"This had a profound effect on me when I was really young. I was maybe eleven or twelve years old when I saw The Who play ‘My Generation’ on a TV show called The Smothers Brothers Show. I was sitting with my brother, sister and parents and I just freaked out at how powerful they were. Watching Keith Moon, I just couldn’t understand what he was doing. I’d never seen anyone play like that before, he blew up his bass drum at the end of the performance, it was unbelievable and that’s when I told my parents I wanted to get a drum set. My mum said “Well, if you want to get a drum set you’ll have to take lessons and keep up your piano lessons too.” I promised I’d do both and kept up my piano lessons for about a year, but then I dropped them and focussed on the drums and started trying to figure out how to play Rock and Roll. The Who are in my top five bands of all time, in my home studio in Los Angeles I’ve got photos of them spread throughout the studios and the hallways. They had everything, they looked cool, Pete Townsend was an incredible writer, the way he played the guitar with windmills and swooping arm movements, Roger Daltrey was a great singer and an iconic frontman and John Entwistle’s bass runs held the band together. They had an incredibly unique sound. I still love this song, it’s in my top ten greatest rock songs ever written. It speaks to the essence of the confusion of adolescence and even the confusion of being an adult and what kind of world we live in. It never gets old, it’s a constant recurring theme that every generation of kids grows up with."

"No other filmmaker’s movies have reached me as directly and deeply as Fellini’s. I’m very familiar with the criticisms that have been leveled at Fellini’s work—and they hold no sway over me. There’s far too much to say about the films on my list, so here are a few random things I love. The White Sheik: Alberto Sordi’s hilarious faux suavity while trying to seduce a naive provincial woman. I vitelloni: Franco Fabrizi’s pathetic lothario, Leopoldo Trieste’s deluded would-be writer, Alberto Sordi’s sad, daydreaming freeloader—Fellini sees all of these aimless young men with great honesty and tenderness. Nights of Cabiria: the heartbreaking final scene, a woman stripped of all physical and spiritual worth yet somehow still able to find consolation in the very innocence and joy that have been denied her. 8½: I can’t think of another black-and-white movie that has so much white. The high-contrast cinematography is breathtaking. In one flashback to childhood, Guido is being bathed and cared for by various aunts. It’s a child’s experience of maternal love that cannot be re-created in adult life—as Fellini later illustrates with a twisted version of the same scene in Guido’s absurd harem fantasy. Fellini always claimed the movie was a comedy, and I tend to agree. Amarcord: Fellini revisits the same territory as I vitelloni but in his later, color-saturated, theatrical style. It is provincial life described by a highly unreliable narrator, where the mundane transforms into the magical. A few indelible images: lonesome boys waltzing to music from a nearby grand hotel, townspeople carting their old furniture to the square for a massive bonfire, the immense luxury liner Rex, Gradisca’s sad little wedding, the floating dandelion puffs that mark the return of spring . . ."