When we speak of identity in the arts, in the world of British rock music in particular, the very idea of personality is currently a very sparsely deployed one indeed. There was a time – maybe 30, 40 years ago, maybe longer – when punk rock bands and their frontmen were continually redefining the boundaries of popular culture whilst shielded in an impenetrable shroud of cool. From the likes of the Clash, the Damned and Sex Pistols, right through to the more renegade, mischievous likes of KLF and X-Ray Spex, there was a concept of a sense of recklessness in music which gloriously persisted.

But this is not the world that Frank Carter and the Rattlesnakes are emerging from. Over the years the musical goalposts have been shifting irrevocably and inevitably, with the result being that the band stand out effortlessly in an endless landscape of relentlessly engineered pop acts and manufactured stadium rock. This, their sophomore LP, released next year on their own label in conjunction with Kobalt Label Services, is their striking response: a daring, boldly anthemic record which also happens to be Carter’s most infectious to date; a distinctive statement of intent which also happens to be filled with some of the most exquisite melodies which will lodge firmly in your head for days.