Robinton
Hobbs
Musical worldbuilding for mythic, historical,
and immersive storytelling
Meet Robinton
Recording Artist, Composer
Evoker of Imagined Worlds
I create music that makes people believe.
Based in Los Angeles. Frequently in London and New York. Occasionally vanished into the woods.
Tired of taking responsibility for your own actions? It’s cool, just blame the devil.
I’m incredibly excited to share “Call Me the Devil,” a new track I produced with Zoë Lustri.
Originally written by Zoë and Ashley Kalina as a dark-pop anthem, the song needed a more aggressive hard-rock edge to fully come alive. Zoë brought me in to push it in that direction, and I rebuilt the instrumental with rock-oriented drums and entirely new guitar and bass parts. Zoë and I then reunited in London to mix the final version together.
The result retains the haunting dark-pop atmosphere of the verses, but hits with powerful rock energy when the choruses and bridge kick in.
The Latest ->
Call Me The Devil
February Mountain
A Musical Journey Through Time & Memory
At its heart, February Mountain is a cinematic folk-punk journey, blending haunting acoustic textures, driving rhythms, and moments of quiet awe. The album is steeped in poetic nostalgia, adventure, and existential wonder, moving through landscapes both real and imagined. You’ll hear the hush of ancient forests, the roar of time-worn ruins, and the crackling energy of stories passed down through generations.
A Sound Both Timeless & Raw
The sound of February Mountain is expansive but deeply intimate. Fingerpicked guitars and earthy percussion lay the foundation, while sweeping strings, distant voices, and eerie, reverb-soaked atmospheres push the songs into something vast and cinematic.
There’s a grit to the album—an edge that leans into punk’s raw urgency—yet it never loses its folk heart. The melodies feel etched in stone, like echoes from another time, while the arrangements breathe with organic life, shifting between delicate reverence and stormy intensity.
Artist Statement
The best settings feel
as though they existed
long before we found them
I’m fascinated by the details that make a story feel larger than what appears on the page or screen: half-remembered songs, local legends, old rituals, and histories that continue beyond its edges.
Whether I’m creating an album of my own or collaborating with a writer, filmmaker, or game designer, I approach music as part of that deeper history. It shouldn’t simply accompany the story, but feel drawn from within it—music with its own memory, its own point of view, and the sense that it has always belonged there.