Music journalists love labelling artists, but more often than not we don’t get it right. Understandably, this is something that artists themselves find frustrating. Fila Brazillia have felt this frustration for decades. During their most prolific and successful period in the 1990s, they were often mislabelled as a “chill out” act, despite rhythm and groove being a key aspect of the duo’s unique and nigh on impossible-to-pigeonhole sound.
On one level, this is understandable; after all, many of Steve Cobby and David McSherry’s most cherished tracks are those than roll along at a low tempo – at least in comparison to the high BPMs associated with the most popular club cuts and culturally dominant sub-genres – and their catalogue is peppered with beat-free interludes, immersive soundscapes and emotive, comedown-friendly ambient excursions.
Yet Fila Brazillia have never made an entirely beatless or ambient album, and their natural instincts still pull them gently towards the dancefloor. They emerged from the margins of underground dance music at a time when its ebb, flow and sonic ingredients were instinctively tied to Ecstasy culture. This national and international movement was rooted in an experiential arc that required a specific but shapeshifting soundtrack; at times thrillingly upbeat and rhythmic, at others loved-up, aurally kaleidoscopic and shorn of the last vestiges of groove.
Even as that generation grew up, had families, and left all-night dancing and messy weekenders behind, the desire for vivid, atmospheric and alluring downtempo and beatless music remained – at least as a contemplative and becalmed flipside to the rhythms and grooves that still got their blood pumping on a Friday or Saturday night.
This colourful, widescreen sound-world, created with warmth and mood enhancement in mind, stands in sharp contrast to the overly worthy and experimental approaches that dominate ambient music discourse in 2023. It’s music for soundtracking sunrises, sunsets and eyes-closed daydreaming, rather than chin-stroking or academic analysis.
If Fila Brazillia had set out to make an ambient album, it would sound like this. The 17-track collection contains music recorded at different times between 1990 and 2023, in different studios and in all manner of headspaces. There are classic cuts lifted from LPs and EPs (‘Subtle Body’, ‘Spores’); familiar favourites presented in unfamiliar forms (‘DPs R Us’, from Mess, appears in its unheard full-length form); cuts created for, and subsequently omitted from, film soundtracks (‘Theia’) and acclaimed albums (‘Vanitas’, ‘Yesternight’ and ‘Van Cleef’, all of which were intended to be included on 1994’s Old Codes, New Chaos); standalone tracks recently crafted from elements of more up-beat workouts (‘Ambient Apehorn’, which showcases the overlapping synth sounds of 1997’s ‘Apehorn Concerto’, and ‘Regard The End’, which is based on a small portion of ‘Heil Mickey’ from 2004’s Dicks) and even a brand-new recording, ‘Tone Poem’. This gently twisting, turning and evocative gem is a genuine ambient classic in the making, and proof that time has not dimmed Fila Brazillia’s mastery of beatless soundscapes.
Matt Anniss - June 2023


If I can recommend you do one thing if you've had a busy weekend like me, it is listen to this in full. Even better, run a hot bath and dim the lights (aka the Soak Test) and immerse yourself in its beauty uninterrupted
I've been a lifelong fan of ambient music, the kind that takes you somewhere else - having grown up on my dad's handed down Jean-Michel Jarre tapes (ok, not strictly ambient but plenty of "soundscape" kind of stuff) and a day dot fan of what many consider to be one of Hull's finest exports Fila Brazillia - so this compilation of off-cuts, reworks and new material is so up my street it's parked on my drive and is using my wifi.
As it says in the sleeve notes, most people perceive Fila as a downtempo or "chill out" act, but a large majority of their output over their 10 albums + remixes & compilations has been uptempo, groove-filled funk and dancefloor fun - even throbbing techno at times. So, to kind of make a point they've shown how chilled out they can actually be...and it's fucking lovely.
Up their with the finest output of the likes of Brian Eno, Ryuichi Sakamoto, Harold Budd and whoever else you care to mention (Andre 3000 included), this might be a late contender for my favourite album of the year. Soak it up...
Jon Sheppard - December 2023


Fila Brazillia have taken a trip through their significant back catalogue and singled out all the stuff that’s devoid of drums. The resulting album, Beatless, is an incredibly cohesive collection. You’d never guess that over 3 decades separate some of the pieces. Despite being recorded at different times, on different gear, under different influences, the music dovetails together perfectly, seamlessly, to form one long daydream-like drift.
This is the Brazillia boys, Steve Cobby and David McSherry, at their most minimal, and experimental. Synthesising serene soundscapes, built around lovingly layered, slowly evolving loops. Several of the tunes are relatively short sketches, but they segue, as I said, into a greater whole. Where glacial chimes, echoed in Robin Guthrie-esque reverb, serve to serenade folk finger picking filigree, fragments of country, slide guitar (see Sugarplum Hairnet and Midnight Friends), and fluffy clouds of sustain provide a calm, comfy cushion for improvised, spiralling sine waves (have a listen to Ambient Apehorn). Yesternight has a sharp, sparse, morning stillness. Conjuring the quiet of that first solitary coffee, or smoke. A clearing of the mind, before facing the new day ahead. Spores is, appropriately, a mellow mycelial movement. A tender trickling tickles July 23. The strings on Van Cleef make me think of Johnny Harris and Lee Hazlewood’s eccentric arrangements, rather the Ennio Morricone spaghetti western scores suggested by its title. New Chaos is submerged and aquatic. A soft focus theme for a seductive mermaid. Regard The End features twisted, treated tones, that mutate and morph into a rain-like pitter patter. There are modular drones, and the odd sequence that races, in counterpoint, like Klaus Schulze’s on Michael Shrieve’s Transfer Station Blue. Moods and ideas are mixed and matched, borrowed from Harold Budd, Cluster, The Orb, and their repurposing of strange public service announcements. Everything sort of leads, sets the scene, for the seminal, stone cold classic, Subtle Body, which brings the LP to a close.
There are no standouts as such, but DJs looking to score a sunset or sunrise should, perhaps, plumb for the longest, and newest, track, Tone Poem. Its simple electronic pulse rising and falling as a smokey saxophone solos, weaves in and out, winding a romantic path, before a second synth, its line sparkling, intricate, twinkles in the twilight. Creating something most definitely Cafe del Mar worthy.
Ban Ban Ton Ton - December 2023