It starts in darkness, just the sound of an angry diamondback – before striking with the speed of a viper.
The sellout crowd were bitten and the venom shot through them instantly, filling the veins with ferocity and power.
Frank Carter and the Rattlesnakes have charmed and beguiled. They want it all, take it all and give something terrifyingly awesome in return.
The music is dark and sinister, with a few slower-paced stunners scattershot through the set. The Rattlesnakes are a miracle of controlled carnage with their Molotov cocktail of punk, hardcore and reptilian stealth. The crowd rocked and roared with them all the way.
Frank Carter, small, tough, and famously tattooed is the quintessential showman, in full command of his power to incite and excite the loyally sweaty, gleefully bouncing and crowdsurfing mass. He seems somehow wise, compassionate and vengeful.
The tour sold out, globally, they are hissing and writhing in the ascendant. Their album Modern Ruin slid straight to the top of the charts and critics’ polls.
It was a display of total balance, even while handstanding on top of the crowd. Cool and lethal.
This was something extraordinary, not a gig, but an event for the city.
Get bitten and thankfully there’s no antidote.