By his own admission, Frank Carter had had a while to wait to make his Reading Main Stage debut. “It’s fucking Friday,” he spits, as the crowd hold him up to demand a “historical” pit. “You’ve not done any work yet.”
After seventeen years and three bands, it’s no wonder Carter wants to make an impact. He’s definitely going for it. As much master of proceedings as performer, by a few songs in he’s already deep in the crowd showing them how it’s done. Running round the back of the sound desk with hundreds chasing behind, he wasn’t joking about the historic bit.
Not that off stage antics are what makes Frank Carter great. Smirking as he returns to where we belongs, decrying the “worst idea he’s ever had” (“that is so far”), he’s straight back at it. Intense, in your face and brilliant with it – there may be names on Reading’s big stage who have been afforded more experience, but none will grasp it quite as hard.