"I just love Mean Streets, period. I grew up in my own version of that. Scorsese is a hero of mine. The movie’s really about him, you know, as a filmmaker — you watch Harvey’s performance when he goes to the church and he’s there on his knees in his version of praying, and you hear the voice-over. What’s amazing about that movie is — now that I’ve met Scorsese a few times — I can see that he was sort of in that world. He’s said it a few times: “I wasn’t sure if I was gonna become a priest or a gangster.” [Laughs] And when you see the movie, you see him, and you get that. You see Harvey’s character is a little bit of a priest, he’s trying to be a good guy but he’s in a world of mobsters and he needs to be accepted by that world. I love the elements that Scorsese captured. I love, again, that sort of brave filmmaking — they didn’t have any money to do a parade, but he just captured that ceremony, you know. They put cameras on the roof and shot down. They put you in the middle of a world and you felt like you were really in it. And De Niro, of course, is genius. It’s ridiculous how good he is. I could go on and on about why I love those movies, as far as technically, and performance-wise — but that’s the basic essence."

"Glory. Mr. Ed Zwick. I believe the original story was more concentrated on the officers, and what Ed seemed to find was the movie — and I love when that happens, when he lets the movie dictate how he should cut it or lets the movie dictate how he should roll it out — and it became about those soldiers. And he didn’t seem to manipulate any of the greatness that was going on in that film. He wasn’t arrogant about having an understanding of the culture. He seemed to appreciate it and understand. They’re bringing these actors that are bringing out the culture and the stuff that I could never anticipate, I could never prepare for, that was not on the page. It was transformative. The whole thing was. It was not only a history lesson, it was a meaningful time in the business of diversity and seeing characters that look like me — you know, that they were my color — in the business at the time have that sort of platform to embrace the inner workings, from the slave trade to the first soldiers, the emancipated men. I felt like that was such an important film. I knew every line for every character. I mean, I lived that movie. It was my upbringing. That was my school, basically. I literally knew every line. From Robert Gould Shaw to Frederick Douglass’ one scene. I knew that line too. It was kind of crazy. I wanted a blue suit for Christmas, and I broke the VHS tape and I wanted a new VHS tape for Christmas, too. And also the score. Hearing that score with those black faces — you see it in Barry Jenkins’ films as well. I just felt like Ed Zwick deserved more credit than he got. He should get more recognition. He made, I think, a perfect film, too. I think it’s a perfect film."

"I could easily talk for several hours just about this. It was particularly this piece called 'It's Gonna Rain' that I heard with my friend Peter Schmidt, the painter. I'd met Peter while I was at art college and he was a very, very distinctive and unusual character. He was a German Jew who'd come over to England in the '30s and was a very good poker player because it was impossible to know what he was thinking. He was a very inscrutable person. Most people found it very hard to be with him as you'd say something to him and he'd just look at you. But I liked him a lot and we got on very well, and it turned out we'd been thinking about a lot of similar things. One of the things we used to do was sit around at his place in Stockwell and explore new music. Generally it was he who would play things to me and one day he said, ""Have you heard this?"" and my life changed. Reich recorded this in '65, so that's 51 years old and fucking hell, what have we been doing for half a century? The first thing that happens when you're listening to that is that the repetitive element of it gradually makes you start to lose focus of the pieces that keep repeating. You start hearing the little differences. It's a little bit like the way a frog's eye works. It doesn't scan like ours do, it stays fixed on a scene and very quickly the rods and cones get saturated with everything that doesn't move. So as soon as something does move, like a fly, that's the only thing that the frog sees. I think the ears behave like that when they're presented with something highly repetitive like this. Your ears quickly saturate or habituate with the common stuff and they start to pick up details. I remember the first time I heard 'It's Gonna Rain', I started to zone in on the pigeons, because this was out in the street, it was a recording of a street preacher so you can hear cars and horns and then you start to hear these birds but only after a while, after the other stuff has cleared out of your consciousness. That's amazing because what was making the music was my brain and that was the first time I'd realised that, as a composer, you could co-opt a listener's brain. So suddenly, wow, that's another 100 per cent of the universe opening up. When you put something out into the world that is kind of incomplete and it takes your consciousness and the errors of your perceptual mechanism to actually make it into something, that totally changed my idea of what music could be. The actual amount of material used is tiny, the loop of ""it's gonna rain"" is not even a second, and that's the only element used in that section. You think, bloody hell, that's economy, and I've always loved economy. At the time I first heard this we were in a period of maximum indulgence in pop music. Sixteen-track recorders had just appeared so suddenly so many people were just putting so much shit onto everything just because you could. Every spice in the cupboard. Suddenly I heard this and it was so stark and effective. The other thing about it is that within it is a mechanism that I've subsequently used a lot, which is the idea of having things running out of sync with each other. Again, your whole experience of music until then had been to do with synchronisation. Everything sticks together and then at this point everything changes together. What happens in this piece is that you get the same cycle but running so that on each repetition they're in a slightly different place in relation to each other. So you have an automatic generator of variety and I use that on so much of my work. That became my go-to technique for making something interesting straight away."

"I first heard this record when I was eight or something. I think my mum gave it to me and I listened to it everyday. It replaced The Jackson Five's Dancing Machine that I used to dance to all the time before that. Then I started running home to this Annie album instead. I had so much fun singing along to it and I learnt all the songs. Then I got the leading part in the musical Annie in my school, so it was really the start of my career. I didn't think so much about the lyrics but I knew that my home life was not very happy. I mean, even though I felt very loved by my mother and always had a connection with her, and we have a really similar sense of humour, the song 'Maybe' really connected with me, it was my favourite one to sing. You know: "Maybe my parents could be like this, or maybe they could be like that." My sister always told me I was adopted, which wasn't true but I wished it was because my dad was so mean that I would always be like, "Maybe he's not really my dad". So I really related to that song, imagining actually having a happy childhood. Imagining having parents who were happy and in love and really loved me. I related to that sense of longing but I didn't really know why. I didn't think, "It's because my dad is abusive and drunk"; I didn't think that far ahead, I just sort of intuitively connected to that song."