Charlottefield put you on alert - ears pricking, pupils dilating, fur-on-end - like all the good stuff does. It happened every time I saw them. Fizzing and spitting like power lines in fog, tendons bulging through your skin, moments of calm, rip currents of colour. Sometimes you think you’re staring into the heart of the machine. Then panels shift, cogs twist and you’re facing in the opposite direction. Some kind of elastic relationship between guitars, drums and voice, desperately pulling away and snapping back to the centre. Disorientating and beautiful. I wish I could see Charlottefield again. Once more. - M Edward Cole.