"I was playing Scott 3 quite a lot at Christmas and there’s something about this song that’s more Christmassy than Christmas songs. It’s just kind of magical, that’s how I’d describe ‘Copenhagen’, it’s magical. “I think this song is my highlight from Scott 3, there’s something about ‘Copenhagen’ for me. I think it’s the instrumentation and the orchestration on it, it’s utterly gorgeous, the sound of it is really, really beautiful and then there’s his voice over the top, the lyrics and his delivery. I guess it’s rooted in that crooner area but there’s a tenderness to it. ‘Copenhagen’ has a delicacy to it and I’ve always loved the vulnerability of it as well, like there’s crack in his voice. I’m just in love with this song. “I think a lot of people like Scott Walker songs because they touch on stylistic elements that could be seen as more commercial or just normal or standard in some way, but they’re not. When you hear how he delivers this there’s an off-kilter feel to it, an oddness to it. It’s got a beauty but it’s not really an obvious beauty and he manages to walk that line really well, between darkness and beauty. “That’s another thing that I love about the whole album Scott 3, it is quite dark, but it’s dark and beautiful and those two things are something that I’m really in tune with, a sort of dark beauty and that’s what Scott Walker does really well."

"I heard this for the first time at some point in the mid-90s and it had a big impact. For something so old, it sounded more like the future than anything being released then. It was hard to find on LP, but my friend John McKeown had a copy that I would borrow or listen to round at his. Eventually I bought a CD player so I could get it on reissue, as it took me years to find the vinyl. I reckon Eno was frustrated in Roxy Music. There didn't seem to be enough room for his experimentation or ego. You feel that he's running wild with pent up ideas in the way George Harrison did on All Things Must Pass. Although the sound is unconventional and experimental, it doesn't feel over-considered or precious in the way that many contemporary prog LPs do. It's spontaneous and quite thuggish at points. 'Blank Frank' sounds like he's wearing out the strings with a scrubbing brush. It's beautifully constructed as an LP. The songs are distinct and can stand alone, but there are wee passages of sound that link them together and the songs often overlap into each other, moving effortlessly between moods and musical conventions, melody and abstract noise. One moment 'Cindy Tells Me' sounds almost like it could be on the soundtrack of Grease (despite the lyric of rich girls confused by their new freedoms leaving their Hotpoints to rust in their kitchenettes), then you're in the dark, foreboding gloom of 'Driving Me Backwards' - ""kids like me have got to be craaaaaazzzzzyyyyy"" - what he does to his voice at that point will always sends a great shudder through me. I love his vocal delivery. It's very English and of that time - I hear it in Kevin Ayers, Robyn Hitchcock, Bid of The Monochrome Set and Syd Barrett, but none of the English singers around now seem to sing like that. What happened? Did that accent die out? There's a lovely send-up of the other Brian in 'Dead Finks Don't Talk' where he slips into a lecherous deep croon. It's heavily layered throughout, but it sounds like he didn't listen to himself as he double-tracked it. The phrasing and exaggerated vibratos don't often match which adds to the unnerving sense of panic which can suddenly drop to an intimate murmur. Eno has such a huge and recognisable persona, but not as a lyricist. There are some incredible lines on here: ""send for an ambulance or an accident investigator…""; ""Juanita and Juan/ Very clever with maracas…""; ""By this time time I got to looking for a kind of substitute/ I can't tell you quite how, except that it rhymes with dissolute…""; ""Meet my relations/ All of them/ Grinning like facepacks…"" the imagery is vivid, unsettling and direct. That's from a guy who pretty much abandoned writing lyrics shortly afterwards. Like Hunky Dory, this LP bridges two distinct parts of a career. There's still a Roxy flavour (Phil Manzanera is all over it), but songs like 'On Some Faraway Beach' point towards his ambient sound of the later 70s. It's a fleeting moment, never to be repeated. Well, except for on Taking Tiger Mountain. Maybe that's what makes this moment so great. He could have made another fourteen records with this template, all of which I'm sure would have had virtue. But he didn't. When we recorded our first LP, I played it to Tore Johansson [producer] and said I wanted it to sound like this. It didn't turn out that way, but it definitely had an impact on the session. We asked Eno to produce our second LP. He sent us a nice letter saying he couldn't do it, but that his daughter was a big fan of the band... Looking back I realise that it was the Eno who made this LP I was asking to produce. He's a smart guy and probably spotted that straight away."

"I was fifteen when I began to read Federico Garcia Lorca. His poems perhaps have had the greatest influence on my texts. He summoned up a world where I felt at home. His images were sensual and mysterious: ‘throw a fist full of ants to the sun.’ I wanted to be able to write something like that as well. A few years ago I wrote a musical adaptation of Lorca’s ‘Little Viennese Waltz.’ Then I noticed what a complex writer he was: it took me more than a hundred hours just to translate the poem. Lorca is one of those rare poets with whom you can stay in love for life."