This is an import from the isles. Evidently, there is a virtually parallel universe there, where all of our mass corporate efforts are in place, but they actually have taste in music! Bonobo and Fort Lauderdale should be looming from gigantic billboards to the grateful commuting nation that must have their intense melodic wonder, but instead we here in the states must earn good money to have a chance at this. In this review, there will be no dis-"disingenous" carping about the proliferation of chillut compliations - what's good is good, what's sublime is usually 2/3 of an CD, and what is worse is that we forget the horror that lies within our minds, whose only suitable anondyne is downtempo beauty. The problem, of course, is that no one is hiring liner noters, especially not the good, happy, remunerated folks at Big Chill.