"Again, with Blur it was hard to pick just one. I really love how this song starts, I like that guitar part, the scratching chuggy thing and then the way it explodes into this Beatles-y chorus. "I think Graham Coxon might be my favourite guitarist ever. It's that same thing: he's always offsetting Damon Albarn's beautiful melodies with really freaky, strange discordant guitar lines. I think they like different music, right? I remember Graham Coxon loved My Bloody Valentine, really droney guitar music like that and Damon Albarn is more poppy, and that combination together sounds so cool. You can always hear Graham under all Blur's songs, just making it all so much cooler. “I wasn't really caught up in the Britpop war, I grew up hearing it come through my older brother and sister's bedroom walls really. They used to play Blur and Oasis and Pulp, there was no distinction. There was no war going on in our house. We just loved all of it! “I feel bad but I haven't listened to Blur's most recent album. I need to listen to more new music but I'm pretty lazy about it. I love songs that I know and you know that feeling when you can sing along to a song that you love? You can't do that with new music or you have to get to know it first. It's just laziness! I always find listening to other people's music inspiring and I'm always like ""ooh I wanna write a song that's like this!"" And quite often that'll be a spark into something else entirely, but I don't wake up in the morning and put on an album in the way I imagine a lot of people do. I listen to music in the van a lot, that's where I listen to music the most. “I'll see new bands at festivals or Soph is really on top of new music. In the van it's normally Spotify, we have a playlist that we play all the time but there's no new music on it, its pure 80s’ and 90s’ sentimental classics. It's called FM FM! It was created and started by our wonderful ex-tour manager. We all love Magic FM, so it was meant to be the whole of their playlist made without adverts. It's so long that you could listen to it for days and not hear the same song twice."

"This one is an old classic: it's my foundation. Each song is a wonder. Each song tells a story. What sums it up for me is that if I'm happy I put it on and I'm even happier; if I'm sad I put it on and it makes me much happier. It has the ability to lift my mood or enhance a good mood. There's a quality of light and darkness, this association which I find really powerful and very impactful on my soul. It's a record to laugh to and to cry to. There's so much beauty. I find the string arrangements so moving. It goes so far into my being when I listen to it. It's a very big favourite and as I say a foundation to everything that I love, that hybrid. That's what is so attractive in Brazilian music: the fusion of cultures creating a new thing. That's really fascinating. It was in 2009 I think that I went on a hunt for this record, and bought it. I'd only heard certain songs; someone put some songs on my iPod a number of years ago, and then one day I realised that they were all part of a full album, which I bought when I visited Brazil some years ago, the first time that I played Brazil solo. And of course with Stereolab we were already cultivating that bit of land before we knew that it had already been cultivated and had a name and an identity. It's just an attraction, and you can't really explain them. They're doing the same thing in different parts of the world, or sometimes some things become so strong they go through your DNA somehow and you have them in your blood and they're not to be contested: they're there. But for me music has been the transformational tool. I know I've listened to records and I was one type of person before listening and after I find myself being transformed. It's the same with going to certain gigs: I walked in as one person and I walked out a different person. And I love that about music. You can't touch it, it's just there. There's a bit of a mystery behind it that makes it even more powerful."

"We all lived in a house together and I remember hearing David putting the finishing touches on that one in his bedroom. He wasn't a pianist, but he could change chords and have a rhythmic thing going. The lyrics on that one really got my attention, 'Mickey Mouse has grown up a cow' and all that. But it wasn't really until we got into the studio and got Rick Wakeman in on piano… I mean, David just told him to treat it as a piano piece, like a long solo all the way through. Rick's like a virtuoso so he just went to town on it! Then we had to pull something together to go with that. We had mapped it out a little bit because we already knew there would be a string arrangement that Mick had done on it, so I went through the string arrangement and knew what I could and couldn't do. I knew the ballpark. It still needed to be a solid beat, but kind of a futuristic-meets-classic rock thing because of the strings being so overpowering and Rick's playing was more classical than rock. I think the lyrics were very John Lennon-inspired – 'I am the egg man' sort of thing. There was a concept behind the song, but it wasn't that obvious. It was like painting a picture. He did actually give us a brief description, that it was about a girl who was dissatisfied with life and was always dreaming of another place that's better, but didn't know where it was or how to get there – maybe Mars… maybe Mars is the place? We did it three times in the studio and, when you are recording, you finish and you all stay silent as possible, you don't even sneeze because it will cause problems with the mixing later, but on that third time, the phone rang. We didn't even know there was a phone in the studio! It was one that was used by session musicians to ring out on, but it had never rang before. It rang all over the end of the song. It was a really pleasurable experience listening to it after it had been mixed for the first time. I think this might be my all-time favorite of Bowie's tunes."

"I guess there is singing on it, but it's still instrumental music that opens your brain. It starts out almost sounding like weird pots and pans that I guess, my theory is, they're speeding up and slowing down their four-track so it's like [makes hissing, distorted sound]. So it does that for probably ten minutes, you're just sitting there, it's like psychedelic meditation, like you could tone it out. It's definitely analogue, it's probably four-track because, all of a sudden, out of nowhere, you feel something lift up, like it un-pause and start to record again and it's just like [makes skronky sound] and there's this weird guitar shit. But then they just have a good thing with mood where it just takes you on this weird textural journey and then somewhere along the way, it gets really heavy and the drummer starts in, and you don't know what he's saying, so it may as well be instrumental. The first Dead C record I ever got was Trapdoor Fucking Exit, which is an amazing title and an amazing album cover. That came out on Siltbreeze, which is a Philly label, so that's close to home. My buddy Richie, who I worked at this brewery with, he turned me on to that kind of thing and he made rethink how the... he basically hit me on to how my path in music should be, which would be: some people can jump up to a decent-sized label, but other people have to do it themselves, much like The Dead C, where you just start small and make it your own artform and then eventually, bigger labels aren't going to be able to ignore you because you're doing it yourself anyway. They can decide, if they like you, you're going to be doing it anyway. So I got that Tusk record pretty early, but I remember listening to it on the airplane in-between touring/recording for this new album and it's just another that just opens your brain and opens your mind. They're just as passionate, or they come off that way, about their music, except they're from Bumblefuck, New Zealand, but they put out tons of records, so it might as well be jazz - they're definitely influenced by that sort of thing. I have no doubt in my mind - but of course I could be wrong - that they're influenced by those psychedelic jazz records."

"I remember when we first got it I could only see the darkness of it. I couldn't get underneath it where all the light is. I was impermeable to it somehow. And one day, you wonder what happens, why did I not get this? One day the door opened and I received all of its beauty. I could not believe that I had not been able to hear it before. In terms of being a composer, for me Milton Nascimento is on the top shelf. There is such a power in the chord changes. He's got to be the king of those, in my world at least. What I like about music is that it's transformative and it's transporting, and I think he's my favourite transporter of all. You go on such journeys with his songs, and this is difficult to do. He obviously has a gift and also works very hard at it. He's very dedicated to his art. But I've rarely been so transported as when listening to this album, and I don't ask much more of music sometimes than just to be transported. I was not really aware of the lyrical content that much. The sleeve tells you a lot, for sure, about people struggling or just being resigned to certain conditions. I've been to Brazil a couple of times and you see quite a lot of poverty, but a lot of poorer people do own a big TV to watch the football on, and I didn't feel like 'oh my god this is about to explode', like I did in America in certain quarters. In some poor quarters of North America there is such tension, but I didn't feel the same tension in Brazil. It's more mellow even among the poorer classes. I know that it's very divided, with a lot of walls and high security buildings for the richer middle classes, but I felt that the poorer people weren't on the verge of rioting: somehow there was more acceptance. I don't know; obviously there are very complex societal issues, but this album captures a sense of joy and beauty and it's amazing to put that into music. We all have joy: it's inbuilt, and music can help us find that joy, that joi d'vivre."