Andrew Weatherall: the spirit behind “Fail We May, Sail We Must”
Only a few people in electronic music have genuinely shaped the lives of the people who followed them. Andrew Weatherall is right at the top of that list for a lot of us.
Producer, DJ, remixer, writer, tastemaker — Weatherall helped shape several eras of underground music without ever quite letting himself become a star. From acid house to balearic, indie dance to dub disco, his fingerprints are on more of the music you love than you probably realise. And among everything he gave us, one phrase has outlived him as the closest thing he ever wrote to a personal motto:
"Fail we may, sail we must."
How I found him
Like a lot of people my age, my way into Weatherall was through Primal Scream's Screamadelica. His production work on that record — particularly Loaded and Come Together — pulled an indie band into a club, and pulled a lot of us with it. That album was the moment a generation of guitar kids and ravers realised they'd been listening to the same music all along, and he was the bloke who made it happen.
After that, it was the mixtapes. This was the era when a good Weatherall set on cassette was something you actively sought out. You'd hear about one, ask around, copy it from a mate, copy it again for someone else. By the time the tape reached you it had been through three or four hands (or more). There's one I still remember vividly (and have in my attic somewhere) — a tape from Citrus Club in Edinburgh, that did the rounds in our circle for months. Tapes like that were treasured. They were how you found out about the next thing before anyone else had even heard of it.
Two pieces of his work have stayed with me more than any others. His remix of St Etienne's Only Love Can Break Your Heart — the "Mix In Two Halves" version from 1991 is one of the most perfect dance records ever made. Eight minutes of slow, melancholic euphoria that still sounds like nothing else. And Wilmot, Sabres Of Paradise, 1994 — a top tune that proves you can make people dance with a brass band sample if you're brave enough. Both are worth your time if you've never heard them.
The phrase
I can't remember exactly when "fail we may, sail we must" first reached me, but the moment it did, it stuck. Weatherall had it tattooed on his arms — I'd never get something tattooed, but I was completely onboard with the message (no pun intended).
The phrase is supposedly something he was told by an Irish fisherman, who used it to describe the only honest way to live: you accept that things might not work out, but you go anyway. You put the boat in the water. That, to me, has always been a pretty decent motto for life — and it's exactly why it ended up as a Subhustle poster and pin badge.
Being part of the film
When The Tenth Man and director Grizzly were making the short film about Andrew and the story behind the phrase, they reached out to ask if I'd be happy for my design to appear among the other artistic tributes featured in it. I said yes immediately. They were trying to show how the phrase had touched people and become something bigger than itself — how it had spread out into a community, taken on a life beyond Andrew.
My piece is only a very small part of the film. But being recognised as part of that community — part of what Weatherall meant to people, what the house music family looks like when it grieves and celebrates one of its own — meant a lot.
I previously wrote about being included in the film here →
Why he mattered
Weatherall was a trendsetter who never seemed to want to be famous. That's the thing about him I keep coming back to. He could have made himself a much bigger name than he did. He had the talent, the connections, the body of work. But fame never seemed to be the point. The point was the next record, the next remix, the next radio show, the next little club in a city or town most people couldn't find on a map.
He stuck to his guns. He stayed curious. He was passionate about everything he turned his hand to, and his curiosity ran way beyond music — into writing, art, philosophy, the lot. He just seemed like a top bloke doing what he loved on his own terms.
That's the bit that sticks we me the most. Not the famous remixes. Not the legendary sets. The fact that he managed to spend his whole life making the things he wanted to make, for the people who got it, and never once seemed bothered about whether anyone else agreed or not.
That'll do for me.
Still sailing
Andrew passed away in February 2020. The records keep getting played. The mixes keep getting shared, only now they're on Mixcloud and SoundCloud instead of old knackerred cassettes. The phrase keeps reaching new people who hadn't heard it before.
Fail we may, sail we must.
Explore the designs
If you want to mark the phrase in your own way, my designs are available below. Both inspired by Andrew, both made with a lot of love for what he gave us.
You can also watch The Tenth Man's short film on YouTube — well worth half an hour of your time.