"On the first Strokes tour we had a Libertines demo on the bus. I remember thinking 'Oh man there's already a British version of The Strokes? That's fast, this is only the first tour!' Not that they were, but that was the perception around them. What is so cool about The Libertines is in fact that they're in that tradition of great British bands that really draw on being British to make a very special version of rock. The Sex Pistols are in that tradition, The Clash, all these really cool English bands that make you want to be some sort of geezer and know what a "two bob cunt" is. So being label mates with The Libertines and becoming friend with them they indoctrinated me into this whole British universe: listening to Chas And Dave, that comedian Tony Hancock and all kinds of weird British shit. In a way they became this vital group that almost channeled Lord Byron or Percy Shelley. They were almost a subculture unto themselves. At a time when England is in such a flux, their music reminds everyone why people love what being British is. The way they re-appropriated Albion and Blake's vision of England, it was just really beautiful. Their version of British, for me as a New Yorker, immediately made me want to learn about London and go to all these places. Their first record was a calling for people to learn about the history of England, their music made you want to educate yourself, but it is also so fucking catchy. I covered their song 'What A Waster' while they were in New York. They were recording 'Don't Look Back Into The Sun' at a studio but they were making these endless demo tapes that eventually appeared as the 'Babyshambles Sessions'. My version of their song was recorded while they were doing those. For me they were a band that birthed a new romantic movement in England."

"It probably won't be too much of a surprise that I picked this. I knew the Dinosaur L tracks and the big ones from compilations, and I didn't really know anything about who Arthur Russell was, until this was reissued in 2004. I was finishing my PhD at the time, trying to get something mathematical done and listening to this record over and over again. It's the kind of a record you can do something else to, but I always used to get really distracted by it. It still sounds like absolutely nothing else to me, it was such a revelation. He's such an amazing melodist and it's so sonically stimulating and different - that processed cello and voice, you still don't hear that anywhere else. But also the way the record is structured. There are parts of it that feel half-finished. It feels more like a collection of demos that were made spontaneously. It's not like a Hendrix album where everything would be meticulously produced, though there's something really wonderful about that. The life wasn't squeezed out of it. His voice has been so important for me. I was already singing on my music before I heard this, but I was always disguising my voice as much as possible. His voice is so beautiful and distinctive, but it's not the classical idea of what a singer should be. So it gave me a way in to singing on my own tracks, even though my voice is weak and pedestrian. It's a way for those of us who are non-traditional singers to not have to think about comparing ourselves - y'know, I'm a singer, and Marvin Gaye's a singer… He's like the vocal equivalent of a Stradivarius. But it gave me a way of thinking about singing that wasn't about being professional; it's about embracing the amateurishness and foibles of my voice."

"Again, I've gone for the "pop" album - I've gone for the greatest hit. I thought about all his records and the minimalist composers, and I could have gone for a Terry Riley record or whatever, but there's a reason this is his hit. I could come back and listen to this any time. One of the greatest live music experiences of my life was when Steve Reich had his 70th birthday at the Barbican, and he came over with his musicians and did nearly all of his classic pieces. I saw Drumming and other stuff, and then I saw this at a little church across the street from the Barbican and it's so beautiful, so gorgeous. Really, really moving. Having said that, this year Kieran and I booked a trip of DJ gigs because we hadn't seen each other in a while, and we played the Snowbombing festival in Austria, which was hilarious. We were driving around, so we hired my friend who's this really placid Czech guy. He's the driver on all my tours and I've never seen him get agitated about anything ever. Most people who drive primarily for a living are prone to road rage, but I've never seen him lose it. So he asked us if we wanted to put on any music so on went Music For 18 Musicians. He's not really a music fan - if you put on Albert Ayler he'd be like, "Jesus Christ, what are you trying to do to me here?!" So we were driving through the Alps, I was chatting to him and Kieran and listening to this piece of music that I love. I didn't really notice but he'd gone silent and 40 minutes in he was like, "Um, excuse me, this music's driving me insane, can we please turn it off?" To me it's the opposite of that, it's the most soothing music possible, so I guess that illustrates that it's not for everyone."

"I was probably 21 and I was doing a lot of driving between North and South Wales. Two of my friends that I was making music with lived in a beautiful cottage in the mountains. There isn't a very good radio reception on the A470, and I was driving a classic car – a Proton! – which had a tape player. I would go to Cob Records in Porthmadog and buy a handful of tapes – classics like Michael Jackson and Madonna that would always get preference in the tape player. They were real sing-along records that were great for driving. Eventually, I remember being absolutely sick to the back teeth of them and decided to give the album Barrett a go. I knew who Syd Barrett was but never really had collected his music. I put this tape in and could not make head nor tail of what I was listening to. I couldn't unravel the songs from the music that was going on. But, weirdly, on these drives I had the compulsion to keep putting it in the tape player and because it was a tape I couldn't be bothered to do any fast-forwarding or rewinding to try and find the next song or flick through impatiently to the final song that I liked. I kind of just had to stick it out with this record. Amazingly, eventually all these songs began to show themselves and what had started off as a really arduous task became hugely, hugely rewarding. For that reason – it being a record I genuinely fell in love with and now absolutely love – I feel wholly thankful that I got it on a tape as opposed to any other format, as I think I could have completely missed it or not stuck with it. It is one of those albums that maybe I don't listen to very often anymore, but I have wonderful memories of and love deeply."

"When I first heard Led Zeppelin, I was a kid in kindergarten but my uncle and my mum used to pump Led Zeppelin loudly. I grew up with those mad eight-tracks and all the imagery in their songs hit my imagination hard. It was so hard to pick one record of theirs – I obviously couldn't pick them all but this is the one that came to my mind first and the one I think I heard and played the most. I also loved the album cover for this; I used to look at this record cover for hours and I'd never get bored. I got deeper into this record I think because I was hearing stories that if you played the record backwards, it said something. There were so many folklore stories around this album when I was a kid growing up and it was ripe for the imagination. Next thing when you're listening you'd see the fucking hermit from the tarot cards and you'd hear these stories that Jimmy Page bought Aleister Crowley's house and then next they'd suddenly be going to India and working with all these different musicians. All these wild stories, all the mysticism behind the band is what really sucked me in with Led Zeppelin. When this record came out, there was no internet and you didn't know if the stories were all true or not so they had this great mystery to them. There were a couple of television shows but I'd never seen Led Zeppelin on TV; there were no music videos back then either. Even magazine articles about them were short. There was a great mystery to them and it just left it all open to your imagination to make up its own shit and my imagination is wild. Their stage shows were also ridiculous and they completely revolutionised touring today. So many things they did inspired me, inspired Cypress Hill."

"Of all the records I've chosen here, they all changed my life in some way but the one that had the most profound impact on me was Public Enemy's It Takes A Nation Of Millions To Hold Us Back. This just blew me away because it was one of those moments in my life where I was like 'How do you do this?' Some of the other records I'd listened to at the time, I'd managed to figure out how they'd done stuff, how they made a certain sound. As a musician, when somebody comes along and does something that you never thought of, that you didn't know was humanly possible and it just twists fucking everything you thought was possible up in your brain, that's a big fucking impact. That was the impact of Public Enemy to me. My first thought was: 'I need to figure this shit out. What the fuck is this?' I was just a kid listening to this but I just didn't know what they were doing and I was hungry to know. I was a Public Enemy fan from the very first album. When this album came out in 1988, it revolutionised sound and music: it was like a fucking tsunami of sound coming at you. Everything about them was brand new and different and I just listened to them as a nineteen-year-old kid with my mouth open thinking: 'What the fuck?' Public Enemy were probably the pinnacle of music production and the best band in the world at that time. They were easily one of the best production teams in the world in any genre of music back then. Like so many of the records I'm picking, this was like a genre changing historical landmark piece; it wasn't just a record that was put out – this was a record changing the culture and the way that people explored music. They were always a voice for the dispossessed, but they never ever felt preachy with it, which I liked so much."

"Well, I grew up in the sixties. In 1962, I bought the first Rolling Stones single, and I still have it. I still have every single they released, in order, right up until Brian Jones was murdered. I saw Pink Floyd god knows how many times, and even did a couple of light shows for them... We started listening to pirate radio and John Peel’s Perfumed Garden, and had a friend at school called Spidey who was very good at spotting interesting new music. John Peel was the first person to play The Velvet Underground, and Spidey said, “Listen to this, you’re gonna love this!”. That’s when we got the first violin. We used to go to Birmingham, to this tiny little record shop that had nothing of interest except some Albert Ayler and free jazz. There was a record in there, and we recognised the artwork from Oz magazine so we knew it was by Hapshash and The Coloured Coat, because they used to do psychedelic posters and Oz. So we bought it just because of that. It was on Magnet Records. When we pulled out [the disc], we were shocked to see that it was on red vinyl, which we’d never seen before. We later discovered that all these people on the scene in London wanted to raise money for the legals fees of John “Hoppy” Hopkins, the first person who’d been busted for drugs and who co-founded the International Times. He was a real mover and shaker of the times. It’s like twenty to a hundred people high on acid jamming! We fell in love with it and still listen to it all the time. When we DJ, people come up to us and ask, “What was that with that great riff?” Guess what one of them ended up doing? Writing “We Are The Wombles”! That really got me in the head, that was worse than a bad acid trip!"

"My whole thing has gone playlist now, so I'll have this on my headphones now as I walk around because sitting down to listen to two sides of vinyl is less frequent in my life. But certainly when I bought Live Evil, it was the only record that I played for months! And quite deeply so. A friend had lent me an album on CBS, which had an inner sleeve and on this inner sleeve would be descriptions of other records. And on one of them was a journalist wordily describing this as something like, ""… an exploration of a sonic journey"", and that really set my imagination off. And the cover of Live Evil is fantastic. It just looked like a fascinating object, and it was a double album as well. It was a high-risk purchase. But playing this record, it was like, ""Wow! What is this amazing, glowing world?"" And it had these Hermeto Pacoal tracks on it that are really ambient – 'Nem Un Talvez' is one and 'Little Church' is the other – and those tracks really got me. Back then there was no particular place to start listening with what would become ambient music. There were pieces that were beatless but these were deeply coloured and were way before Tangerine Dream or Klaus Schulze records, which we didn't have much patience for. But there's so much bursting out of this record. Most of it is recorded live and the fact that John McLaughlin was on it really makes it for me, and he's just an amazing artist and guitarist. On this record, he's free as a bird and it's just mental. He just lights up this record. [Keyboardist] Keith Jarrett's on it, and he's a particularly complicated improviser. I jumped into that world and the ripples from diving into that pond, I just follow them. All the people that played on that record came out of Miles Davis' world."