July 6, 1999

London Brixton George IV

[B]Robinson[/B]'s recent debut album, [B]'Sounds Of The Empire'[/B], has been hailed in certain quarters as being at the vanguard of the nu-psychedelia movement (certainly it's the record the [a]Re

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's live debut, we're currently two minutes in.

Later, we'll be blown sideways by his fusion of R&B and echo-soaked 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.

Really we should have expected something extraordinary. Robinson's recent debut album, 'Sounds Of The Empire', has been hailed in certain quarters as being at the vanguard of the nu-psychedelia movement (certainly it's the record the Regular Fries would love to have made). And if we're hunting for comparisons, then on tonight's evidence, perhaps only Aphex Twin is his superior in terms of sheer sonic adventure, restless experimentalism and, crucially, great tunes. It's that exciting.

Of course, he looks like he doesn't know what he's doing, and only the occasional nod when all the elements slot into place hint that he's happy. Meanwhile, the traditionally reserved electronica herd are jumping, shouting for more, still in thrall to the frazzled breakbeats of 'Little Submarine' and 'Superheroes'' mutant Balearic judders. They know this is Capitol K's first show. And most thrilling of all, they know it can only get better.