"They were an underground band who started releasing cassettes in 1982 and are from Aberteifi in South West Wales, so they weren't part of a scene. They were from a small, working class town where, strangely, an interesting guy called Malcolm Neon had set up a cassette label, releasing electronic music in the Welsh language. So they kinda fit in – he put a tape of theirs out and gradually they released more albums, which would end up on the Anhrern, a punk rock Welsh language label which John Peel started to play. By the time Pyst came out in 1990, David R. Edwards' voice was becoming the key critical voice of the Welsh language. He held a mirror to society and to himself that was so brutally honest: they weren't embraced by the media at the time because they were misunderstood. They were gradually more acclaimed for their genius as time went on. The name of the band translates to English as 'developing', so they had experimenting as part of their reason for existing. By this time, it was David R. Edwards and Pat Morgan on bass and she brought a really distinctive musicality to the band. Their first two albums had been produced by Gorwel Owen who, for me, is like a Welsh Conny Plank, so everything was experimental but also really well-recorded. And this album [Datblygu] is a mixture of great songwriting. He can – when it's necessary - write a conventional pop song but delivered in a unique way like the classic, timeless songs. We covered one of these, 'Y Teimlad', on the Super Furry Animals' record Mwng. There are some great songs on this record – one is 'Ugain I Un' which is like a generic country and western song about being a horse [running] at [odds of] 20/1 who fails a jump and gets shot before the end of the song. There's another pop song called 'Am' which is just great pop music! But [the album is] always experimental and you could compare David to people like Mark E. Smith, Nick Cave and Allen Ginsberg, people with an honesty and darkness which is timeless as the lyrics deal with basic human traits. This isn't self-consciously Welsh. In fact, it's very critical of Welsh society in the Welsh language as that's the most honest way you could communicate [this idea]. And it captures Wales at that time where there was a great non-conformist musical streak going on ."

"I really like to do covers, but the idea of a children's choir doing such classic songs and interpreting them… In 'Space Oddity' there's 'ding!', one vibraphone hit that's totally out of time and a tambourine will go at the same moment and then there's "ground control to Major Tom", these little kids - you can imagine them being really stoic and really getting behind what they were singing and being so serious about it. And then there's little jangly guitars that are so 70s as well, you can almost hear the school wall. People would do anything now to record an album that sounded like it was in a 70s school, but that wasn't them trying to be cool, that was them being who they were and what they were doing. And then 'Desperado', there's a nine-year-old girl who sings, like the quietest voice I've ever heard, but they've mic'ed it up so well. I purposefully try sometimes to mic up my voice really quietly so it sounds like you're being told a secret. This little girl, her voice is shaking, but it's the most gentle sound - it's like when a little child reaches up and touches your face, that feeling of… it's called Innocence & Despair - they're absolute innocents, but they're also singing songs like 'Desperado' and "oh Mandy, you came and you gave without taking and I pushed away", but it's seven-, ten-, 12-year-olds singing. 'Space Oddity', the fact that that's about a spaceman just stuck out in space just drifting away, and they do make it sound quite psychedelic and eccentric and funny. And the shambolicness of it is so cool. What I like is that so many people try to do that, that faux-childishness, and this guy who was running it was obviously a passionate, avid music lover of that time, and persuaded the school and the parents to let these kids sing pop music, which then was pushing boundaries. It's beautiful. He [Hans Fenger, organiser/arranger of project] really managed to pull something together. I think it all comes down to the beauty of being not self-aware. They're aware, they're trying their best, but it's like the older you get I suppose the more you feel nostalgic about those times and that feeling. Picasso and Matisse and great artists have always been trying to get back to childhood. You get to a certain stage and you want to revisit, but trying to keep that childhood alive is almost the hardest thing, because you build up all these layers of self-awareness and what you want to project and how you want to do it. Even now when I watch Glee and all that shit, all these kids have got the dance routines down - I'm sad that there's no one being this shit anymore. You should be a bit shit when you're little, because that's the freedom. Having perfectly scaled voices, and projecting, and knowing how to communicate with your audience. It's just like, "really? Is that what it's about or is this what it's about?": a bunch of kids getting together, loving it and making mistakes and not caring and sounding a bit out of tune. "I'm going to play my vibraphone part, it's in the wrong place, but I loved it, I'm going to do it again!" Just one note, in the wrong place, amazing. You're playing David Bowie and you're seven, what more is there?"