Frank Carter & The Rattlesnakes: Sticky

- Part of me still holds a mental image of Frank Carter engulfed in a swirl of bodies, running circles around him in the balmy Brisbane sun, during whatever year’s Soundwave it was. Big impressions to be laid on a wee young lad. From there, I’ve been following the Englishman ever since. Frank Carter and The Rattlesnakes has become the longest running project in this artist’s output. Four albums deep into the run and The Rattlesnakes are truly in their stride. You get a gagged reflection of venom from the radio-rock-shine lacquered over Sticky. Sometimes it is a bit too sickly. Beneath that sheen a gleeful appropriation of hardcore allows you to hear two separate songs: one being bellowed from the centre of some tattoo flashing circle pit and the other for stadiums full of kids at an all ages show who are recording every second of it.

A rhythm section somewhere between body-thrashing, violent punk and slick, upbeat, dancey punk command and conduct the entirety of Sticky. Such a command transplants an energetic edge that bares a patina obfuscated by a poppy veneer. The bridge to chorus on the title and album opener is a perfectly orchestrated calm before the storm. Cupid’s Arrow sands off another layer of shiny pop production thanks to foreboding chords in the early moments. It is rebuffed by some ominous shimmers alongside it and they pop up again during the chorus. First of four vocal features comes up on Bang Bang and runs a bloody gamut of genres in under three minutes. It's got awkward horn honks, power pop explosiveness and simplicity and even squeezes in a rap rock verse just in case it missed anything.

Take It To The Brink, Rat Race, and Get A Tattoo all fully embrace the aesthetic of the record with anthemic choruses and just enough snarl to prick the ears of young punks. Sadly, the lyrics come across as corporate sponsored rebellions and entry level platitudes, which I can understand are certainly not aimed to entice me so we’ll let it slide. Joe Talbot and Frank Carter are complimentary vessels of ugly disgust. Chunky bass domineers a sizeable amount of space throughout the song which is peppered by gang vocals and adlibs. It's an 8-bit bed for Talbot’s gruff growls and a bark against small town syndrome. More cohesive interplay between the two would have been ideal but as cultural artefact, you couldn’t ask for much more. Another impressive features is delivered by Cassyette, an artist who I didn’t have a Scooby-Doo about before this record. More brawn would make it the perfect hardcore song but as is, the harmonies and complimentary exchange between the two provide slick chemistry. The production call to bleep out shit after Carter screamed “Fucking” was a fun wink and a nod. Bobby Gillespie helps close out Sticky with Original Sin, a song that hits some of the high points some of the earlier track misses.

While some of the songs we mentioned earlier managed to miss where they’re aiming, Frank Carter has produced one their best releases since whenever Blossom came out. You can now see these grander pop thoughts being accurately implemented with a flair for the aggressive. Hardly the same artist I saw way back when, but if they had stayed the same, it would have become irrevocably stale. To be assiduous in maintaining the lineage and bringing it to a new generation, this could well be a perfect gateway record.

- Matt Lynch.