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  • Writer's pictureLucy Jordan

Live Review: Frank Carter and the Rattlesnakes

Sweat, hair and bodies that’s all that’s being tossed around the crowd, nobody gives a shit. the resonance of the guitar rings through the room before that punch in the gut- the first chords of juggernaut, now the party has fucking started.

Photography by Joe Dick

I’m hurling myself towards the front of the stage while people use their friends shoulders as stepping stones to the ceiling, limbs cracking upon limbs there’s beer everywhere and the Rattlesnakes are having it large- it’s insane. From the middle of the crowd all there is to see is Carter’s bright orange trousers as he uses the crowd as support for a headstand while he screams over the deafening, definitely heart felt, drum beat. Watching Frank and Dean move around the stage is like watching a real time movie with their tattoos telling the tale.

When everything calms we are ready for some passionate singing, everyone gathers, downs another pint and we are ready to sing to everyone that’s ever fucked us over, ‘you are nothing, you are nothing to me’ the band watch like proud parents then the roar of ‘I fucking hate you’ and the hurt bleeds out of every soul in the room. All cards are on the table we have established everyone there is our friend, we are pumped up to cleanse the room, another breath and throwing myself above the crowd, with a bruised body, wet hair, sore throat and a fucking grin from ear to ear - there’s no other happiness like it.

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