Frank Carter and The Rattlesnakes ‘The End of Suffering’ Review: UK tattoo artist turned punk sensation’s latest release is a game-changer.
I must sheepishly confess that I was unfamiliar with Frank Carter and The Rattlesnakes. I had heard the name, but for whatever reason it went under my radar. But all that has changed with the Brit punk upstart’s third album The End of Suffering (out May 3rd via International Death Cult Records).
It’s one of those musical rarities: an album that hits you so square in the chest on the first listen that you become an instant convert. Such is the case with the opening track Why A Butterfly Can’t Love A Spider, a goth rockabilly stomp that is as ominous as it is catchy with hell and brimstone lyrics, and Carter’s unearthly croon.
The dark preacher vibe continues (shades of Nick Cave) on Tyrant Lizard King, another bluesy hard rocker which features a demon shrieking guitar solo courtesy of Tom Morello.
The album sails by at a brisk pace: most tracks are under four minutes but still manage to cover a wide musical terrain, from the euphoric QOTSA-style stomper Heartbreaker, to the first single Crowbar which feels like some unholy fusion of Depeche Mode and Muse, with Carter’s lyrics offering a anthem for misfits the world over:
It’s a trap
And there’s no comfort fitting in
A fake safety that no one believes in
And if it goes against who you think you are
It’s the death of happiness
Go and get the crowbar
The End of Suffering is an album that lives up to its name, with Carter and his backing band showcasing his struggles with mental illness in bareknuckled fashion, like the inner struggle musical workout Super-villain, or the aptly titled Anxiety, where Carter howls hey, guess what, it’s my life/And I try my best but it’s never right/And I don’t know what’s wrong with me
Cause I should be sweet but I’m not happy, before launching into a Queen worthy chorus.
More than anything, The End of Suffering is a showcase for Carter’s vocals, a sonorous and supple instrument that belies much of the punk shrieking I’ve heard while backtracking through Carter’s past discography.
It’s high in the mix throughout, from the torch song Love Games, to the sexually charged Latex Dreams, and Angels Wings, the album’s highlight, a slowburn dirge that builds throughout before his anguished wail takes the song into goosebumps territory.
The title track closes the album, a subdued acoustic ballad where Carter again confronts his demons, in this case his recent divorce (listen close and you can hear his child playing in the background).
Despite its often bleak subject matter, Frank Carter’s latest album is a true pleasure, an emotional and sonic rollercoaster that proves Carter is a sorely needed new voice in rock, and this should take him to the next level and beyond.
