Capitol K

4/5
Andy Gill
Independent
Arts & Books Review

Kristian craig robinson, aka Capitol K, has been getting out and about, which is allways a good idea for those whose solo sonic tinkerings usually confine them for months to the airless, sunless environs of the studio. Robinson's cut'n'paste collages here have been largely assembled from sounds and recordings accumulated on a trip to the Far East - indeed the track "Hong Kong" was montaged from localrecords, public announcements and field recordings gleaned during a stop-over. The resulting melange of beats, Chinese rap vocal, koto melody, flute and videogame noises is as brash and glittering as the place itself. Elsewhere, "Kowloon" is a recording of market stall toys, "the Slow Ones" features a murmured story recited over chirpy techno-pop, and "Taipei" offers a discordant blend of soundsin Beta Band style. On "Pan Continental", Robinson edits together live material with studio samples and flamenco guitar that sighnposts another of his locations "Barcelona". This is one of a batch of pieces with which Robinson concludes the album in an assured Krautrock style, building up dense layers of guitars and keyboards into churning neo-psychedelic grooves in the manner of Neu! and Can.
- Independent

This is the fifth album from Capitol K, aka Kristian Craig Robinson, whose output has veered over the years fromwhat is
politely called “challenging” to glorious wonky pop. Here he melds these two extremes to bring a wholly satisfying set of
twisted experimental missives.
The lead track Libertania showboats this marriage of melody and mischief perfectly. It was picked up by Radio One's
Steve Lamacq for his Single Of The Week, while Capitol K's 2002 Pillow single graced the station's playlists as a Jo Whiley favourite on release.
Notes FromLife...is in many ways a typically English album, recalling the experimentalism of Kevin Ayres or even Syd
Barret in its lyrical touches. The fact that it was made by someone of Maltese origin with an Italian drummer and Brazillian
guitarist in a London squat just makes it all the more perverse.
It is heart warming to see an electronica artist who has beenreleasing albums for nearly ten years now stretching his
palette with touches of favela funk and jagged guitars, pulling it off with such a high level of success. - MUSIC WEEK

Kristian Craig Robinson is Capitol K and this producer is about to release his fith album. having a sound that's all about experimentation elecronica but nothing that could be considered as bland. Here we have two quirky tunes that could most definitely be labelled as pop as well as avant garde. to be released on Faith & Industry. The label that gave us Patrick Wolf - make sure you check this. - IDJ - International DJ

4/5
Feverish fifth from ever-intrepid Londoner.

Though commercial success eludes him. Kristian 'Capitol K' Robinson's dreamy pick'n'mix pop has provided many fine moments over the past 10 years. Lucid and subtle. 'Notes From....' is his best yet: psych electronica embroidered with twinkling melody and tropical rythms, conjured by Robinson, a jazz drummer and a brazilian guitarist in an east London squat. There's a lot going on, but Robinson keeps it lean and serene.
PIERS MARTIN - UNCUT (U.K)

4/5
Feverish fifth from ever-intrepid Londoner.

Though commercial success eludes him. Kristian 'Capitol K' Robinson's dreamy pick'n'mix pop has provided many fine moments over the past 10 years. Lucid and subtle. 'Notes From....' is his best yet: psych electronica embroidered with twinkling melody and tropical rythms, conjured by Robinson, a jazz drummer and a brazilian guitarist in an east London squat. There's a lot going on, but Robinson keeps it lean and serene.
PIERS MARTIN - UNCUT (U.K)

Kristian Robinson isn't the first musician to travel the world taking sonic snapshots, but like Holger Czukay or Byrne and Eno on 'My Life In The Bush Of Ghosts', he doesn't just use his tourist souvenirs as exotic decoration. His fourth album includes the sound of chirpy Sino-pop records picked up in a Hong Kong junk shop, plastic toys from a Kowloon market and clips from Libyan radio - but also swerving guitar melodies, rabid jungalist beats and the growl and shudder of acid house. The eclectic sampling style of Four Tet and the kinetic post--rock grooves of Fridge are clear references, but Robinson's music is more hectic and free-form. The layers pile up on top of each other like heavy blankets until the almost reach suffocation point. Nevertheless, this is an illuminating journey, and well worth taking. - Mojo

Kristian Robinson isn't the first musician to travel the world taking sonic snapshots, but like Holger Czukay or Byrne and Eno on 'My Life In The Bush Of Ghosts', he doesn't just use his tourist souvenirs as exotic decoration. His fourth album includes the sound of chirpy Sino-pop records picked up in a Hong Kong junk shop, plastic toys from a Kowloon market and clips from Libyan radio - but also swerving guitar melodies, rabid jungalist beats and the growl and shudder of acid house. The eclectic sampling style of Four Tet and the kinetic post--rock grooves of Fridge are clear references, but Robinson's music is more hectic and free-form. The layers pile up on top of each other like heavy blankets until the almost reach suffocation point. Nevertheless, this is an illuminating journey, and well worth taking. - Mojo

The last time I saw Capitol K, they were two blokes with a table covered in bits of electronic clobber. Tonight, a guitar case serves as a stand for a laptop sporting a Nirvana sticker; in fact, there are more guitars onstage than computers. Both of them sport shaggy rockboy haircuts, and good god, is that a live rhythm section? There's a guitar-lick whose heaviness would put Deep Purple to shame, the glitchy stutter of Max/MSP booting up, and within thirty seconds, my rockist ass is off its seat, as I pump my fist in the air, shouting "Yes! Yes! Yes! This ROCKS!" And even my IDM-loving Warp-employee housemate is headbanging his dreadlocks around like Beavis to my Butthead.
It's electronica, but electronica as made by LONG-HAIRED DENIM-CLAD GODS FROM PLANET RAWK!!! iMacs and Marshalls in perfect harmony, felching ARP keybass and 7/4 time signatures that would melt the mind of any hip-hop loving disco bunny impressed by a "Funky Drummer" sample. I keep expecting Keith Emerson (ask your granddad) to leap on-stage and start playing laptops with a knife. Because, that's what ELP and King Crimson and all those prog "rock dinosaurs" would have been doing in 1972 had the technology been available.
See, my problem with electro-techno-bores is not even a stylistic one, but a question of philosophy. They imagine a pristine future, a future without dirt, a future without the "past". But we're living in the future - a space age run by computers - and it doesn't look like the shiny glittery Brave New World of Star Trek; it looks like the dystopic steampunk vision of Brazil or Blade Runner. The future has not eradicated the past, it has grown up alongside it side-by-side. Walk through a modern city and you see ultra-modern Bauhausian skyscrapers next to ancient Gothic cathedrals on roads following Medieval streetplans.
This is Capitol K's approach to technology and to music, coaxing theremin noises from emulator software with an old school videogame joystick in a joyous culture-jam that makes The Prodigy look like Jesus Jones. Just listen to Pillow, possibly the single of 2002, a perfect collision of stuttering IDM beatz, lush shoegazer texture, gargantuan monster-rock guitar riffs and fey indie-boy vocals. This is the real Future Pop! - Drowned in Sound

The last time I saw Capitol K, they were two blokes with a table covered in bits of electronic clobber. Tonight, a guitar case serves as a stand for a laptop sporting a Nirvana sticker; in fact, there are more guitars onstage than computers. Both of them sport shaggy rockboy haircuts, and good god, is that a live rhythm section? There's a guitar-lick whose heaviness would put Deep Purple to shame, the glitchy stutter of Max/MSP booting up, and within thirty seconds, my rockist ass is off its seat, as I pump my fist in the air, shouting "Yes! Yes! Yes! This ROCKS!" And even my IDM-loving Warp-employee housemate is headbanging his dreadlocks around like Beavis to my Butthead.
It's electronica, but electronica as made by LONG-HAIRED DENIM-CLAD GODS FROM PLANET RAWK!!! iMacs and Marshalls in perfect harmony, felching ARP keybass and 7/4 time signatures that would melt the mind of any hip-hop loving disco bunny impressed by a "Funky Drummer" sample. I keep expecting Keith Emerson (ask your granddad) to leap on-stage and start playing laptops with a knife. Because, that's what ELP and King Crimson and all those prog "rock dinosaurs" would have been doing in 1972 had the technology been available.
See, my problem with electro-techno-bores is not even a stylistic one, but a question of philosophy. They imagine a pristine future, a future without dirt, a future without the "past". But we're living in the future - a space age run by computers - and it doesn't look like the shiny glittery Brave New World of Star Trek; it looks like the dystopic steampunk vision of Brazil or Blade Runner. The future has not eradicated the past, it has grown up alongside it side-by-side. Walk through a modern city and you see ultra-modern Bauhausian skyscrapers next to ancient Gothic cathedrals on roads following Medieval streetplans.
This is Capitol K's approach to technology and to music, coaxing theremin noises from emulator software with an old school videogame joystick in a joyous culture-jam that makes The Prodigy look like Jesus Jones. Just listen to Pillow, possibly the single of 2002, a perfect collision of stuttering IDM beatz, lush shoegazer texture, gargantuan monster-rock guitar riffs and fey indie-boy vocals. This is the real Future Pop! - Drowned in Sound

Rating: 8.4

The latest effort from London's one-man Capitol K outfit is an elegant stylistic cocktail that mixes indie pop and IDM (let's say the "I" stands for "independent") without compromising either. The hybridization of rock and electronic genres has become a fairly tired musical formula over the last several years, but 26-year-old Kristian Craig Robinson executes with such precision and innovation that Island Row leaves even the seasoned listener slackjawed and struggling for comparisons.
K's music draws from a broad pool of influences, indicative of his geographically scattered childhood. Maltese by birth, he divided his early years between Dubai and Borneo, coming eventually to Britain for secondary school. There, Robinson encountered American indie bands like Fugazi and Sonic Youth, who inspired him to start his first band. His background gets a bit hazy beyond that point, but his music suggests that, somewhere along the line, he ate loads of psychotropic chemicals, picked up a few Rephlex records and bought himself a Dictaphone. All these jumbled elements of his past echo forcefully in his work, and more evenly on Island Row than any of his previous outings.

Capitol K's recording legacy dates back to 1998, when he released a self-titled 12" on Elf Cut Records. Two of the four tracks from that record made the cut for his full-length (the absolutely astounding Sounds of the Empire) on Mike Paradinas' Planet ? imprint the following year. Of that album, Mike writes (and I concur), it "is still one of the best debut albums I have heard." You might even care to scratch the word debut.

Material from these early releases hints only cautiously at Robinson's rock-n-roll leanings. The follow-up Roadeater EP, issued in early 2000, signaled a shift toward a more balanced mixture of vocals, samples and strumming. And Island Row carries the torch-- four of the 11 songs here have proper lyrics, and nearly all feature a bit of guitar-work.

Still, the prevailing theme here is production; the inane, carnival-esque noodlings reminisce of Mouse on Mars, while the occasionally caustic drum breaks recall tunes from Autechre's Gescom side-project. But Capitol K brings so much of his own flavor to the table that likening him to either of those musicians would be misleading.

Exoticism becomes a key theme in Robinson's work-- not the token ethno-techno exoticism of Talvin Singh or Badmarsh & Shri, who intersperse dull drum loops with unimaginative sitars and tablas, and earn credit for "fusing" different genres. It would be more appropriate to say today's world beat musicians layer different genres, always conscious of which sounds belong to the East and which belong to the West, and scarcely exploring any middle ground.

Capitol K breaks this mold, and stakes out a bit of sonic territory somewhere in between. Reversed drum loops bounce between Eastern and Western time signatures, while Robinson's candid falsetto brings urgency to even the most saccharine lyrics. Out of context, many of the lyrics seem puerile, which is probably what makes them so damn effective. It wrenches even my calloused heart to hear K innocently cry the chorus of the opening track, "Heat." "I'd like to know/ If you like the cold/ 'Cause when we meet/ I'll bring the heat." On paper, it reads like a nursery rhyme, but the latent angst beneath Robinson's voice tells a more frustrated story-- one of a lost passion.

"Pillow," which also made an appearance on Roadeater, seems the most readily accessible song of the lot. Even while treading through bubblegum turf, it manages to retain its edge and subtlety, thanks to Robinson's production trickery. But gems lurk in the album's darker corners as well. "Monster," as the name might suggest, can be at times difficult and abrasive, matching heavy guitar distortion with esoteric Eastern melodies. Other honorable mentions include "Breakers," "Lion Anon" and "Forgotten Duffle Coat," on which K collaborates with friend Leafcutter John.

The album loses points for two reasons, the most legitimate being that a handful of the tracks feel disjointed. Capitol K's transitions tend to be remarkably smooth, but there are several on this album (particularly on the songs "God Ohm" and "Is It U?") that it seems he might simply have handled better. The second complaint I'm obligated to lodge against Island Row is a reprimand for the Prince cover, "Dance On." Robinson admits he intended it as a joke, but thanks to American copyright laws, that joke prohibited Americans from importing this brilliant record for nearly four months. I could have done without the inconvenience, especially for this lackluster song.

I hope I've done this album justice, but it's tough to tell when so many terrible albums receive so much critical lip service. If my generic praise leaves you with the impression that Island Row is generic music, do yourself a favor and dig up some MP3s. These songs deserve to be heard.

-Malcol - Pitchfork

Rating: 8.4

The latest effort from London's one-man Capitol K outfit is an elegant stylistic cocktail that mixes indie pop and IDM (let's say the "I" stands for "independent") without compromising either. The hybridization of rock and electronic genres has become a fairly tired musical formula over the last several years, but 26-year-old Kristian Craig Robinson executes with such precision and innovation that Island Row leaves even the seasoned listener slackjawed and struggling for comparisons.
K's music draws from a broad pool of influences, indicative of his geographically scattered childhood. Maltese by birth, he divided his early years between Dubai and Borneo, coming eventually to Britain for secondary school. There, Robinson encountered American indie bands like Fugazi and Sonic Youth, who inspired him to start his first band. His background gets a bit hazy beyond that point, but his music suggests that, somewhere along the line, he ate loads of psychotropic chemicals, picked up a few Rephlex records and bought himself a Dictaphone. All these jumbled elements of his past echo forcefully in his work, and more evenly on Island Row than any of his previous outings.

Capitol K's recording legacy dates back to 1998, when he released a self-titled 12" on Elf Cut Records. Two of the four tracks from that record made the cut for his full-length (the absolutely astounding Sounds of the Empire) on Mike Paradinas' Planet ? imprint the following year. Of that album, Mike writes (and I concur), it "is still one of the best debut albums I have heard." You might even care to scratch the word debut.

Material from these early releases hints only cautiously at Robinson's rock-n-roll leanings. The follow-up Roadeater EP, issued in early 2000, signaled a shift toward a more balanced mixture of vocals, samples and strumming. And Island Row carries the torch-- four of the 11 songs here have proper lyrics, and nearly all feature a bit of guitar-work.

Still, the prevailing theme here is production; the inane, carnival-esque noodlings reminisce of Mouse on Mars, while the occasionally caustic drum breaks recall tunes from Autechre's Gescom side-project. But Capitol K brings so much of his own flavor to the table that likening him to either of those musicians would be misleading.

Exoticism becomes a key theme in Robinson's work-- not the token ethno-techno exoticism of Talvin Singh or Badmarsh & Shri, who intersperse dull drum loops with unimaginative sitars and tablas, and earn credit for "fusing" different genres. It would be more appropriate to say today's world beat musicians layer different genres, always conscious of which sounds belong to the East and which belong to the West, and scarcely exploring any middle ground.

Capitol K breaks this mold, and stakes out a bit of sonic territory somewhere in between. Reversed drum loops bounce between Eastern and Western time signatures, while Robinson's candid falsetto brings urgency to even the most saccharine lyrics. Out of context, many of the lyrics seem puerile, which is probably what makes them so damn effective. It wrenches even my calloused heart to hear K innocently cry the chorus of the opening track, "Heat." "I'd like to know/ If you like the cold/ 'Cause when we meet/ I'll bring the heat." On paper, it reads like a nursery rhyme, but the latent angst beneath Robinson's voice tells a more frustrated story-- one of a lost passion.

"Pillow," which also made an appearance on Roadeater, seems the most readily accessible song of the lot. Even while treading through bubblegum turf, it manages to retain its edge and subtlety, thanks to Robinson's production trickery. But gems lurk in the album's darker corners as well. "Monster," as the name might suggest, can be at times difficult and abrasive, matching heavy guitar distortion with esoteric Eastern melodies. Other honorable mentions include "Breakers," "Lion Anon" and "Forgotten Duffle Coat," on which K collaborates with friend Leafcutter John.

The album loses points for two reasons, the most legitimate being that a handful of the tracks feel disjointed. Capitol K's transitions tend to be remarkably smooth, but there are several on this album (particularly on the songs "God Ohm" and "Is It U?") that it seems he might simply have handled better. The second complaint I'm obligated to lodge against Island Row is a reprimand for the Prince cover, "Dance On." Robinson admits he intended it as a joke, but thanks to American copyright laws, that joke prohibited Americans from importing this brilliant record for nearly four months. I could have done without the inconvenience, especially for this lackluster song.

I hope I've done this album justice, but it's tough to tell when so many terrible albums receive so much critical lip service. If my generic praise leaves you with the impression that Island Row is generic music, do yourself a favor and dig up some MP3s. These songs deserve to be heard.

-Malcol - Pitchfork

The ghosts in Kristian Craig Robinson's machines are running riot. Muffled telephone conversations, trumpeting elephants and the hum of distant traffic fight for space as wave upon wave of rich psychedelic noise crashes from the speakers. Welcome to Capitol K live debut, we're currently two minutes in.
Later, we'll be blown sideways by his fusion of R&B and echo-soacked dub, and we'll marvel at the way this lanky young man compresses a slab of gurning gabba into streamlined electro while scratching furiously at his guitar. But right now, during the mesmerising skunk-shot trundle of 'Song For Banana', we're gradually realising that what capitol K is doing - fashioning a steady flow of disparate and astonishing ideas into one coherent organic whole - well, it hasn't been done quite like this before. - NME

The ghosts in Kristian Craig Robinson's machines are running riot. Muffled telephone conversations, trumpeting elephants and the hum of distant traffic fight for space as wave upon wave of rich psychedelic noise crashes from the speakers. Welcome to Capitol K live debut, we're currently two minutes in.
Later, we'll be blown sideways by his fusion of R&B and echo-soacked dub, and we'll marvel at the way this lanky young man compresses a slab of gurning gabba into streamlined electro while scratching furiously at his guitar. But right now, during the mesmerising skunk-shot trundle of 'Song For Banana', we're gradually realising that what capitol K is doing - fashioning a steady flow of disparate and astonishing ideas into one coherent organic whole - well, it hasn't been done quite like this before. - NME

4/5
Andy Gill
Independent
Arts & Books Review

Kristian craig robinson, aka Capitol K, has been getting out and about, which is allways a good idea for those whose solo sonic tinkerings usually confine them for months to the airless, sunless environs of the studio. Robinson's cut'n'paste collages here have been largely assembled from sounds and recordings accumulated on a trip to the Far East - indeed the track "Hong Kong" was montaged from localrecords, public announcements and field recordings gleaned during a stop-over. The resulting melange of beats, Chinese rap vocal, koto melody, flute and videogame noises is as brash and glittering as the place itself. Elsewhere, "Kowloon" is a recording of market stall toys, "the Slow Ones" features a murmured story recited over chirpy techno-pop, and "Taipei" offers a discordant blend of soundsin Beta Band style. On "Pan Continental", Robinson edits together live material with studio samples and flamenco guitar that sighnposts another of his locations "Barcelona". This is one of a batch of pieces with which Robinson concludes the album in an assured Krautrock style, building up dense layers of guitars and keyboards into churning neo-psychedelic grooves in the manner of Neu! and Can.
- Independent