Capitol K Full Stop

For a man who’s toured the world, lived in squats for a year, released five albums and set up his own record label, Kristian Robertson is surprisingly mild-mannered. He was first signed to Planet Mu after a friend handed his demo to Mike Parandinas; the story goes that he was allegedly too scared to do it himself. When I call him to discuss his fifth album, Notes From Life on The Wire With a Wrecking Ball, he’s laid-back, friendly and unassuming; the antithesis of a prima donna musician. “When you put out an album, it reminds people that you exist, so I‘m just waiting for people to start coming back to me about the record now I‘ve reappeared,” he humbly tells me. In truth, it has been a while since we heard anything from Capitol K: his last album, Nomad Junk was nearly three years ago and despite receiving rave reviews, he kinda dropped out of sight after that.

As part of the process of creating a new record, Kristian stepped away from traditional society, living in squats in London with other artists. He admits that it was partly a choice, and he was “deliberately breaking away from my comfort zone” in an attempt to challenge his perceptions. “Every time a situation got precarious, I would get into it. I was very deliberately rocking the boat to create the edge that’s going to produce the best music. It can be dangerous though to get too sucked into this,” he says. As with Orwell’s Down and Out in Paris and London, or Burroughs’ Naked Lunch, Notes has definitely been shaped by the life of the author, and the unhinged existence of squatting is reflected in the fact that Notes is a far edgier proposition than previous works.

Robertson sings far more than on other albums, demonstrating a lilting pop tone on the Kinks-esque Libertania, and sampling his own voice for Go Go Go and Rocked/Shocked. This vocal presence undeniably makes Notes a far more personal record. There’s also a strong sense of a chemistry, created by the communal lifestyle, between Robertson and contributing musicians Vladimiro Carboni and Felipe Pagani. “We were in this big tower block basically in the middle of a traffic roundabout. We were in the eye of this storm going on around us,” he explains. It’s a fitting image for the gently melodic album, as a calm, safe place within the madness of society.

Robertson’s debut album Sounds of The Empire was heavily involved with processing the aftermath of European colonialism, and reflecting his personal experiences of travelling whilst growing up. The titles Nomad Junk and Happy Happy similarly act as statements of intent. Robertson had explained that Drum St, named for the location of their studio-squat which was demolished by fatcat property developers, is a protest track. Was Notes From Life on The Wire With a Wrecking Ball a continuing of the titled manifesto? Where exactly was he swinging the wrecking ball? “I became increasingly aware of the maximization of culture going on - maximum house, maximum color, maximum impact,” he tells me, “so in-turn I wanted to create a subvert maximum music for a maximum world.”

If Notes is a comment on society, does he consider it a political record? “It’s political in the sense that I’m trying to express what’s going on without passing judgement. Just trying to express my personal things,” he states, drawing comparisons to Tropicalia: “I’m a big fan of this idea where you take all of these influences that are being pushed on you, you digest them and make them your own. As opposed to resisting influences, you take these things and make them a part of your identity.” It’s an appropriate comparison, not least because whilst groups like Os Mutantes were politically-minded, they were also undeniably great pop music. Indeed, it’s the multiple levels to Notes that make it such a compelling album: it manages to combine an explicitly political outlook with hugely infectious pop music as well as experimental tendencies and virtuoso musicianship. And all this comes from a man so unassuming, someone else had to give out his demo tape.