Kapil has amassed several high-profile collaborations and commissions, including a rework of a Ravi Shankar composition to commemorate his 100th birthday for BBC Asian Network, a collaborative single with Rap legend LIL B.
1. Tell us about your background. What inspired you to start your creative journey, and how has it evolved?
I didn’t have much choice - I was born into it. My family is full of Carnatic musicians—my cousins, in particular, are quite celebrated in the Indian classical world. So from a really young age, I was around rehearsals and temple performances. That early exposure was also tied to family and cultural tradition, so there was this deep reverence for music built in.
That said, I moved from Tamil Nadu to Glasgow quite early in my life and was raised away from a South Asian community of any description around me. I found myself drawn to Western rock music because that’s what was accessible to me, and as a form of safety, I had to assimilate into whiteness. I didn’t want to be boxed into what was “expected” of me culturally— Scotland has this reputation of being a liberal friendly place, but that is not my experience growing up - Any success felt by a person of colour here makes them a foot soldier for Scottish exceptionalism, as if Scotland is exempt from racism for some reason.
Over time, though, I started questioning who I was making music for. The Western rock context didn’t reflect my lived experience, and I realised I was bending myself to fit into an environment that didn’t really make space for me. That realisation culminated in A Sacred Bore, a concept album about caste oppression, which I released in 2018. That was the turning point. It allowed me to express something that felt urgent and personal, and people responded to it.
Since then, I’ve shifted how I release music. I thought my audience would be people around my age, but it's actually younger listeners who are engaging with my work. That’s meant leaning into singles and more frequent releases rather than the traditional album cycle. It’s been about adapting without losing my sense of purpose.
“I was making music in a Western rock context that didn’t reflect where I came from—and at some point, that disconnect just became too loud to ignore.”
2. Your music blends R&B, Carnatic, and experimental rock. What drew you to that mix, and how do you make it all work together?
For a long time, I was compartmentalising. I had my cultural identity on one side, and my musical influences on the other. My earlier work had this industrial, post-rock edge—it was guitar-heavy, darker, almost abrasive at times. It was an honest reflection of where I was musically, but it didn’t resonate with the kind of storytelling I wanted to do.
Eventually, I started reflecting on what music had stayed with me through the years—what had shaped me at a subconscious level. The answer kept coming back to Carnatic music, the Tamil film scores my parents played at home, and the way Bollywood music from the ’70s wove melody, rhythm, and emotion so seamlessly. It wasn’t a clean pivot—it was more like those elements slowly crept back into my writing.
These days, I approach my sound like a collage. I’m not trying to fuse genres superficially; I’m trying to let each influence speak where it makes sense. If a lyric draws from Tamil poetry or my politics draw from anti-caste thinkers, then the musical choices should reflect that cultural lineage too. I’ve also been learning Tamil again, and I’m incredibly proud that my most recent single is the first time I’ve sung in the language. It's nerve-wracking—I’m worried about pronunciation!—but it feels necessary.
3. Both A Sacred Bore and Laal are concept albums that take on huge themes. What inspires you to approach your work in that way?
For me, concept albums offer space to explore complexity. When I’m tackling something like caste oppression or nationalism in Indian cinema, one song isn’t enough. I think of the album as a long-form essay, where each track is a chapter contributing to the central argument or emotional arc.
Laal, for example, opens with a song called The Gharial, which was inspired by a scene in a Bollywood film where a Muslim character eats a sacred animal. I used that as a springboard to explore how Muslims are portrayed in Indian media and how those portrayals feed into a larger narrative of Hindu nationalism. Another song looks at censorship of queer voices, and another touches on caste in the film industry.
I want these ideas to be accessible, though. I’m not interested in making dry, didactic music. One of my most political tracks, Educate, Agitate, Organise, sounds like it could be from a Sonic the Hedgehog video game soundtrack—which is probably why it did so well on TikTok! But people heard it, looked up the title, and discovered Ambedkar. That’s exactly the kind of ripple effect I want.
“Even if a song sounds fun, it might still introduce someone to Ambedkar—and that’s a win.”
4. You’ve been very vocal about caste and South Asian identity. How do you see the role of music in activism, and how do you balance personal storytelling with political messaging?
For a while, I kept my personal story out of it. I saw myself more like a journalist with a guitar—reporting on issues, spotlighting injustices. But eventually, I realised people wanted to understand the “why” as much as the “what.” They wanted to know why I was making this music, not just what it was about.
That led me to bring more of myself into the narrative. One of my upcoming singles is about my dad questioning whether I’m “Tamil enough” because I was raised in Scotland. It’s a conversation about cultural inheritance, shame, and reclamation—and it feels incredibly vulnerable to share.
At the same time, I’m mindful of the space I occupy. I come from an upper-caste background, and I never want to displace voices that should be centred. I make it a point to platform those voices that perhaps don’t get as much air-time but are doing the important advocacy work I value. However, I also believe people with caste privilege have a responsibility to challenge our communities, call out injustice, and use whatever platform we have to shift the narrative.
5. What was the audience's response to your music and political messaging?
My first album got featured in a few articles in Rolling Stone and The Guardian, and it made a lot of UK upper-caste Hindus uncomfortable to confront their privilege. I do think my upper-caste privilege means I receive less hate than someone who is a woman and/or Dalit. It is an awkward place to be in, but I find that it is my responsibility to signpost that all minority oppression is bad. People argue against caste reservation in institutions in India, but then use diversity hiring policies in the US to get work. They leave India to escape caste oppression, only to end up in Indian spaces that are incredibly casteist. I recommend reading Ants Among Elephants by Sujatha Gidla to learn more about this in the context of the US.
6. Was there a moment when things started to click for you as an artist?
There’ve been a few turning points. A Sacred Bore was definitely the first—it was the project where I stopped trying to fit into someone else’s mould. But more recently, a short video of me playing Carnatic guitar with political undertones went viral on multiple platforms. It was just ten seconds, but it encapsulated everything I stand for: musicality, cultural identity, and activism. That kind of reach took years to build—and it only came when I started being fully myself.
“I’ve taken the long road by sticking to my principles, and while it’s been slower, it’s the most rewarding path I could’ve chosen.”
7. What have been your most exciting or unexpected collaborations so far?
The wildest one was with Lil B. He tweeted something like “What is the caste system?” and people tagged me. I ended up DMing him, and he emailed me from a burner account. At first, I wasn’t sure it was even real—but it turned out to be legit, and we made a track together in 2021. That collaboration opened my work up to a whole new audience, particularly Dalit listeners in India.
I’m also in talks with Arivu, who’s doing phenomenal anti-caste work in Tamil hip-hop. We haven’t released anything yet, but I’m excited about what we might create together.
8. You’ve performed everywhere from SXSW to UEFA EURO 2020. What do you love most about playing live, and how does it differ from the studio?
Live performance is the reason I make music. That moment when you're on stage, locked in with your band, and the audience is right there with you—it’s unmatched. My live shows are very different from the recordings. There’s more improvisation, more interaction. My wife plays flute, and we often bounce off each other on stage in ways that don’t happen in the studio. There’s room to stretch and surprise each other.
Also, when the performer is visibly having fun, the audience mirrors that energy. And that’s really important to me. I’m not interested in standing still and being stoic just because it’s cool. I want people to feel joy and movement, and connection.
9. The South Asian creative scene is expanding. What are your hopes for the future, and do you have any advice for emerging South Asian artists?
I’d love to see South Asian music become as broad and genre-fluid as Black music has become. That means space for everything—punk bands, ambient producers, rappers, experimental noise artists—not just fusion acts or playback singers.
I also want to see more marginalised identities represented—Dalit, queer, disabled, trans, non-binary artists—without being tokenised or boxed into tropes. There's still a lot of gatekeeping, especially from upper-caste institutions.
As for advice, your relationship to your identity is yours. There’s no one way to be “authentically” South Asian. But if you do want to connect with South Asian audiences, learn how they engage with music. A lot of them won’t go to a 50-cap venue gig, but they’ll show up if there’s social proof or spectacle. It’s not about selling out—it’s about meeting your audience where they are.
10. What’s next for you? Anything exciting coming up?
I’m currently in a rhythm of releasing new singles every few weeks. I had a release in January, another in March, and the next drops on May 9th—the same day as my final Scottish show for the foreseeable future - the Creatives of Colour Festival in Glasgow.
After that, I’m looking at international touring—India, Brazil, Canada. My streaming data shows that’s where people are really tuning in, and I want to be where my listeners are. Musically, I’m also starting to explore new influences like Japanese music, alongside the political themes that have always driven my work.
11. And finally—the most important question—what’s your favourite South Asian sweet?
I’d have to go with Rasmalai. I don’t get to eat it often, so when I do, it always feels like a treat. It’s something I associate with big family occasions—weddings, festivals, buffets—so there’s an emotional connection there as well. It’s one of those things that always hits the spot.
