"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."

"This one just hits the spot with me. I don't know. I found the first album [Innerspeaker] too derivative of stuff I was familiar with. I loved it, don't get me wrong, and a true test of whether or not I love a record is if I bring it into the studio and try it on the guys, because they are unequivocal in their tastes. So if I take a record in and say listen to this, if one of them doesn't like it, it makes me like it a little less. So I've got to be really sure that a band is great and the guys will love it before I even chance taking it near them. I took the first album in and said, "This sounds like a lot of stuff like you love already." But it's punchy. It's from Australia, and it is amazing."

"As narrated in his highly entertaining autobiography, over the course of his life Preston Sturges had a long string of failed schemes, inventions, films, and affairs. And it seems like he had the great fortune to find it all funny. The climax of Unfaithfully Yours, when every possible minor physical thing goes wrong in Rex Harrison’s murder plot, isn’t just perfect circus-like slapstick. It’s a downright celebration of the ways that record players, telephones, wicker chairs, and gloves are these ridiculous, weird contraptions we can barely use competently. We aren’t the masters of the physical world; it’s really a wonder we survive out there. This is the huge insight Unfaithfully Yours has over a film like Modern Times or any other techno-dystopia. Like, sure, sometimes machines crush the souls of humans into their perfectly calibrated gears. But most of the time, it’s a miracle if they fucking work."

"You can't fail today to be mesmerised by 'Whole Lotta Love'. That was the song that did it for me. A lot of these choices that I've made are either the first or second release from these bands. I always thought that those were great times, because there was never any pressure around artists. You don't have all of the extras that come with being successful. The band is in a very pure place at that point. I always remember playing with them, but it was quite a while after this album came out. We'd just completed a very, very long and gruelling American tour. We were about to fly back to the UK and we had a call from Robert Plant saying, ""I heard you guys are still over in the States, would you like to come and hang out and open for Zeppelin on the Green ['Day On the Green' concert] in Oakland?"" So we got a really cheap, unglamorous motel by the side of the freeway. It was so poor that the walls were basically green, covered with algae. We were there for a week and just waiting and waiting and waiting for the chance to open up for Zeppelin. That was a very important show for Priest, because that was what broke us on the west coast of America."

"Listening to this in Brazil a few years ago was a proper Eureka moment for me. We'd moved to the middle of nowhere for seven months, and I decided to properly have some time properly listening to music, so got a lot of stuff off Thom on a hard drive. I was really into Burial and that side of dubstep back then. Stuff that works perfectly underneath railway arches at 3am strangely enough didn't resonate on the edge of the rainforest, though. What did was Screamadelica. 

I'd first heard Loaded when I was studying at Manchester University in 1990. I remember it coming out after 'Fools Gold' and 'Hallelujah', and seeing Primal Scream on a double-header with Looper. I remember thinking, ah, this is good, a bit different for them, but they're jumping on the bandwagon, aren't they? Later, 'Don't Fight It Feel It' became the ultimate tune of that time for me. But away from that time, this album still stands alone. It's so colourful. It's like gospel dance music. It's got all the euphoria of house music, plus the community and love. It reminded me that that moment in culture wasn't just about the drugs – those drugs were just there to pierce the veil. Music held the ultimate power to bring people up. I want my music to have that joy, that light, that sense of possibility."

"When I think about why I love Queen my head just fills with every single Queen song that I know by heart. It's just like a box of Quality Street. Everything is amazing. The reason that I've chosen the second album is because the song 'Ogre Battle' is on there, which is one of my favourite tracks. It's rare that you struggle to label a band. If you're a heavy metal band you're meant to look and sound like a heavy metal band but you can't really call Queen anything. They could be a pop band one day or the band that wrote 'Bicycle Race' the next and a full-blown metal band the next. In terms of the depth of the musical landscape that they covered, it was very similar to some extent to the Beatles. I mean 'Helter Skelter' was a pretty heavy track, and 'Yellow Submarine' really wasn't. I think Queen have a lot of similar ingredients. Everybody was writing the songs as well, so Freddie was writing differently to John Deacon, and then John was writing differently to Roger [Taylor, drummer]. They were all accepting each other though, and nobody was sat there saying that they couldn't do something because it didn't sound like Queen. If it was a good song they'd record it, and this album is nothing but good songs. It's a style that we've tried to adopt into Judas Priest. A good song is a good song at the end of the day, and there's no point in wasting time arguing about whether Priest are supposed to sound like the British Steel record or the Painkiller record or whatever. I felt such a sense of loss when Freddie died, but he fucking loved his life. He partied like a maniac. I've lost a lot of friends to AIDS and it's such a terrible thing to have to suffer through. Such a cruel condition to be taken by. From what I've seen and heard there's a horrible sense of loss in those early days. There was a lot of rejection and almost pariah-like status heaped upon you by people. And it's still around today, which is so sad and unfair. It's interesting though, because I don't know if Freddie would still have been doing what he did now. Would he still be going out on the road with Brian and Roger, who, by the way, I love? Especially Adam [Lambert]. But Freddie would have been 70-something I think, and I get a feeling that at some point, he would have just said, "I've had enough now darling." We lost him, but he left behind such an incredible legacy and canon of work. I listen to Queen almost every day still."