It began as a scattered murmur. A sousaphone line spiralled down from the top of the museum’s staircase. Then a baritone sax growled from the café, a trombone echoed near the gift shop. You couldn’t quite tell where to look: sound came from every direction. Each musician was masked, as usual, in one of their now-signature animal heads: striking, stylised, a little surreal. Half-hidden in corners of the building, they felt like part of the architecture. The House of Music Hungary, with its wide, open hall and soaring ceilings, carried every note as if it had always been there.

Slowly, the fragments began to align. The horns started to lock in—baritone and trombone weaving around each other, sousaphone laying down a deep, steady pulse. Then the beat landed: marching band snare, crisp and sharp, snapping the whole thing to life. The sound wrapped around the staircases, filled the space.

Then they moved.

The musicians gathered at the entrance and stepped outside. The procession had begun.

FÜLÜ led the crowd through the winding paths of the park. The sousaphone rumbled, the snare and tenor drums drove the rhythm forward, and the horns—bold, brash, alive—punched through the spring air like a call to action. People didn’t just watch—they followed. Some danced, others drifted in, caught by instinct. It felt part street parade, part secret rave, part something older.

This was FÜLÜ’s opening at the 10th edition of Budapest Ritmo—now firmly established as one of Europe’s leading showcases for global sounds. Bringing together boundary-pushing acts from across continents, Ritmo gave the seven musicians from Toulouse the perfect stage—even without a stage. No lights, no setlist: just raw acoustic power in motion. And it said everything: FÜLÜ don’t just play music. They carry it.

The next night, everything shifted. Inside Akvárium Klub, the open-air procession gave way to something more direct: a full-blown live set, powered by a sound system and a tightly packed crowd. No winding paths this time: just bodies, bass, and brass locked into high gear. Different setting, same charge.

We met FÜLÜ’s two founding members just after soundcheck at the club: Lilli Stefani—trombone, flute, vocals—and Charlie Roitel, sousaphone player and the band’s arranger. Now offstage but still buzzing, the pair reflect on how far they’ve marched, and where the parade might lead next.

The band’s line-up might seem fluid on stage, but its core is firmly rooted. Alongside Lilli and Charlie, it includes Lucien Bonnefoi on trumpet, Rémi Souyris on tenor sax, Jean-Baptiste Gaschard on baritone sax, Aurélien Rouchaleou on drums, and Thomas Néron on machines and percussion. “We are eight in the band,” says Charlie, matter-of-factly. “We are seven on stage, but we are always with Léa.” Léa Peuvion, their sound engineer, is as integral to the band as any musician. “She’s a key part of everything,” he adds.

FÜLÜ’s story, as with so many bands who mix brass with bravado, starts on the street—but also far from France. “We met Léa in 2018 at the Rio Carnival in Brazil,” recalls Lilli. From that heady beginning, the trio returned to France, eventually grounding their energy in Toulouse, a decision that would shape their identity more than they knew.

“We wanted to be in the south, to be in the sun,” Lilli explains. “We were deciding between Marseille and Toulouse, and Toulouse just felt right.”

For Charlie, it wasn’t just a matter of climate, it was cultural. “There are lots of music schools, a vibrant arts scene, circuses, and a strong creative energy. It really feeds into our music.”

That energy crackles through their sound, which defies neat genre boxes. They call it electro-brass: a hybrid of synthetic textures and organic breath, drum machines and tubas, rave stabs and sousaphones. “Toulouse gave us a lot of energy,” says Lilli, “but our first big influence was the new jazz scene in London.”

Lilli’s list expands quickly: “Carnival culture, street energy, marching bands, fanfare… Then jazz, electronic music—techno, drum & bass, all of it.”

“And there’s a bit of Afro music in there too,” Charlie adds.

The structure of the band reflects the flexibility of their sound. Charlie typically writes the initial musical sketches, while Lilli writes the lyrics—spoken word, rhythmic, poetic. “Her vocals are a bit like spoken word—very expressive on stage,” Charlie notes.

“At first Charlie was composing alone,” Lilli says, “but now we’re trying to experiment more collectively, to compose together.” What began in informal jams has evolved into a looser but richer ensemble process.

That spirit of improvisation remains central. “Some are into jazz, some into improv, rock, reggae… it’s a mix of universes,” says Charlie. “We’ve always improvised together. It started like a game.”

But translating that into a studio context is another challenge entirely. “We’ve only recorded one album so far,” he continues. “It was a huge album—10 long tracks with heavy lyrics. It wasn’t easy, especially for me, but I think next time it’ll be smoother.”

Lilli nods. “The live show is very visual—we use masks and interact a lot with the audience. Recording is a completely different dimension for us.”

Still, Charlie insists it’s a necessary shift. “Every band has to do it. It’s a good exercise. And we’ll try to capture something new in the studio next time—something that still carries that energy.”

They brought it home, of course—to Toulouse, to Europe, to every corner of their stage. Lilli puts it simply: “Being on stage is one of the things I love most in life. That’s why I make music—to share with people, whether it’s in a street or on stage.”

Charlie agrees: “That connection is everything. People dancing, feeling something—it’s the goal.”

To keep that connection vibrant, they’ve been developing their stage show with theatrical precision. “What you saw yesterday—it’s very much rooted in carnival,” says Charlie. “But beyond that, we’ve been working with a stage director, Marion, to refine how we move and interact—between us and with the audience.”

“It’s important,” Lilli adds, “especially because we wear masks. You can’t just rely on facial expressions, so the movement becomes the language.”

They’ve trained in movement multiple times, each year evolving the choreography, always adapting. “Every year it changes,” says Charlie. “We play together, we know each other more and more.”

And underneath all the masks and rhythms, there’s something deeper—a community, a family. “Yeah,” says Lilli, “always. It’s really the same from the beginning.”

FULU is many things—a band, a movement, a ritual, a blast of brass-laced techno from the margins. But most of all, it’s a shared identity that stretches beyond sound. That identity is clearest when they step on stage in full costume, faces obscured by hand-crafted animal masks. To the uninitiated, it might seem theatrical, a flourish. But it’s anything but surface.

“At the beginning, yes, it was inspired by carnival,” says Lilli, recalling the project’s early days in Toulouse. “But then we met an artist there—Nicolas Gutmann—who helped bring the idea to life. We each chose an animal, one that resonated with us, and he made seven masks.”

Each mask isn’t just aesthetic—it’s deeply personal. Charlie chose the bear. “I was reading a book at the time about a girl who survives a fight with a bear. It really stayed with me.”

Lilli, who handles spoken word and vocals, chose a fish. “Water is my element. And I speak on stage, so I liked the idea of being in a different element than the others—like a voice from elsewhere.” She pauses, then adds: “They’re not just costumes. They carry stories.”

The same could be said of her choice to perform in Italian, something that once made her feel vulnerable. “At first I wasn’t confident about it,” she admits. “But people would come up to me and say, ‘I didn’t understand anything, but I understood everything.’ That gave me confidence. Now I embrace it—it’s part of our group’s identity.”

In a band where language is only one of many textures, meaning is often conveyed more through movement, rhythm, and collective emotion than translation. And the movement is ever expanding.

“We’re actually playing in Italy for the first time this year,” Charlie shares, excited. “At Artisti in Piazza in Pennabilli and Asphalt Art in Merano.”

Their tour calendar is ambitious—France, of course, but also Hungary, Romania, and beyond. “We were in Skopje for a PIN Conference last year and now we’re at Ritmo Festival in Hungary, then Romania,” he says.

For Lilli, their appeal across borders lies in the unexpected. “People are familiar with our instruments,” she says, “but not the kind of music we make with them. That contrast is exciting.”

Charlie agrees. “In Macedonia, it really worked. The audience connected with it.”

The UK will be welcoming them soon. “We’ll be at Shindig Festival on 23 May, Oxford University on the 24th, and The Magic Garden in London on the 25th,” says Charlie. “Then we’re back for Glastonbury in June.”

Beyond that? The future’s open. “Maybe we’ll record again. We’ll see.”

As our time winds down, we ask them how they’d explain FÜLÜ to someone who’s never seen it.

Lilli leans in. “We’re FÜLÜ. We play electro-brass music—a blend of brass instruments and electronic machines. It’s jazz, techno, afrobeat… a lot of influences.”

Charlie adds: “We’re seven on stage, we wear animal masks, and we bring the energy of the street to the stage. That’s important to us.”

But it’s Lilli who delivers the final, lingering note:

“FÜLÜ is a savage spirit. The name came to us during our first residency in France, given by a kind of shamanic figure.”

Charlie nods. “It’s from Swahili. It has many meanings. In some contexts, it means ‘garbage music,’ but for us, it’s a raw, wild spirit.”

“And apparently in Hungary, it means ‘ears.’ So there you go—many meanings, just like our music.”

There’s no single meaning, and that’s the point. Like the music, the masks, the movement, FÜLÜ isn’t there to be pinned down. It shifts shape, crosses borders, speaks in rhythms, symbols, languages. One word, many meanings. One band, infinite directions.

FÜLÜ are set to perform in London on Sunday, 25 May at The Magic Garden in Battersea.
Their debut album, released in May 2024, is available to stream and purchase HERE
For full tour dates and upcoming shows, head HERE