"That album! Oh man. Supa Dupa Fly was such a jam but Missy was just a creative fucking force when Da Real World came out. I remember she looked like Lee Bowery and her skin was painted true black, her eyebrows up to her forehead, back when videos could still be incredible videos. It was so top-of-the-line, Timbaland and Missy collaborating, and I felt like it was her time to shine as a writer and as a producer. It set the tone of that time. I was obsessed with it. 'Hot Boyz'? It is hit after hit. 'She's A Bitch'? What a jam? That was the video. She was so innovative and ahead of her fucking time. Everybody was on that, it was a family affair, but she is a genre all of her own. She is her own thing. Nobody is like Missy. She is one of those people where I'm like, sexism is alive, because if she was a man, she would be getting all of these crazy props. She's so incredible, and so underrated. Her harmonies are unbeatable. Un. Beatable. She's a maestro, a genius, a music nerd, an absolute culture nerd. And a style nerd. She's just such an icon. She was cool too. She's powerful. She is performance art, and that wasn't in hip hop at that time. And it certainly wasn't in female hip hop. The thing about Lil' Kim was that she sold sexuality and she did it so well, like no one is Lil' Kim, but Missy wasn't selling conventional sexuality, she wasn't selling female sensuality, that wasn't what she was doing, and I relate to that as a person who is big and a person who isn't attracted to conventional things. I like the weirdness, I like the things that stick out, I like things to look a little clowny, or look a little crazy and that's why she's such an icon. Same with Outkast. I think Southerners are just naturally weirder. Look at Lil' Wayne, Missy, Timberland, Outkast, Neptunes, all of those are Southerners so they're different. A different breed of rapper."

"Alone in the Wilderness is weird. Somebody gave me this documentary years ago, and I put it in and I watched it about four times in a row. Nothing is really happening in it. This guy is just building a cabin in the woods and sort of narrating it. It’s a true story. It’s actual live footage, 16mm footage of him. I gave it to a buddy of mine and he said the same thing — he was like, “Yeah, I watched it like two or three times in a row.” Another buddy said the same thing. I don’t know what it is. It’s just this guy building this cabin in the woods. I feel like it’s this sort of dream that every guy — or man — has. to go out into the woods and build a cabin and live in the woods. This guy does it, and does it for 40 years, and finally comes down when he’s 80, in Alaska. He just makes it look so feasible or accomplishable that — I don’t know, you just kind of watch it and start dreaming that you could do it too, you know? I think that is what a lot of my buddies felt when I sent them the film. It’s just something I’ve been toying around with — making a movie about it — sort of similar to the events that took place in the documentary, but not."

"I saw her at a Mississippi Records evening at Café Oto. I went there because the guy from Mississippi Records had somehow inherited 700 hours of footage by a man who woke up one morning, I think in the 80s when the technology of hand-held cameras had just appeared, and he felt like he had a mission to go and film people, poorer people, and how they expressed themselves, artistically and spontaneously. So we're not talking about people who were trying to make records, just people who play the guitar and sing or whatever, just musically expressing themselves. And that man felt like these people would soon disappear, that society would disappear and it would be extinct. And I think he probably had a very strong intuition that proved to be right. I think technology will soon take us away from just picking up a guitar and singing some songs, spontaneously. It's refreshing because we don't see that on TV, where everything is manufactured and filtered. It felt so good for my brain and my senses to be connected into that, and to witness all of these expressions."

"Again, Jesse turned me onto that record, years ago. We revisited that when we were in the desert at Rancho De La Luna, we were playing lots of good stuff on YouTube through the mixing board. The house was so cool. David Catching, who lives there, he was out on tour - great guy, but we had the whole house to ourselves. Just that record - throw it on in the daytime and then the sun starts coming and you're in this chill house and you're just cranking this record and then eventually when the sun starts going down, that's just super psychedelic. It was a good companion piece. That record has Leon Thomas singing ""the creator has a master plan"" over and over again. Never thought about this at the time, but repeating lines in a spiritual way - there's a title track to b'lieve i'm goin down…, which isn't on the album, which is just the same line over and over again - something about that spiritual vibe. Eventually Leon Thomas just does this spiritual yodelling! The record's so melodic. Pharoah Sanders does this cool thing - it's like pop, but it's like spiritual pop, mixed with jazz, where it's a relatively simple line, just a couple of chords, usually. It just puts you in this zone, it's so beautiful. It's simple, but not at all; nobody could touch it. Pharoah Sanders comes in eventually and plays the sweetest emotional sax and eventually it turns into insanity, noise, skronking and screeching. Honestly, he's known for that, but it's my least favourite part of him. I understand why he does it, because it reaches this climax and then all of a sudden, you come out and go back to this thing and it just goes all the way to the limit; it's just like life, it goes from zero to 60 and then you come back out of it. That's the beauty of him."