"The first half is just an astonishing rundown, it's almost like a greatest hits. This record, and Kate Bush in general, has a lot to do with me making music at all. It was her complete inability to do what everybody else was doing, she just was a law unto herself. I found that incredibly awe-inspiring, in most ways. I also loved her use of strings, in a sort of choppy choppy way, rather than a sentimental way. In pop music, you tend to have strings just colouring in the chords at the back or doing a syrupy high note, and I always thought they could do more than that, and she proved it in a kind of [mimics heavy staccato strings] kind of baroque style, which I have shamelessly pilfered basically. The second half she goes off on one, and some of it's a bit silly, but, you know, who cares? Even when it's silly it's great. Now I'm pretty sure I just took one listen to 'Running Up That Hill', which would've been the first single, and thought, ""I'm having that"". I would've bought it on cassette because that was the era, and I probably wore out the cassette until it warbled and I had to buy a new one!"

"I’ve seen Koyaanisqatsi more than any other movie. For years, I would just put play the disc on repeat the way some people might play their favorite record. But more importantly, Koyaanisqatsi has had a profound effect on me as a filmmaker and editor. It’s not so much the obvious stuff (i.e. the time lapse cinematography, editing to music, etc.) but rather this age-old notion that an audience can experience a story just through imagery. Audiences are smart—give them some guideposts, throw out some complex ideas, and they will do the rest. Koyaanisqatsi serves as a constant reminder that film is a visual medium where explanation (and even plot) can sometimes be intrusive, and the most powerful statement a film can make is the one that the audience arrives at. The Koyaanisqatsi supplements are also really instructive. There are a couple candid doc pieces with the director, Godfrey Reggio. At one point, he says he explored having Allen Ginsberg recite poetry throughout the film. At another point, he talks about filming surreal Terry Gilliam–like scenes (at an enormous budget) that he ultimately decided to cut out. It reinforces the idea that with filmmaking, just like in life, sometimes you have to go through a lot of bad mistakes to discover what really works."

"Yeah, and The Island of Lost Souls is amazing, from 1932 with Charles Laughton as Dr. Moreau. That movie is amazing. That movie’s dark. For anyone who hasn’t seen it, the extras — I mean, even now you watch like, this is really disturbing. The extras are supposed to be the half-man/half-animal people. You can tell they got really bizarre-looking extras before they did the makeup, and everybody looks like they’re deformed and f—ed up. Again, Lugosi plays the leader of the beast men. He’s not in it a lot, but of course he has the line that everybody remembers about the House of Pain: “He who breaks the law goes back to the House of Pain.” He’s in the movie for five minutes and steals the movie. Charles Laughton is incredible. But it’s demented again. The basic premise is a crazy one. They have the beast men and they’re being operated on and just screaming. It’s like, “This is not fun.” You have little kids running out of the theater in tears, or adults. It’s amazing. Still amazing. The cinematography’s amazing. Everything about it is just incredible."