"When Nick Cave is at his most theatrical the level of interest most people have in him is just elevated. You can feel what they were drinking, you can taste it in the air, you understand what drugs they're on and it's just from sound. It takes a lot to put the other senses into music, and he does it better than anyone else I've ever heard. He's great at every aspect of being Nick Cave, but I think when he's fully involved in story telling he's quite probably the best frontman there is. He really becomes those characters, he's able to live and breathe those people in the way only an author can; he understands them on a different level. This record has some of my favourite lyrics of all time. It's got 'Where The Wild Roses Grow' with Kylie Minogue which is a beautiful ballad, this amazing moment between one of the greatest pop stars of all time and one of the greatest songwriters of all time. It's this mashup that should never have happened, but the world's definitely a better place that it did. I got into Nick Cave late, later than I'd like to admit, when I was in my late 20s. I knew about him before, I'd heard things, but I heard this record when I was living in New York. I wasn't in Gallows any more, I was just painting, and I went record shopping one day. I was buying some Daniel Johnston records but the guy in the shop had a copy of Murder Ballads and I, like a fucking idiot, casually asked 'is this good?' He just said, 'Are you joking? Of course it's good!' So I went back home, listened to my Daniel Johnston records, made some food, then later that night put it on and was like 'holy shit!' and bought every other Nick Cave record they had."

"Well, I grew up in the sixties. In 1962, I bought the first Rolling Stones single, and I still have it. I still have every single they released, in order, right up until Brian Jones was murdered. I saw Pink Floyd god knows how many times, and even did a couple of light shows for them... We started listening to pirate radio and John Peel’s Perfumed Garden, and had a friend at school called Spidey who was very good at spotting interesting new music. John Peel was the first person to play The Velvet Underground, and Spidey said, “Listen to this, you’re gonna love this!”. That’s when we got the first violin. We used to go to Birmingham, to this tiny little record shop that had nothing of interest except some Albert Ayler and free jazz. There was a record in there, and we recognised the artwork from Oz magazine so we knew it was by Hapshash and The Coloured Coat, because they used to do psychedelic posters and Oz. So we bought it just because of that. It was on Magnet Records. When we pulled out [the disc], we were shocked to see that it was on red vinyl, which we’d never seen before. We later discovered that all these people on the scene in London wanted to raise money for the legals fees of John “Hoppy” Hopkins, the first person who’d been busted for drugs and who co-founded the International Times. He was a real mover and shaker of the times. It’s like twenty to a hundred people high on acid jamming! We fell in love with it and still listen to it all the time. When we DJ, people come up to us and ask, “What was that with that great riff?” Guess what one of them ended up doing? Writing “We Are The Wombles”! That really got me in the head, that was worse than a bad acid trip!"

"Guralnick’s two-volume biography of Elvis is one of the best written accounts of a musician’s life. It carefully takes the myth of Elvis and puts it into human terms, giving you a sense of the shock of the new. From childhood in Tupelo, Mississippi through his years in Memphis, Hollywood and Las Vegas, the book puts you in the room with Elvis and his family, friends and collaborators. In the early years you are struck by the genuine innocence and good-naturedness he personified – an accessible small-town boy. Fans would line up outside his mother’s kitchen and he would come out to spend time with them after finishing the family dinner. You can see a kid trying to navigate an unformed world, a world we now know as the modern music business. He was self-aware, though, and brought a new vulnerability and disregard to performing. The first book ends with his mother’s death and his induction into the army, in many ways the beginning of his descent into drugs and isolation. In Hollywood he becomes commodified and put under a kind of artistic house arrest. It is frustrating to read how often his intentions and creative ideas were thwarted. His music had become carefully controlled and the way he had made his great early music was undermined. Later, in the 70s, you get accounts of him gatecrashing the White House and demanding to be made an FBI agent on the spot (Richard Nixon’s henchmen agreed) or starting his Tennessee Karate Institute with outlandish personalised karate uniforms. Though it is impossible for a book to sum up a life, especially one on the scale of Elvis’s, Guralnick’s accounts are ultimately about the impossibility of coming through your wildest dreams unscathed. But it’s more than a cautionary tale: it’s a document of the ways Elvis embodied the childlike and the primal and turned it into a kind of freedom."