"Tom Waits really brings a lot of showbiz into his records. It’s in there in the actual songwriting. He knows how to strip things down and get to some skeletal place that’s really strong. He’s trying to be true to his Jazz and his Blues. That is to be admired. There’s a lot of the textures you don’t hear so much. All that vocabulary is really seductive. I think that he’s a good songwriter whatever record you talk about of his. It’s not because there’s some fucking guy playing a saw. It’s like the Bruce Springsteen thing. It’s stripped down, universal, folky bluesy stuff. He’s trying to say: “You guys think you can change things overnight. Forget the new thing. What about Django Reinhart? Son House?” It’s like the Grand Duchy thing. People get obsessed with our production like, “What’s the new story?” It’s admirable when people say: “What about 1949, man?!” At first, I heard a cool White Stripes record and thought: “Who do you think you are, Robert Johnson?” And I get jealous. Fucking A! man. It’s like primal Led Zeppelin or something. But at the end of the day, I always end up respecting Jack White. [Black does an impression of the 'Seven Nation Army' riff.] Jack White has some believability."

"Again, Jesse turned me onto that record, years ago. We revisited that when we were in the desert at Rancho De La Luna, we were playing lots of good stuff on YouTube through the mixing board. The house was so cool. David Catching, who lives there, he was out on tour - great guy, but we had the whole house to ourselves. Just that record - throw it on in the daytime and then the sun starts coming and you're in this chill house and you're just cranking this record and then eventually when the sun starts going down, that's just super psychedelic. It was a good companion piece. That record has Leon Thomas singing ""the creator has a master plan"" over and over again. Never thought about this at the time, but repeating lines in a spiritual way - there's a title track to b'lieve i'm goin down…, which isn't on the album, which is just the same line over and over again - something about that spiritual vibe. Eventually Leon Thomas just does this spiritual yodelling! The record's so melodic. Pharoah Sanders does this cool thing - it's like pop, but it's like spiritual pop, mixed with jazz, where it's a relatively simple line, just a couple of chords, usually. It just puts you in this zone, it's so beautiful. It's simple, but not at all; nobody could touch it. Pharoah Sanders comes in eventually and plays the sweetest emotional sax and eventually it turns into insanity, noise, skronking and screeching. Honestly, he's known for that, but it's my least favourite part of him. I understand why he does it, because it reaches this climax and then all of a sudden, you come out and go back to this thing and it just goes all the way to the limit; it's just like life, it goes from zero to 60 and then you come back out of it. That's the beauty of him."

"And number five, I’m going to say Smokey and the Bandit. I’m back on the comedy. It’s between Smokey and the Bandit and OSS 117, which is a French movie — it’s sort of like their version of the Naked Gun movies, but their agent’s really good; he’s actually very good at many things. He just happens to be a complete moron. But he’s a lover, he knows many languages… Anyway, Smokey and the Bandit, Jackie Gleason’s performance and Sally Field’s; she was amazing. It’s also a good snapshot of America when being a truck driver was cool. [laughs] Being an 18-wheeler truck driver was like, “That’s a good job.” I mean, they were badasses, and you don’t really think of that now; they don’t have that same mystique. But Jackie Gleason as Buford T. Justice… He has his own f***ing entrance music; every time he shows up, they’ve got this tuba playing, he’s there on the scene, and he’s doing his schtick, doing the best stuff. He’s another character, like the Joe Gideon character in All That Jazz, who’s despicable. He’s a racist, he’s a terrible father, he’s a sh**y cop, and you just can’t wait for him to get back on the screen. He has a line in there, talking about Sally Field, who runs off, and she’s a dancer, and he says, “That’s what you get for poontangin’ around with a bunch of hippie show folk.” [laughs] That is the quality of stuff he’s doing in that movie; it’s just so brilliant."

"I hate saying this, but it did what it said on the sleeve! It was them two and it was a lot of drums. It was one of the first records I would listen to because a lot of jazz drumming is very difficult and complicated, if you listen to somebody like Buddy Rich you can't help but think how does he do that; what is he doing? How do you do that? It's very complex which always scared me off. Kenny Clare and Ronnie Stephenson had that same technical proficiency but they didn't use it the same way. They were much more in the mould of Gene Krupa. The parts that they'd play were very musical. I don't know if they were musical to people who weren't drummers, but to me it all made sense. Some of the stuff they did was almost melodic, like patterns on the toms and breaks, and then just trading off each other, which I thought was pretty cool because it was like hearing two people being inspired. Again that was something that really came in with The Damned, with Brian and me. It was almost like a competition sometimes: he would play something and then I would go okay, if you're going to do that then I'm going to do this. And I think that probably came to us from listening to these drum battles and taking on the mentality of that; feeding on what's going on around you, regardless of what it is."

"This is very similar to the Sly record in terms of concrete, abstract funk. When you hear it, it sounds really dense and dark. It doesn't sound organic, it sounds like it's from a concrete jungle. It never goes anywhere; it's in perpetual stasis, almost meditative. A few years ago, they released the sessions and takes, which is a bad thing to do because Miles would jam with his band and then carry on, sit and cut them up, mix them and turn it into Miles albums. It was very well arranged, and that was part of the fucking part of the aesthetic. Then to release the jam sessions for me was a bad idea because it's like releasing the out-takes of somebody's film. Whereas what Miles achieved with On The Corner was incredible. It's a big favourite of Primal Scream, we always used to play it on the tour bus. Miles was never about high energy, he's always cool and there's always a distance with him. All funk records are visceral and in-your-fucking-face, but On The Corner is quite cold too. It's an art funk record. He knew jazz music was old and didn't want to be stuck in the past. Miles was interested in young people and wanted to evolve with what young people were listening to. He was an open and receptive artist – that's the only way you can move forward with new energies and new ideas. We've learned from Miles Davis as a band, too: when you make music, you've got to make it for the future, even if you're not aware that you are."