. They could’ve clothed that in a handstitched leather gator, but the fact they didn’t suggests a celebration of the mechanical. You can fashion a paddleshifter from carbon fibre, titanium, or solid gold lacquered in unicorn tears, but it’s essentially a button. A button isn’t as evocative as a mechanism.

All of this would be futile – embarrassing – if the shift was as pleasurable as whisking a bucket of coal. Nothing to worry about here – it’s lovely. The walnut feels warm and welcoming to the hand and though the throw between gears is long, it never gets lost in notches or friction along the way. And – unlike the old seven speeder – you aren’t forever clenched, worried the springing will seek out the wrong cul de sac and detonate the valvetrain.

That’s just as well given Aston hasn’t built any guardrails into its ode to analogue. Auto blipping rev match function? Not here. There isn’t even a ‘what gear am I in?’ indicator on the pixelated digi-dash, nor a patronising ‘please shift up’ eco nanny. Those are all features that’ve become normal in what few worthwhile manuals are left. It’s amazing how little you miss them when they’re not there.

The Valour’s the first time we’ve had the opportunity to sample this V12 with a manual gearbox and wow, do you notice the turbo lag now your relationship with the power band is DIY. This gives you options – get stuck in and work the transmission to go hunting for the boost, or simply sit back, leave it in fourth and let the V12 haul. At 4,000rpm the massive powerplant comes on song and the Valour surges. It’s by no means the most powerful application of this engine – even with 705bhp and 555lb ft on tap you’d trouble the rear tyres more in the DBS-replacing Vanquish, but here traction in the dry is reassuringly stout.

This isn't a car which goads you to thrash it

I asked Aston’s engineers if they could’ve pushed this vast motor further – after all it’ll develop in excess of 820bhp in the imminent Vanquish, which will cost a quarter as much as the Valour. Their opaque response was “power delivery from the engine has been tuned to suit the manual transmission, developed in partnership with Graziano”. The Italians also did Victor’s gearbox, which could cope with 614lb ft.

But like I said this isn’t a car which goads you to thrash it, because it always feels like it’s got a tunnel boring machine’s worth of torque in reserve, and the noise isn’t all top end and no trousers. Muffled by turbos, the V12 actually sounds most melodious when hauling hard from low down. On the outside, the triplet exhaust has been tuned for a more rapturous start-up.

Kept on the boil, it’s ‘have a word with yourself’ fast. And Aston could have left it there, but it must suspect at least a few Valour owners are going to bring theirs up here where the air is clear and the sheep are kamikaze, because many improvements have been made to the Vantage foundations. New shear panels front and rear. Stiffer fuel tank mounts. The adaptive dampers and power steering coding have been remapped. Often, this sort of revamp is accomplished in the name of finding lap time, but the Valour is a fantastic road car. It flows with bends, crests and dips, instead of trying to put it in a headlock.

You don’t arrive at a corner and commit to carrying as much speed as you dare. The sense of mass in the nose is immense. Take your time aiming the long bonnet into the corner. But slow in, fast out works for the Valour. Savour the moment – it’s a rare treat.

I like that Aston Martin has skilfully manoeuvred its way into an analogue niche that the likes of Ferrari, Lamborghini and McLaren can’t allow themselves to indulge in. They’re all about the headlong pursuit of more, faster, future.

Meanwhile after decades of flappy paddles, DSGs, PDKs and DCTs, the manual is now sexy and coveted. Shorthand for ‘connoisseur’. A centrepiece in the Valour, and in the GMA T.50, the Pagani Utopia and Koenigsegg CC850, the simple pleasure of changing gear is back. Just seems a shame that you have to pay a million quid to get started.