"It’s one of the great ’50s melodramas, and it’s kind of like a musical without the music, but it has a great score, of course. I saw it in my early- to mid-20s, and it just really affected me. It’s about a guy who goes back to his hometown where his brother is a prominent citizen. He’s a stalled-out, blocked writer, and he’s been a soldier, and a worker, and a would-be novelist, and he’s kind of a gambler and a drinker — this is Sinatra, of course, the conflicted one — and he lives in two worlds. Because he’s a published writer, he has the respect of the local English teacher and her brother — the respectable world of literature — but he really has a soft spot for bars and gambling and floozies and the Shirley MacLaine character. And then you’ve got Gwen French, who’s played by Martha Hyer, who’s the uptight school teacher. So it’s all these opposites colliding — respectability, debauchery… It’s wonderfully melodramatic and beautifully made… It’s about male friendship too. I consider it kind of the first Rat Pack movie, although it’s just Dean and Frank with Shirley around too. It doesn’t have a lot of the other people, but it’s the first one to capture these guys gambling and hanging out and that camaraderie. They become roommates and go on, like, a trip to Terre Haute, IN, to go gambling. It’s just wonderful."

"Like The Chameleons, they should be playing stadiums, or should've at their time. This album is one of the standards of great American music. Some of the songs here are up there with some Frank Sinatra tracks, some Bing Crosby moments. Like 'Unsatisfied', for instance, that's a pop standard worthy of Billie Holiday. Again, they couldn't seem to get out of their own way for a period of time. The thing with The Replacements is if you ask Wayne Coyne, Michael Stipe or J Mascis, they were the ones that would say: ""The Replacements, that would be the band to be in."" They were everybody's band before they made their own band. They almost would have been what The Velvet Underground was at the time for the bands around them. They also had that catalysing effect of being crazy - they had a nonchalance that most could only dream of. At times they had a recklessness, which put them a few steps behind where they should've been, but that was The Replacements. And it was the first time that the bands we loved actually made a real record. Their songs were going to stand the test of time, songs that we were all going to cover. I know it was like that being around a lot of the bands during the mid-'80s. They had that magnetism Sonic Youth had, but had songs we could all cover, sing and play. Now you hear stories of them playing to 200 people at Coachella and you can't believe how it didn't translate to the younger generation."

"‘Wichita Lineman’ was my Mum’s favourite song, she played it all the time. Anytime I hear it now it takes me back to being a kid and reminds me of growing up in Viroqua, Wisconsin. I grew up in a small town and with the sound and production of this song I can visualise the bleak Midwestern cornfields and driving through them. Jimmy Webb wrote it and it’s an iconic, beautiful and incredible song, the lyrics have this bittersweet longing and desire that I think a lot of people can relate to. There’s regret in there, because the protagonist isn’t doing what he wants to do and it’s a perfect pop song in some ways. I was ten years old when my parents first took me to a concert and it was a Glen Campbell show. He was a big TV star with a network television show, it was a big tour and he was incredible. I didn’t know anything about concerts but I remember there were ten thousand people at The Dane County Coliseum, it was a massive show and it was eye-opening. I was probably seven or eight years old when I first heard ‘Wichita Lineman’. My Mum played music in the house all the time and music was part of the background of growing up in our household. She bought Beatles records, The Tijuana Brass, Nat King Cole, Frank Sinatra, musicals like Oklahoma and West Side Story, Polka and Country records. She played everything and I was exposed to all of it, it was good for me growing up to be exposed to a diverse catalogue of music, I’ve never felt elitist about music."

"I listen to this record all the way through - even 'Moby Dick'. To me it encapsulates the Led Zeppelin sound, because the engineering on it is so magnificent. The fact that a four-piece band can sound so vast. Obviously there are great tracks on III and IV. But I feel that II is the most complete album. It's amazing to find out they recorded it mostly on tour. Extraordinary. It sounds like it was recorded in one room. I think it's accounted for by the fact they just sound like that. They just sound that magnificent. I was not a huge fan of the first album. I remember reading the story about how, I think it was Glyn Johns again, the story about him playing it to George Harrison, and George Harrison didn't really get it. I wonder if he had played him Zeppelin II he'd have got it. I is not my favourite. On II it felt fully realised. They'd pulled away from that influence of blues; it was still there, but they'd merged it into their own thing. Which again I think is something that people don't associate with Simply Red – we've been enormously influenced by African American music, but we've been influenced by it from a different era. The marriage between black and white started with Bing Crosby and Frank Sinatra and George Gershwin and all these people that ran through music, right through to Elvis, to Jagger, to Robert Plant – we've all in our own ways been enormously influenced by African American music. But the real thing to celebrate is that we made something different out of it. We didn't just copy it. The British especially turned it into something else. It became what we now know as rock music. The Beatles and the Stones are the people who can justifiably claim to have invented what we know as rock music. Not rock & roll, not R&B, not blues, but rock. And that is something to celebrate."

"“What have you done to its eyes?” How does a movie become a classic? Is it timing? Was it the dream-team collaboration of Paramount, Polanski, and Robert Evans? Was it producer William Castle, the mastermind who purchased the Ira Levin novel with plans to make it himself? Was it Mia Farrow, who had been painted with the brush of scandal after marrying Frank Sinatra? Did the devil himself have a hand in it? Whatever the reasons, my fascination with this film has never waned. There’s an enjoyment in watching Rosemary’s Baby that is similar to another gothic horror film, The Shining. It’s like listening to an album you love. Seeing the repetition of familiar scenes and faces. Shaking your head at Rosemary’s innocence as she tries to convince people that her neighbors might just be in a cult with Satan! Another highlight is the production design and cinematography. Not a frame is out of place, and it’s beautiful to look at. It captures a kind of sixties avant-garde vibe. I get the feeling Warhol would have liked this film. There are all sorts of great exterior location shots of New York, and the Dakota building on Seventy-Second Street adds the right spookiness. Does anyone remember or talk about what an amazing actress Mia Farrow is? Watch Broadway Danny Rose, and then watch Rosemary’s Baby. There’s some range there! Farrow as Rosemary has a beautiful, waifish glamour, enhanced by short dresses that make her seem more fragile and doll-like. John Cassavetes playing the “actor.” I love that he’s an “actor.” I love that his name is Guy! He makes a great prince of darkness. With his dark eyes and leering smile, well, you know he’s guilty of something the minute you see him. Then we have Ruth Gordon, who almost steals the film. Her caftan-wearing, mousse-making devil worshipper is the perfect amount of comic relief. I also love Charles Grodin as the fink doctor who squeals on Rosemary. Ralph Bellamy: terrifying! Every woman’s nightmare! Maybe that’s why I love it: Rosemary’s Baby plays on every woman’s fears. The man I married is different. Oh wait—maybe he’s sold his soul to the devil!"

"The Blue Nile was another sort of national treasure that I was drawn to and then thrilled to discover they were local. I can't overestimate what it meant to fall in love with bands from Scotland who enjoyed success. It just opened up windows for our minds, because there's a certain particularly being a 70s baby and London just felt so far away – success of any kind, or glamour, felt far away. Whenever a Scottish band would succeed on a national level it felt really immense. 

 What I also just loved about The Blue Nile was how evocative and sad they sounded. I loved the sorrow in their records, because up until hearing them, I'd hadn't really heard sorrow. I'd heard non-conformity, I'd heard rebelliousness with Siouxsie and the Banshees or The Clash, but I'd not heard sorrow. 

 Depression and sadness have always been a part of my language and my family all sort of thought or considered me a complete freak as a result. They just thought this whole darkness and my gloominess was an annoyance and at best, an irritant. But to me it's always been part of my interfacing with the world. Sorrow, sadness and depression – it's just existed in me and it's part of, I think, human nature. 

 When I heard Blue Nile, I was like, 'Ah, old friend, I recognise you, there you are. Somebody else feels the same as me'. I loved the sort of expansiveness of their sound. It felt very sort of like a modern Frank Sinatra to me, in a way. It's an obvious comparison but the sweeping, Nelson Riddle-esque type of sonic landscapes just really captured my imagination. 
 
 Paul Buchanan's got this ache in his voice that's, again, very unusual. You don't really hear a lot of people sound like Paul. I loved the sort of ordinariness of the lyrics too – it was very much sort of relatable, simple, and unglamorous expressions of love; I just really identified with that. 

 Pop music has always just alienated me for one reason or another – I just don't identify with it or understand it. So somebody like Paul Buchanan and the Blue Nile literally speaks my language. It's a language that isn't often used or utilised in day-to-day culture. I think we're all encouraged to hide our mental health issues, or encouraged to hide our depression, our sadness and our griefs. I believe in the expression of grief: I think it's imperative for a joyful life, and why live if you can't live joyfully? 

 To live joyfully one must express negative emotions. It's really, really important. And those people who shirk from so-called negative expression, I think, are cutting off an entire part of their own happiness and existence."