"He’s one of those people, once you get into it, it’s very hard to listen to anything else for a while. I used to hear the name, and people would recommend him but once I got into him it was like finding a treasure trove with all these amazing albums. Retriever’s probably my favourite, his lyrics are so conversational, they reflect everyday life, the difficulty of navigating it, so perfectly. We met a few years ago, he’s real hero of mine but I think he’s quite used to lots of people, way more successful and lauded than I will ever be, people like Macca, Chris Martin, Elvis Costello, coming up and praising him. He is a bit of an artists’ artist in a way. So I got the sense that he thought, “Oh great, another person in a band that likes me but why doesn’t the public-at-large like me!”. I just don’t understand it, myself. Maybe this is the problem, he’s got a straight, almost pub rock sound to what he does, maybe that puts people off, but it’s much more layered and intricate. That, for me, is often the mark of a great songwriter where you’re lulled into thinking the songs are simple or superficial but when you really listen to them, you realise it’s articulating something way more profound. in fact that reminds me, when I finally got into him, it’s because I went to Glastonbury five or six years ago as a punter. I’d had a really shit time, it was a bit of a complicated time in my life, I kept having to go to the American embassy to do all these blood tests and piss tests to try and get into America, because things had got out in the press that I’d had a few issues with alcohol and drugs and the American embassy had said, “You’re not coming in”. I remember feeling so fucking miserable and then I turned up at Glastonbury and I just walked into this tent and he played a song called 'All In Good Time', it’s all about how what you consider to be a big deal is insignificant when you look back at it with hindsight. I heard this song for the first time and it was so resonant and potent in that specific moment, it was like, “Wow, this is exactly where I’m at”. It was like he was telling me, “Don’t worry, it’s going to be alright!”."

"This was the first record I took acid to with Richard [Ashcroft]. My dad bought it for 20p in a junk shop. It was the same shop where I used to get all my pedals from. Twenty quid for a flanger and that was what the first Verve record was based on – that flanger. Funkadelic – it didn't even have the proper cover on it, it was just in a tattered white sleeve. I can remember listening to it not under the influence and thinking, ""This is a bit strange!"" Then my folks were away for a week and Richard came and stopped with me for a bit and we did acid. It was my first time, but I think he'd done it a couple of times. We were walking about the field at the back of my house for a bit, but then we went back and inevitably starting ploughing through all the records. Electric Ladyland by Jimi Hendrix, stuff like that. But that Funkadelic record was the one really – we put that up against our first demo and it made our demo sound like toy music. We had a moment of revelation. Not as painful as later on, but just that we were heading in the wrong direction. That's the acid cringe – that portentous, pontificating moment. Because suddenly it was like, ""Oh fucking hell, that really makes sense now"". Those first three Funkadelic albums for me define what a guitar band should sound like. They're just incredible. Eddie Hazel, he sits in the place for me where Ron Asheton does for most people. I love the Stooges but Eddie Hazel crystallised… I don't know if it's as simple as saying psychedelic guitar. He was cramming lots of ideas in. The violence of it to me is what's really appealing. It's the destructive force behind it, but maintaining a beauty about. With Ron Asheton it's all about annihilation, and I like that as well and I do indulge in that. But with Eddie there's texture and space and atmosphere. There's a big fire burning in the middle of it and it is such powerful music. That's what started my love affair with tape echo. I think I had a tape echo at that point, but I wasn't really using it that much. In fact I don't think there's that much on record that caught me using it, which is a shame. But live we were a bit more ferocious than we were presented on record and this is where that came from. I was also into EVOL by Sonic Youth at the time. That's one of my favourite records."

"This one is down to my best friend, my dearest friend from when I was three years old – we met at nursery school and we grew up together. We grew through our teens and went through puberty together, starting to experiment with alcohol and cigarettes and boys. She had very lenient parents whereas my parents were really old-school and sort of conventional; she had a very unconventional family life. She and I used to be able to just do whatever we wanted, whenever we wanted, up in her attic bedroom. 

 Because I'd been caught smoking by my parents, I didn't have any pocket money but my best friend Sarah did. She was able to buy records that I couldn't get my hands on – she bought The Scream – I'm not entirely sure why she bought The Scream, but she played it in her bedroom and I can still remember her putting the needle on the vinyl and just that record beginning, starting: I was mesmerised. I just was like, 'What the fuck is this? And who is this? And what is it?' 

 We just became quickly obsessed. We finally saw them on Top Of The Pops and I just fell madly and obsessively in love with Siouxsie and the whole band for that matter: I just loved how they looked like nothing I'd ever laid eyes on before.
 
 Up until that point I'd only been exposed to very conforming women in music. I'd never seen someone who identified as a female but looked somewhat androgynous and referenced Native American Indian culture, which excited me for whatever reason. She had this incredible, strange style that seemed very confrontational and rebellious. She just excited me visually and musically. 

 I've been obsessed with her ever since and my love for her has never waned at all. She's another artist who's never, ever let me down. I still go back to those records over and over again because there's a certain power in Siouxsie's delivery that's very hard to find amongst most female-identifying artists. She still sounds unique, and she still sounds like she can wipe the floor with any of us.
 
 I was starting to experiment with what my version of what adulthood meant and I think I was 13 or 14; I became obsessed with 'Suburban Relapse' and 'Nicotine'. 'Suburban Relapse' had such a strong narrative: I just could see everything in detail through her lyrics. She was very erudite and I was just so mesmerised by her."

"This is such a glorious and beautiful album. There are not many albums that make me want to cry but I think this is stunningly beautiful and raw and emotive and it contains some of the best and favourite Neil Young lyrics. You know: 'I need a crowd of people/ But I can't face them day to day' - I feel that. I'm interpreting that in a certain way but I'm with him on that. There are so many times that you listen to stuff that you really feel. It feels so real; more than real even. It's a beautiful album. 'Revolution Blues' has got everything; it's got a great sounding band working really well and nailing it and it's got an energy. Nothing's too internal either. I was talking to someone earlier about the lyrics to Matador and I know that there are some really personal lyrics on there but they still have to have a hook; they can't be too internal. I can't internalise too much or else I close myself off to whoever is listening. I don't want to push anyone away by being so morose or depressing. But Neil Young does it so well. Lyrically he's a great inspiration to me. They sometimes feel like throwaway lyrics or he has quite simple couplets that feel very day-to-day, but then equally he can be a lot more abstract and using metaphors as well. I've looked at that quite a lot in terms of creating that balance of metaphors and real day-to-day life. But why not have some anger in there? I hear that a lot in 'Revolution Blues' where he talks about 'killing stars in their cars' and that's great. It's angry; it's like the first line of 'To The Wire'. The first line of the song is, 'I want to cut myself' but the second line is: 'I want to cut myself down.' You know, it's where I want to cut myself free of all the pressures. I remember when I played it to people and they were like, 'Gaz! What was that?' and I was like, 'No, no, no, it's part of a couplet. The pay-off is line two.' You know, I'm not into self-harm or anything but I like the fact that some days I might feel like I'm really completely fucked and that I might hate myself and do some damage but I won't. I question it. And like I say, Neil Young does that really well."

"He used to be with a band called The Zincs and that was interesting in terms of being clever and beautiful and having all the right elements, but this album is beyond interesting and beyond clever and beyond beautiful. There is something that is clicking and being aligned, and all the years of work are finally getting you to this plateau that you've been looking for. I feel that he's got there. Sometimes there's nothing you can do but work hard at something for a long time before you get to where you want it to be, and I have that sense that there he is. This is an album that really talks to the listener in a very direct, open way. And it has all the elements. It is interesting; it is surprising; it is beautiful. It's very well-played, of course it is: James is a terrific guitar player. He introduced me some years ago to Davy Graham, and that was my introduction to folk music. That was where folk music started for me. Tim [Gane] hated folk music, or he always claimed he hated folk music, so there was no folk music at home. But James introduced me to Davy Graham and Shirley Collins, and you can't argue with music like that. It's pure; it's direct; it's transcendental. There are no curves or bends; it's just something that's received in its purest form. At least, that's how I feel it. And the songs are incredibly beautiful. I don't know how to explain what makes a good interesting song for me. It also has to do with the fact that it's not a cliché; it's forever whole, it has its own integrity, its own singularity. I feel like James might say he has nothing to do with this folk music stuff, but of course he does, you know, and certainly Davy Graham is in there. But he's lived in Chicago for many years now and he's worked with other people, including myself, who don't particularly come from a folk background, and it's true that, to honour this record, there are other interjections from other influences. It has to be seen as a whole thing that can't be reduced to just folk music. It is a strong root, but there are also some amazing string arrangements and a lot of surprises. There are connections to the past, but coming out of a spaceship, you know? It's really earthy, but connected to the universe."

"I picked this mainly because most people are probably familiar with the regular three studio records that came out. I would hope they are. This record, Hendrix In The West, is a compilation of live versions. I think four songs are from this San Diego show in 1969 and shortly after that tour Noel Redding was out of the band so it was the last part of the Experience. There's a version of 'Spanish Castle Magic' on the record that is just so incredible, and the bass is distorted and driving. That song alone is worth the whole record. And if you can get your hands on it, there's actually a bootleg of that whole San Diego show and I recommend that, but Hendrix In The West is a little more accessible. My friend Darren who was the drummer in Mr. Epp, we were in high school and he had one of those portable eight-track players. I think he pretty much only had three eight-tracks I can remember, and one was Jimi Hendrix's Smash Hits and another was The Who: Live At Leeds and we would play those constantly. I've always been really impressed by Mitch Mitchell's drumming. It spoke to me. I think he's maybe the best drummer in rock & roll. I just love that kind of loose, fluid feel. It's not stiff, there's sort of a jazz thing going through it. It's really propulsive. Have you ever seen 'Message To Love', the Isle of Wight set that Hendrix plays? It's weird what happened to Mitch Mitchell over the years he was playing with Hendrix. In the early days he's sitting upright and playing like he does on the records but by that almost last performance he's got a double kick drum which he's just slumped over and his back is hunched and he's really low. It's like he isn't playing the beats at all, he's just playing around it. It's like he's become a rock version of Elvin Jones - it's crazy. Rock & roll has taken its toll on a lot of people. There's a bit in the Isle of Wight thing where a couple of songs in, Hendrix just goes behind the speakers and you can hear his guitar hitting shit. And he comes back out and he's on fire. The song ends and he says "I just woke up two minutes ago!" I was like: "Gee, I wonder what he was doing back there?""

"That one was quite deep for me because again, growing up in church and being a believer; my family being from the West Indies - my mum’s side from Jamaica, my dad’s side from Dominica - I remember going to church and it was authentic West Indians there in their 40s, 50s that now live in the UK but have kept these traditions, they were singing these songs just without the drums. So when I first heard this, something just went - ‘Hang on?’ I remember being four and hearing this person sing that song but swap Selassie for this or that. It had that same spiritual element I was so used to, just in a very different form. It was like a weird full circle thing for me. It was almost like going back home. These drums are taking me somewhere, but also I'm being carried by these songs I know. It was beautiful to check out more of what Count Ossie was doing and people that were part of his band like Cedric Brooks. He was infusing a lot of the jazz elements that he's hearing from Coltrane or Ornette Coleman. That's deep, you’re deep in the heels of Kingston, aware of Ornette and them man. Like Duke Ellington had to come and visit him, you know, there’s a photo of him and Duke Ellington in the bush. You know he's got something that's important, not only important for culture but it's spiritually important for the Nyabinghi tradition. For me when I heard that record, particularly Grounation, where they’re going through loops for 20 minutes, it’s that thing again with soundsystems where you ‘wheel up a riddim’ or at church when the tune would just keep going. It was something I’d never heard but I also felt like it wasn’t foreign, those experiences are so wicked and that influenced the whole fascination with drum culture and drum languages, spirituality connected to drums, music orientated around the drums. I got into Batá and music for the Orishas and things that are all over the Diaspora in West Africa, the Caribbean, South America. And when you listen to it, the recording’s so rags but it just couldn't work if you put it in Abbey Road. It gave me a bit more confidence when I was doing my record that if I go to someone’s house and I show up with a handheld recorder, as long as it feels right it doesn't matter. Big studio, small studio, my phone as long as it’s got that feeling that I was going for."